by Steve Berman
As the day wore on, he grew more and more exhausted. His night on the forest floor had been not one of peace and he longed for the feathered bed at home, and of the cleanliness of a bath. Deciding that it couldn’t hurt to take a nap, he chose a bed at random and lay down. His feet hung comically off the end but he no longer cared. Forrest was too tired.
As soon as his lids closed, he felt a rough hand shake his pants.
A gruff voice spoke, “And who are you?”
Forrest sat up, a tad too fast, and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The sun had gone down. Seven men stood before him, holding lanterns.
Embarrassed, he quickly stood up and away from the tiny beds. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ...”
“Didn’t mean to, what?” the thinnest one spoke, a scowl on his face. “Clean our house or climb into his bed?” He pointed towards the oldest member of the group.
“Well, no but yes.” Forrest shook his head. “I’m doing this all wrong. First, I should introduce myself. I’m Forrest.”
“Oh sure, and I’m Otter.” Otter rolled his eyes and pointed to each one of the men as he spoke. “This here’s Cuddle, Glutton, Chubb, Girth, and that there is Whiskers. Oh, and as I said, you’re in Carnal’s bed.”
“No really, that’s my name,” Forrest sputtered. “But my friends call me Frosty.”
“Like the snowman?” Cuddle asked with a smile.
“No, like …” But then Forrest remembered he dare not speak his last name, or they would know his identity. And then they would be in danger as well.
“Got it,” said Girth, the largest amongst them nodded vigorously, succeeding in popping a button off his taut vest. “Like the snowman.”
“Winter’s the best time for hot toddies,” said Glutton, wiping his mouth.
Carnal also wiped his own lips. “I’m always up for Todd to come around.”
Whiskers stepped forward, the hair on his head graying, his namesakes darker the farther from his head they grew. “What matters is the kindness,” he said. “You cleaned our home, and all of us really appreciate that. If you’d like, you’re welcome to stay as long as you continue to take care of the place. We work all day, and never have time for such chores.”
“I …” Forrest thought about it. He really had nowhere else to go. He could continue wandering lost in the woods, or he could stay here with these delightful fellows. They seemed friendly enough, even with the dark and caked smudges on their face. “I think I’d like that.”
That night, the men showed Forrest where they kept the food and other important items. The next day, they helped build him a bed befitting his stature and to give him some privacy from the tight-knit group. He found them quite charming, in their own way.
But after that, most days they left him there alone, fending for himself and cleaning. He started to hunt, as it’s not like they were bringing home meat from the mines. He found their form of trade quite interesting. They mined for ore. One of them, typically Whiskers, would travel to trade for more supplies. He offered to take Forrest on the next trip, but Forrest just didn’t have the heart to leave his new family.
Then one day, Forrest was bathing in the river, when he heard the heavy footfalls of a galloping horse. Through the tree line popped the colossal beast, its nostrils flaring, its chest panting.
“Oh my, have you gotten lost my little lamb?” Forrest called to it. But he was even more surprised when a shape on its back shifted and he was greeted with a handsome sight.
For upon the steed was a man like no other. Wide shoulders, wicked dark eyes that devoured the soul, and a beard that could rival his own. This man kept his beard shorter than his own, but that didn’t make it less magnificent. Forrest was absolutely spellbound.
The stranger dismounted, revealing his tall stature and stylish clothes. He called down to Forrest, “Are you okay?” as if the man thought to rescue him.
Forrest smiled a glorious grin. “Oh, more than fine. You’re welcome to join if you’d like.” Forrest wasn’t sure he could handle this man without a shirt on. He licked his lips at the thought.
The man brushed his fingers through his hair. “Well actually, you see I’ve managed to get myself lost, and I was wondering if you could point me in the direction of home.”
“I could point you to my home if you’d like.” Oh, how Forrest would like that.
“Ah, that sounds very nice. I’ve had a terrible day, up until meeting you, and what I wouldn’t give for a place to relax.”
