The Hero’s Name

A fire crackled in a black stone hearth, as its fading embers cast a warm, amber glow on the wooden beams of the common room at the Walking Wheel Inn. The inn was notorious for its savory stew, juicy meats, and potent ale. The first snow of winter was falling, and the smell of roasting meats was like a siren call to weary travelers in search of a warm bed and a hot meal.

Barmaids wove their way through the crowd carrying plates of food and mugs of ale, while patrons sat around at tables telling stories and playing games of chance. The innkeeper himself fed fuel to the fire and helped deliver orders, while the tall burly bartender served drinks to thirsty patrons. A minstrel strummed her guitar and sang songs in exchange for a room and board.

At the bar in the back of the room sat a creature both short in stature and deep in his cups. He had a long grey beard and eyebrows to match. Upon his head was a red woolen hat and he wore a patchwork coat. A wooden crate was placed on the stool so that he could see over the counter. His booted feet dangled well above the floor. He took a long, deep draught of ale from a mug he held with both hands. 

“I’m too nice,” the creature lamented. “That’s my problem. Too nice! I should have never given her a way out of our bargain, nor helped her in the first place.”

The bartender leaned on the counter and looked down at the tiny fellow with compassionate eyes. “Let it go, friend,” he said in a caring voice, “this is eating away at you. It’s not healthy.”

The tavern door swung open, and a cool blast of winter air announced the arrival of a lone traveler seeking shelter from the storm. He brushed the snow off his broad shoulders and maneuvered through the crowd to the bar. He took the open stool next to the little dwarf, who spared him a sidelong glance. 

Ignoring the bartender’s advice, the tiny man went on, his voice rising with every word. “And she is no better than her old man. Not a shred of honor between them! The king should have taken his head just for suggesting it.”

“Suggesting what?” the newcomer asked as the bartender slid him a mug of dark brown ale. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

The bartender flashed the man a warning look but missed his mark. The goblin fixed the stranger with a dark and wrinkly gaze. They locked eyes for a long, tense moment before the dwarf finally spoke.

“Oh, I don’t mind you asking, stranger,” he said with a grin, “I don’t mind at all,” 

“Jacob Wilhelm is my name,” said the man, raising his mug in salute. “There. I am a stranger no more. And what might your name be, good sir?”

“That is the question, isn’t it?” the goblin responded, as if to himself. “I don’t suppose you would venture to guess?”

“You don’t have to do this,” the bartender broke in.

“Let us be!” the tiny man snapped. “It’s just a little good-natured fun. Nothing more.”

“I'm begging you, friend, put the past behind you. Move on!” the bartender responded. 

With a wave of his hand, the little man dismissed the bartender and set the mug to his lips. He drained the vessel of ale in one turn. He set the mug down and motioned for a refill. The bartender shook his head and went about his task.

The newcomer was now flustered, uncertain of what he had stumbled into. “Timothy?” he offered.

In a sarcastic tone, the dwarf responded, “Do I look like a Timothy?”

“I don’t know…Ichabod?”

The tiny man shook his head in response and stared into the distance with glassy eyes. “I saved her life”, he said in a quiet voice. “When her own father- her own flesh and blood had condemned her to death, I saved her life. And what did I get in return? What did I get!”

“I’m not sure, “the man said uneasily, then set the mug to his lips and downed his beer.

“I’ll tell you what I got,” the dwarf said, “Humiliation, ridicule, and a couple of worthless trinkets. Moreover, I became the laughingstock of the kingdom. That’s the part that hurts the most.”

“That sounds unjust,” Jacob said, trying to calm the little fellow down. “Tell me. How did this come about? Why did they treat you as such, if you saved her life?” He signaled the bartender for another round. 

“Excellent question. Her father was a miller and a petty man, never satisfied with his station in life. Always, he tried to appear more important than he was. He was a joke among the townspeople. Farmers, shepherds, and cobblers tolerated him because he was the only miller within a day’s march. Being a goblin, I move around them unseen as I tend to my business, thus I hear what they say when he is not there. The one thing this miller did have of value was the land he owned. It is rich with pheasant and deer and is among the king’s favorite hunting spots. One day, the king comes with his party, to take advantage of such richness, and what does the man tell the king? He tells him that his daughter could spin straw into gold!”

“Straw into gold,” Jacob said in disbelief, “surely you jest.”

“I kid you not, my friend.”

‘Of all the things he could tell a king, he tells him that?”

“He does!”

“And what does the king then do?”

“He does what any king would do. He locks her in a room and says, ‘Get to work or your life is forfeit’.”

That drew a big laugh from Jacob, who was now feeling the effects of the ale. “Of course, he did. What did this miller think the king would do? Say, ‘Wow, that’s quite a skill your daughter has. Have a good day?”

The goblin joined in the laughter and lowered his voice to a whisper. “I don’t know who the bigger fool is- the miller for suggesting it, or the king for believing it.”

The man stifled a laugh and nearly spilled his drink. The goblin continued, “Of course, it matters little. An innocent maiden’s life was at risk, and it was in my power to save her. So, I did.” He shrugged his shoulders and took another sip of ale. 

“Go on! This is as good a tale as I have heard in many a year!”

“Aye! But first, we must deal with our present dilemma.”

“Dilemma?”

“My mug is empty!” cried the goblin.

“Mine too!” cried the Jacob. “Let me be the hero of this tale. Bartender!”

With a shake of his head, the bartender replenished their drinks.

“So how did you save her?”

The goblin gave the man an incredulous look and said, “I spun the straw into gold, you bleary-eyed fool!” He burst into laughter once more and slapped the man on the back. When he recovered, he told the tale in full.

