On November 27, 2019, P.T. Wyant posted at ptwyant.com the Wednesday Words prompt of 'a family feast gone wrong'.This freebie story, which takes place in the same world as Fairest and Of Cuckoo Clocks and Crystal Coffins was the result, showing that Garnet, youngest of the seven/six dwarves does have reason to fear garden gnomes...
The meat tasted terrible. They hadn’t added anything unusual, only onions and garlic, yet the expression on the Olde Gnome’s expression spoke volumes. Not that she’d limit herself to just making faces. “That smells rancid.”
Popover and Treacle exchanged uncomfortable glances. Their Elder hadn’t even tasted the dinner yet. Garden gnomes weren’t known for their culinary skills, but the matriarch of their family was known far and wide for her discerning taste. She’d sat at the tables of sidhe ladies, high elven queens, and in the lost halls of mountain kings, where not all treasures were gold or gems. Some grew in the dark, hidden spots, releasing a succulent flavour when plucked and prepared.
Popover never would have dared to cook something so complicated, not for the Olde Gnome. He’d selected something a human might have grown in her garden, the simple onion. Nor was there anything too complicated with the braising process. No, it had to be…
“Something must be wrong with the meat,” Treacle muttered in an undertone. “Just where did you get it?”
Popover looked away, up at the beams overhead, festooned with mistletoe, honouring Mischief’s ability to ensnare and sicken Beauty, making him entirely his. “Well, it seemed like a waste. He was already dead and to simply leave him there-“
“Who?!” Treacle hissed, but it was too late.
The Old Gnome rose from her seat to fix her hooded gaze upon Popover. “This is orc, isn’t it?” She made a slow, hissing sound of disapproval, showing a hint of the monstrous face which lurked behind the plump, rosy-cheeked facade most garden gnomes presented to the world. “I thought I’d raised my family better than that. You never braise orc! The flavour is too harsh, stringent, and it makes the onions taste like wilted arugula!”
This was the ultimate put-down. Gnomes might eat leaves, tree bark, and nibble on feathers if they were prepared properly, but nothing was worse than wilted arugula.
“We’re sorry,” Treacle muttered in a low, grovelling tone. They’d earned a grovel. They needed to grovel after a mistake like this. Only something about the other gnome’s fawning tone irritated Popover.
“Why you expect so much of us, I don’t know,” he muttered, examining his knotty knuckles. “We’re the only gnomes anywhere expected to be gourmets and you’re the only elder with such expectations. I don’t know why we can’t be more like other gnomes, concentrating on gardening, mining, or-“
He didn’t get to finish his sentence. A stinging slap to his jaw sent his head spinning, silencing him.
“I expect this much of you because you’re my family. I expect such a thing because it’s not the sort of thing one expects from garden gnomes.” The Olde Gnome seized his shoulders and shook him. “I expect it because butchering an orc and feeding it to your family is disgusting!”
“How is it any more disgusting than butchering and serving up any other living creature?” Popover rubbed his cheek. “Why can’t we simply eat vegetables?”
“Normally that’s fine, but this is a special, sacrificial holiday on which blood needs to be spilled and a life consumed.” The matriarch softened her voice, loosening her grip on his shoulders. “It’s important that the meal is prepared well, to honour those who came before us, who created us.”
“Why?” Popover tried to make his own voice as respectful as possible. “Those who came before us are gone. Those who created us abandoned us. Why should we honour them?”
“Just because they’re gone doesn’t mean they should be forgotten. Even if they abandoned us, we’re here because of them.” The Olde Gnome stroked Popover’s shoulder. “I’m grateful for being here. I’m grateful I have you, even if your cooking makes me want to cry sometimes.”
Popover found his defiance draining from him, leaving him hanging his head in his ancestor’s grip.
“So here’s what we’re going to do. We’ll throw out the stew.” The Olde Gnome glanced from Popover to Treacle. “I’ll take you out, show you how to hunt some proper meat for this occasion.”
“What are we hunting?” Treacle exchanged an uneasy glance with Popover.
“Something far more tender and less difficult than to catch than orc.” The Elder smiled, showing her teeth to her relations. “I’m sure someone was foolish enough to get caught in a faerie ring and follish enough to slow down while dancing.” She winked at both of the younglings.
Treacle grinned back, showing teeth of her own. Popover lifted his head, baring his own sharp incisors.
Perhaps this family holiday would turn out to be fun, after all.
I'm hoping I got some work done on Of Cuckoo Clocks and Crystal Coffins during April Camp NaNoWriMo. If you want to read Fairest, my f/f fantasy fairytale, which combines elements of Sleeping Beauty, Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, and Cinderella, it's here with a bunch of other
LGBTQIA+ fairytales in Once Upon a Rainbow...
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