Forrest remembered what that was like, being lost and feeling hopeless. He walked to the shoreline, unsure how to proceed. If he stepped any higher, the man would be able to see more than he probably had in mind. But feeling bold and a tiny bit lonely, Forrest exited the river, his erection bouncing in the air. Water dripped down his body and he smiled when he noticed the other man’s long perusal.
He dried off with his towel, taking longer than was probably necessary. He tried to pretend he didn’t have an audience, but anyone with eyes would notice his performance. He acted brazen, like a young buck. Taking his time, he gingerly pulled on his pants and buttoned his shirt only halfway up.
Inside the small cottage, the two men talked and joked together, each one “accidentally” brushing against the other, small touches on the arms, little bumps of the legs. They were giants in such a tiny space. Forrest usually felt overly large in the cabin, but with this man, he finally decided to just stretch out his legs and hold still. The other man followed suit, their thighs connecting above the knee.
He was an interesting fellow, Forrest found. Some great weight seemed to lay on the man’s shoulders, some heavy burdens left there by his parents. He too understood the weight of burdens and expectations and wished to relieve the man of his hardships. But for now, all he could do was fill the man’s cup with something warm and offer him food.
Day turned to night, and with it the temperature dropped. By the time the seven inhabitants of the cottage returned, the two were snuggled up on the couch, their limbs twisting together for warmth.
“What do we have here?” Otter demanded. “Another stray? See, this is what happens when you invite a stranger into your home.”
“I think he’s dreamy,” Cuddles added.
“Is there something we could do for you?” Carnal asked the man and raised his eyebrows suggestively.
“I seemed to have gotten lost and while Frosty here is quite the outdoorsman and has been more than hospitable,” the man tossed Forrest a sweet grin, “it seems he lacks the knowledge necessary to locate the nearest road.”
“Ah yes, Frosty’s not from around these parts,” Whiskers said. “But we can help you out with that. Which way are you trying to go?”
Forrest watched with heavy sadness as Whiskers and his friend discussed how to leave this place. His stomach felt wrenched as the man announced he would leave in the morning and Forrest just couldn’t bear the thought of being alone again. The seven cottage inhabitants had been more than nice to him but they just never seemed to trust him enough.
Ever the gentleman, the man insisted on sleeping on the couch, letting Forrest keep his giant bed to himself, much to Forrest’s disappointment (and Carnal’s).
And true to his word, the next day, his friend left. Leaving only his name as they parted. Philip.
“MIRROR MIRROR, IN WHICH I peered, tell me who has the most luxuriant beard?”
It had been weeks since the king had bothered to ask. Something about sentencing his stepson to die had changed him, the mirror felt.
When the huntsman had presented the massive collection of beard hair, the king barely spared it a glance. He placed it into a box next to the vanity, like a trophy. Yet he never came back to visit it, never opened it. And never spent more than a passing glance with the mirror .
“Why it’s so wonderful to hear your voice, Your Majesty,” the mirror said. “How I’ve missed …”
The mirror paused when the king scowled at him impatient
ly. “Yes, of course, on with it.”
Determined to make the king happy, the mirror focused through the haze of magic, completely and totally expecting to see the king’s handsome mug staring back at him. But no, shockingly, horribly, terribly no. The king’s stepson still stared back at him through the haze. Oh, what was a mirror to do?
Though he really couldn’t do anything. Forced to do the king’s bidding, the mirror reflected the stepson back at the king. Even he could see that the beard had grown in length but the boy had done a remarkable job at maintaining it. Wherever he was, he must have had just the right mixture as the sheen was admirable. And this coming from a mirror who had the honor of admiring the king’s luscious beard daily.
“What? How can this be?” The king turned ashen; his lips slammed together.
He lifted the box, opening the lid. “Then what’s in here?”
Because he asked, the mirror obeyed. “That’s, uh, not beard hair.”