“Look, any fool knows that humans lack the necessary magic to turn straw into gold. Such magic is reserved for those of my kind, for we can be trusted to wield it responsibly. So, I enter the castle through a secret passage and find the maiden weeping. Through her sobs, she told me of her plight. I am no match for a woman’s tears, so I consoled her gently. I then told her to climb into the warm bed and sleep soundly, and when the morrow comes, she will awaken to her freedom.

Long into the night I worked and made good on my promise. I was weary and in need of my own bed. The maiden was so thrilled with my handiwork that she offered me her necklace as a token of her gratitude.”

“Sounds like a fair trade,” said Jacob.

“Fair enough, but I didn’t do it for personal gain, I did it because it was the right thing to do.” He then took a long deep swig of ale from his mug. Jacob joined him.

“I declined her offer at once, but she insisted and forced the necklace into my hand and begged me to take. So, I took it. Does that make me a bad person?”

“You’re not a bad person. I mean, a goblin’s got to eat, right?”

“My point exactly! But to hear her tell the tale, I refused to spin the straw into gold and held her life at ransom unless she gave me the necklace. Women!”

“Women,” Jacob agreed, solemnly.

“The next day I expected to see her free and to have this matter behind me. But the king’s greed had not reached its limit, and he demanded that she spin straw into gold once more, and again I came to her rescue. This time she forced a golden ring upon me. 

Jacob shook his head. “

I was concerned this may never end, but greedy as he may be, the king was wise enough to know that if you have too much of something, it loses its value. But he couldn’t have a pretty maiden running loose in the kingdom, turning straw into gold, so he told her to do it one last time, and not only would he free her, but make her his queen. More to keep an eye on her than out of true love, in my opinion.”

Again, I went to work. I was efficient at this point and finished quickly, and the maiden and I talked long into the night. She asked me about hopes and dreams, and I inquired of hers. We got to know each other quite well, or so I thought. At one point, she asked me about my greatest desire, and promised when she became queen she would grant it.

“That which I desire is beyond even a queen to grant,” I told her. 

“Name it,” she says, “and it shall be yours.

“I told her that my greatest desire was to have a child, a young lad or lass that I could raise as my own. But sadly, my wife died before we had children. I never remarried and nor did I intend to.” Tears welled in his eyes at the memory of his long-lost love. He took another swig and almost fell backward out of his stool. Jacob caught him with one hand and straightened him up. The little man continued. 

“She proceeded to tell me that since I saved her life three times, she would give me her firstborn child, to raise as my own. I told her that was madness and threatened to turn the gold back into straw. But she began to cry again and insisted that if I refused her offer, her death would be on my hands, and I would be no better than the king. So, I pressed her no further, seeking only an escape from this awkward situation. Do you understand the predicament I was in?

“Absolutely,” Jacob answered. “I, too, am no match for a woman’s tears and have been known to agree to anything under such circumstances.” The two clinked mugs at their common ground.

“Well, the years passed, and word spread of her newborn child. I was in the area and came to court to see the lad and to let her out of the bargain. I admit, I secretly hoped she would make me an honorable uncle and invite me into the child’s life. But when I entered her chamber, her face grew pale, and before I could speak, she called off the bargain of her own accord.

“She didn’t!”

“She most certainly did. And a fire inside me awoke at her dishonor, and if I am guilty of anything, it is for the threat I made.”

“You threatened the Queen? Jacob asked, astonished.

“It was an empty threat and not my finest hour. I told her the magic I used to turn straw into gold would be nothing compared to what I would do if she backed out of our deal.

Jacob’s jaw hung agape.

“Don’t look at me like that. I wasn’t going to follow through. I just wanted to see her quake in her boots, for I had known her when she was a commoner, and I did save her life, if you remember.

“She broke into tears yet again and, of course, my heart softened. I would give her a way out, but it would come at a price. You see, the one thing that bothered me all these years was that she never once asked me my name. When her father left her for dead and I delivered her, not only from that fate but to the very throne of the kingdom, she never had the decency to ask me my name!” In anger, the goblin slammed his mug on the bar top and the bartender hastened to the scene.

“This is what I’m talking about,” the bartender said firmly. “Being angry about things you can’t change is eating you alive. One more outburst and I will be forced to cut you off.”

The dwarf, still swaying in his stool, reached into his pocket and produced a gold coin. He handed it to the bartender and said, “Please. Let an old man finish his tale, then I will take my leave, and never darken your door again.”

The bartender slid the coin back across the bar. “Finish it quickly. But keep your gold and get some counseling,” The bartender stalked off and the tiny man turned his attention back to Jacob. 

“So, in my anger, I thought to make a fool of the queen and embarrass her before the court. I proposed that if she could guess my name within three days, I would let her out of the bargain. But she would have to guess in front of the entire court to prove that she didn’t care enough to know the name of the one who saved her life. You see, my people don’t share names like humans do. We each have a unique name, and it is forbidden to use the name of another of our kind, living or dead. 

“For two days she stumbled, and never came close. Everything was going my way. On the third day I arrived intending to let her fumble a final time, and then, to show that I was magnanimous, I would call off the bargain and walk out with my head held high. But she was more cunning than I gave her credit for, and my plan backfired. I will never know how, but she guessed my name, and all who were present mocked and jeered me on my way out. I was mortified. I was, and probably still am, the laughingstock of the kingdom.” 

“That is terrible. Come, let me buy you another ale. And, if you don’t mind me asking,” his companion slurred, “what is your name?”

“My name, my dear friend, is Rumpelstiltskin.”