“He’s not a pet, Sigmund,” scolded Bernhardt.
“I know it is a great imposition on you and your home,” Makellos tried again. “I do not expect to stay here without earning my keep.”
“There, you see?” said Sigmund with a slightly smug look.
“And what use is a pampered little princeling to us?” Grimwald asked, giving Makellos a glower.
“Now now,” Der said again, shaking his finger at Grimwald. “He has already made us supper. The least we can do is discuss it.”
“Please, let us sit and dine. You all have worked so hard today, I am sure you must be exhausted,” Makellos said, gesturing to the table. “No one should have serious discussions on an empty stomach.”
There was a rumble of agreement between the little men. Bags were set down, hands were washed at the pump, and a loaf of bread was produced from one of the bags and set upon the table. Everyone sat on the benches, which Makellos realized were built much higher than what he was used to, likely to help the short men reach the tabletop easier. He ladled soup from the cauldron into bowls, setting one before each of them. Grimwald lifted his spoon to dig in, but a scolding click of the tongue from Bernhardt stopped him, and Grimwald sat back with folded arms and a grumpy look upon his face until Makellos had served bowls to everyone and one for himself. He sat down on the end of one bench next to Dagobert, finding it slightly awkward for his own taller frame. He gestured to the table with a bright smile. “Please, eat.”
Grimwald was the first to pick up his spoon and shove a bite into his mouth. It must have been very hot, but he swallowed it without a sign of discomfort, ignoring Makellos entirely. The others picked up their spoons, blowing onto the bite or into their bowls to cool it, except Der, who sliced the loaf of bread and passed it around the table, starting with Makellos. Makellos took a single slice, and the plate went around the table, until it came to Dagobert on his right. The plate was empty. Der put up a hand to his mouth. “Oh dear, I’m so used to cutting for seven. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all right,” Makellos replied with a smile, taking his own slice of bread and ripping it in half, holding it out to Dagobert. The redhead took it with a bright smile, mouthing ‘thank you.’
There were sounds of appreciation all around the table as the little men ate. Makellos was happy with the way the soupturned out, considering the limits he was working with in this cozy cottage, rather than the overabundant larders of the palace. He offered seconds, and everyone gratefully accepted, even Grimwald, who held out his bowl begrudgingly.
Sharing a table with so many people was rather nice, Makellos thought. He had almost always eaten alone or just with his mother, and their conversations were often spent with Queen Schön critiquing him or telling him how he could be better, be more perfect as a prince. The contented silence was a nice change. Once everyone had eaten their fill, Makellos asked, “May I enquire how all of you came to live here together?”
There were glances all around the table, and Makellos had a feeling that the topic was a sore spot amongst them. But Der cleared his throat and spoke up.
“Many years ago,” he began, “the Queen decided that she only wanted perfection amongst the people in her kingdom. So, anyone that did not meet her standards were rounded up. Little people like us, and people who might have looked or acted differently.”
Makellos had never heard of such a thing happening; it must have been before he was born, he thought, which perhaps explained why he had not seen anyone that did not look out of the ordinary around the palace.
“Most of us lost our livelihoods,” Sigurd said, staring down at his empty bowl. “Our homes, our families, gone. We,” he lifted his head to include the others around the table with a nod of his head, “were banished to the mines to work. Away from the Queen’s gaze.”
“What happened to your families?” Makellos asked, his eyes wide. “Your sisters, your wives, your children?”
An uncomfortable silence fell between all of the little men, feet shuffling, eyes averted. Only Grimwald seemed able to meet his gaze, his dark brown eyes hard as stone, his arms crossed overhis chest. “The Queen had them killed. So they could not bear any children who might end up small like them. Or like their fathers.” He glanced side to side to encompass the other men in the room.
Makellos’ heart leapt into his throat, choking him as it beat an erratic rhythm. Everything suddenly felt so dark and small. His own body felt too tight for the emotions that welled within him. He set down his spoon as his hands began to tremble. Dagobert reached over and placed a hand lightly on top of one of Makellos’, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I… I never knew,” he said softly, heat gathering behind his eyes.
Grimwald snorted, but Der and the others looked at him with various levels of sympathy. “It was a long time ago,” Der said. “There were more of us back then. More outcasts, that is. Some have died since then. As far as we know, we are the only ones left. So, we banded together and have lived here for years.”
Makellos gulped a breath, quickly wiping at his eyes with his handkerchief. “I am so very sorry. If I had known…”
“If you had known, what?” Grimwald asked, gazing sternly at Makellos across the table. “What would a spoiled brat like you have done against your own mother?”
“Now, Grim, that’s not fair,” said Hardwic. “The prince has given no indication of being a spoiled brat. And he’s in just as much danger from the Queen as we were.”
Grimwald glowered but lowered his eyes to his soup bowl again.
Makellos smiled weakly. “I do not know what I would have done, or what I could even do. My mother rules the kingdom, not I. But what was done to you all is horrific, and I would not ever be a part of such cruelty.”
Dagobert smiled and squeezed Makellos’ wrist again.
“You seem like a kind soul,” said Bernhardt, taking a sip from his mug of water. “Very unlike the Queen.”
“That is perhaps the best compliment I could have received,” Makellos said, perking up a little, his eyes and smile growing a bit brighter. “Thank you, Bernhardt.” The little man nodded in return. “So, you all live here together in the forest. What do you do?”
“We work in the mountain mines, not far from here,” Hardwic said, gesturing with his spoon toward the forest out the window. “Every day, six of us are required to report to work. So, we rotate each day who stays home. That one takes care of the house and does the hunting and whatnot.”
Makellos stared around in surprise. “That is certainly a lot of work for one person to do alone,” he said. It also explained the decrepit state of the roof and the garden. How could anyone be expected to clean, hunt, cook enough food for seven, wash and dry clothes, tend the garden, chop wood, and keep the house in repair with only one day off each week after six days of hard labor?
“But now that you’re here, we have an extra pair of hands!” Sigmund said.