“Then what is it?” He reached inside, pulling out the thick, wiry strands. Black dust coated his fingers.
The mirror glanced through the haze and choked on a laugh. “Chest hair … and …”
The vision showed him, but he resisted telling the king. The huntsman feared the amount of hair was insufficient, so he had reached down and trimmed an entirely different landscape. “Pubic hair.”
“This cannot be.” The king threw the box on the ground.
Something inside him was at war, a battle the mirror could not comprehend.
“No, I cannot allow this. I’ve sacrificed too much … I ....”
And the king stormed out, leaving the mirror alone with his thoughts about the king’s reaction. Was he relieved to see his stepson’s face?
Either way, the king left with a face set in resolve. The mirror could only fear for the huntsman and hope the man was smart enough to get far away after trying such a ruse.
ANOTHER WEEK PASSED BUT WITHOUT Philip, Forrest felt lonelier than ever. He should have asked to join him. He could make a living on his own. The cottage was clean now, much easier to maintain than before. He’d even been teaching the men how to take care of themselves, instead of relying on him, and they were doing a lovely job. Girth, who always was ready with a needle and thread, had managed to hem a pair of pants all by himself, along with properly sculpting the new hairs peeking out on his face.
But that day, as Forrest was cleaning alone in the cottage, he heard a tender knocking on the door. Excitement flowed through him as he considered Philip’s return. Philip knew where they lived. As long as he found that path home alright, he should be able to come back.
With a pep in his step, he ripped the door open only to come face to face with an old man. Forrest tried to keep his face from falling in disappointment. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, I seem to have gotten lost.” The man shook with age. “Could you be a dear and point me in the direction of the road? In exchange, I’d be more than willing to share this .…” The old man reached into his basket, pulling out a banana.
Having paid attention when the guys had explained the path to Philip, Forrest felt more than capable of helping this time. He explained that path before adding, “And you don’t have to share your last banana. You may need that for the journey.”
“That’s kind of you.” The elderly man arched his furry eyebrows. “I’m sure it’s not easy living out here in the woods.”
“No, not at first.” Forrest glanced down at a wandering squirrel and smiled. “If you need to rest your legs, you’re welcome to come inside.”
“No, no, I have places to be.” The man’s tight smile faded to a frown. “Did you build this place yourself?”
Moss twirled and crawled up the side of the building.
Surely, Forrest thought, a man of the world would recognize the wear and tear of aged wood? “No, but I found a few friends who were willing to take me in.”
“Ah, I see,” the old man said, as though he didn’t. “Living off the goodwill of others, as your generation tends to do.”
“That’s not at all—”
“Either way, I must thank you somehow,” the elderly man interrupted, passing the browning fruit towards Forrest. “You’ll offend these old hands if you refuse.”
Forrest took it, staring at the man’s eyes. There was something familiar about him. An unease settled in his stomach as the man stared at Forrest’s lips, licking his own chops in response.
Forrest shrugged. If the old pervert wanted to watch him eat a banana, so be it. As long as he left afterwards. Forrest peeled the sides and took in the thing whole. Feeling rather proud, he smiled as he chewed. But then a heaviness started to settle on his chest.
Feeling like an anchor dragged his stomach down, he lowered himself to the floor. The last thing Forrest heard was the sigh of the old man as his eyes drifted close.
PRINCE PHILIP TRIED TO FORGET his reckless trip in the forest. He’d been young and foolish to think even he could not get lost. And yet now, all he wanted to do was return, even if he did risk getting lost again. Anything to find Frosty.
It had to be love. He didn’t think it would be possible but after one night together, he was greedy for more. He’d never met a kinder man, and the fact that he was handsome just made him all the more irresistible. They were practically made for each other.
So, after many sleepless nights, he finally convinced his parents. He packed a bag and headed back out to the forest. Either Frosty was coming home with him or Philip was staying there.
