The Fairy King

Tap, tap, tap. Pause. Tap, tap, tap.

Hashna's fingers drum impatiently as she waits in the large hut. A fire crackles in the center, chasing the cold air from the humble dwelling. Hashna wraps her cloak around her body as though trying to chase away the cold. Her thoughts tormenting her. Did she really want to get married to Elathan? The tapping of her fingers intensifies. She couldn't answer this, she didn't know. All she for sure was that there was a feeling in the pit of her stomach that said if the young prince left, she would never get the chance to answer that question. Something about this fact made her heart tighten in pain.

There was a brisk draft that wafted into the hut and the fire dipped in protest as the door swung open and closed quickly. Hashna looked to see her father, King Bres dip down through the doorway, brushing snow off his cloak. He looked up in surprise, seeing his daughter sitting inside the dwelling. Hashna knew that he hadn't expected to see her, as she usually preferred to keep herself occupied in the woods until the late hours of the night.

"Mo cailín," his deep voice crooned, "What has brought you home so early?"

"You know what," she said as she eyed her father angrily.

"Oh. Well, you have nothing to worry about. I would never marry you off to the likes of him," Bres said, his voice soothing as he said this to reassure Hashna.

"Da!" she said in a low tone, "How can you just cast off the offer of peace so casually?"

Her father looks at her, surprise clear on his face as his eyebrows shoot up. He looks as his daughter for a moment, her face cast in a play of shadow as her eyes smolder in the flicker of the fire.

"Honestly, I thought you'd be pleased," he said, casting off her discontent, "You've made your views of marriage quite clear."

The old king sighed as he brought his weight down to sit upon the stool across from Hashna. The cold made Bres' bones ache and creak. Secretly, he'd not been able to gracefully weather the cold of winter in nearly twenty years. He felt like wood, slowly petrifying as each winter passed by.

Hashna registered her father's words. He'd not told her of the meeting because in his mind, it wouldn't matter. He'd never intended to honestly entertain Elathan's offer for peace. Something about this sparked anger in Hashan's heart. How could her father look at Elathan and not see his intentions of peace? Could he not see the honesty and kindness that homed itself in the blue depths of the prince's eyes?

"Pleased?" she said in a measured tone, "How would you figure I would be pleased that you would not listen to options of peace? Especially in you condition? You can't fight Da. You can hardly walk."

This angered the king and his eyes hardened as he looked at his daughter. His back straightened and he squared his shoulders, drawing himself up several inches as he scowled at her. "I'm not dead yet girl," he spat.

Hashna laughed, it was a cold sound as she stood and strode away from him. She herself didn't quite understand why she was so angry. She just knew that suddenly the house felt very small and she couldn't help but feel closed in.

"No, you're not dead yet. But we can't keep on this way," Hashna said, not looking at her father as she closed her eyes. "After the last battle, less than half of our force came back. What are you going to do? Start chucking children at the Fomoire?" She scoffed and lifted let her head fall back, "At this rate we won't have any children to speak of."

"Do you have so little faith in me?" Bres hissed.

"Da, do you even remember what the war started over?" Hashna said, turning to look at her father.

"They want our land for their own," he answered angrily.

"Why is that so wrong?" She challenged, just as angrily.

"Because it's ours!" He bellowed.

"Da," Hashna sighed, "he just wants to talk. To see if peace can be reached." As soon as the words slipped from her mouth Hashna knew her mistake.

Bres' eyes snapped to her face, red crept up his neck and into his face as he glared at her, "How do you know what he wants to talk about."

Hashna looked away quickly.

"Has he approached you?" The king hissed.

"We met by chance in the woods," she said, still not looking at Bres.

He surged to his feet and crossed the hut, grabbing onto her arms, his fingers digging into the tender flesh of her arms he whipped Hashna around to look at him.

"By chance," he spat.

"Dana was shot by the human boys of the village. I went in search of her… he had found her…" she whispered.

"Foolish girl," he growled, "tricks. That's all the Fomoire are good for. Tricks and lies."

"He's not like that Da," she whimpered.

"They're all like that Hashna," he hissed.

Bres' hands softened as tears began to fall from Hashna's eyes. They flowed freely over her cheeks as she looked up at her father. He sighed in frustration. Bres could crush men's skulls even now, with his gnarled hands aching from the cold and age, but he could never stand to see his daughter cry. Instead of being angry had pulled the girl into his chest and wrapped his arms around her.

"Please Da," she said in an aching whisper, "At least hear what he has to say."

The old king rested his chin on the top of Hashna's head. Another exacerbated sigh slipping from his pursed lips. Hashna's soft heart had always been her most enduring quality. It had been the thing that warmed him and brought him back to life when the battles were hard and the winters cold and unforgiving. Since his wife had passed several winters ago, Hashna was what drove the king on, giving his life purpose and meaning. Infuriating and stubborn child that she was, he reminded the king so much of his beloved wife.

"Fine," he finally said, "I'll hear what he has to say. But I don't think it will change my mind mo cailín."

We'll see. She thought, closing her eyes as gratitude and relief washed over her.