He rode into the forest as if being chased by a fire, only stopping to keep the horse from tiring. He needed to feel Frosty’s warm hand against his arm. Needed the light bristle of leg hair brushing against his own. And what he wouldn’t do to comb his fingers through that beard.
Suddenly, riding the horse became very uncomfortable for Philip.
But how could he forget that first image of Frosty, as if a member of the fae folk had stepped out of a fairy tale and into his life? He had been lost, hungry, and scared when he heard the splash of water. And then, when he saw the liquid glistening and pooling on the man’s body, he just … he couldn’t stop staring. Frosty was like no other man he’d met. So large, so hairy, and so utterly delectable. He had to have a taste.
And as he came upon the cottage, he felt pure joy. This was his moment. This time, Philip would do all of things he could only dream about. But as he drew closer, he noticed seven shortish figures bowed over a glass case. He rode up next to them, glancing down. “What’s going on?”
Inside the case lay Frosty. It must’ve taken all of them to lift him inside. The case was rather unusual, and it took Philip a moment to realize what it truly was. A casket.
The dwarves were crying, tears streaking down their faces and into their beards if they had them. The one called Cuddle looked absolutely distraught. Of course, Philip felt the shock easing away and turning into something terrible in his chest. His heart was shattering. How could love so new and so pure already be gone from this world? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right.
Philip jumped down from the horse and walked up to the glass case. “What happened to him?”
To Philip, Forrest just looked like he was sleeping. He didn’t look like he drowned, for no river could ever take out such a man. He didn’t have any puncture wounds or bruises, as if from a fight. Was it illness? But how could he be so ill and the others fine?
“He’s been poisoned,” Glutton wailed.
Whiskers shook his head and a tuft of his beard came loose. “I knew Forrest was the king’s stepson, I just figured he had good reason for not telling us.”
“What?” Otter shot him a look of annoyance. “What do you mean?”
“Oh come on, there’s only one Forrest in the area who also goes by Frosty, and that’s that evil king’s stepson. Do you not pay attention to our bordering kingdom’s politics?”
“You’re the one who goes out and trades,” Girth sniffled.
“Yes,
and it’s my fault this happened. I should’ve realized he was in danger. That he would be too trusting … that …” Whisker began to bawl anew.
There was nothing Philip could say. Nothing he could do other than look down at Forrest’s handsome face and dream of a better time, when they could be together.
Maybe it was wrong, but he just had to kiss him. He couldn’t go the rest of his life wondering. And so he bent down, brushing his lips against Frosty’s. Their beards tangled and brushed against each other, the wiry whisks scratching his cheeks unlike anything he had ever experienced.
He pulled back, staring down at the only man he could ever love. The smells of sandalwood and bourbon lingered on his beard. Masculine. Intoxicating. How could he go on without him? But as he went to step back, Philip noticed pink coloring returning to Frosty’s cheeks. His lips returned to their rosy hue and his eyes, his eyes fluttered open, revealing the deep blue of the ocean. An endless amount of water Philip would happily forever drown in.
“Forrest?” Carnal whispered beside him.
Otter peered into the casket. “Guys, he’s moving! He’s alive!”
Frosty sat up, a lopsided grin on his face. “Wait, did I just miss our first kiss?” he asked the prince.
Philip smiled back. Their eyes locked on each other. “Maybe, but if you’re nice, I’ll let you remember the next one.”
Frosty reached out, grabbing Philip by the front of his shirt. He pulled him in and with a heavy growl, whispered above his lips, breath warm and heady, “You better.” And he smashed his lips against Philip’s, their mouths becoming a tangled mess, both eager never to be separated again.
And if Frosty didn’t like ruling Philip’s kingdom, well, he’d just have to get used to it, for Philip was next in line to the throne and would do everything in his power to keep them together. Even if that meant going to war with his future step father-in-law.
THE KING STOOD IN FRONT of his vanity, his face sunken with time and sleeplessness. “Mirror, Mirror, in which I peered, tell me who has the most luxuriant beard?”