LOTHAIR, THE GREAT -- A Tale of History

(excerpted from, "TOYLAND")

 “I greet you, Great Lothair! All Hail, Lothair, the Great!” – Sigurd, First King of Toyland.

othair the Great, of Toyland (as he would much later be known) was the first man in our small village to be named to any official post or authority.  He was unanimously elected “Mayor of All the People’s Courts and Grand Decider,” a long title to be sure, but we wanted to be precise.  Surely, ‘tis humorous now, looking back all these hundreds of years, but in those days we had never had a leader of any kind.  Oh, we had smart, even very wise folk that people deferred to in times of conflict, but a genuine leader on the order of, “He Who Brought Us Here,” no.  But time came when we realized that there were just too many of us to keep track of, and too many silly differences for to leave to the discretion of a small group of unofficial, if brilliant, inhabitants.  

I am guessing that the first question you will ask is, “Why Lothair?”  Ah, that is a very good question.  Many do not even remember the truth behind the decision.  I do.  I was there.  My name is Sigurd, better known to all of you as, “Sigurd, First King of Toyland.”

I was just a boy the day the much-respected Lothair the mason, decided to make his journey into the unknown wilderness to the east and seek out the truth about the legend of great dragon.  This legend had prevented many from ever venturing out of the city walls, and thus kept our village isolated and with virtually no contact, business or otherwise, that regular travel to the outside world would naturally breed.  No people had yet ventured as far into the continent as our people, or so we were told.   Now, in order to feel safe about seeking trade with the world outside to which we may sell our goods, we needed to know about the dangers involved, not the least of which presented itself in the form of the legend of the great dragon. 

Thus Lothair, considering the good of the community, decided that he would go and explore the eastern region to discover the truth.

“Go with grace, good Lothair,” we shouted, some, tossing flowers of many varieties and colors.  “All of Toyland wishes you luck.”  But many wept, as they believed they would never see dear Lothair again.  Lothair bowed gracefully and walked through the old wooden gates of the tiny little village.   He was the first member of the community travel east since our forebears arrived in the Long Ago.   

That night did Lothair camp on the far side of the mountain near the waterfall.  It was beautiful, he thought—almost enchanting, but since he did not believe in any of the local mythology he did not think beyond that.  As he drifted off peacefully, he became aware of some rustling in the bushes nearby.   “A raccoon, no doubt.”  He turned over and sought again to sleep.  Then he could swear he heard laughter—laughter such as that of very small children when they do not wish to be heard. 

“Hey-o!  Is anyone there?”

More laughter, and he thought, a sparkle of light.  “Ah-ha!  Now I see you!  Show yourself, if you be friend!”

Lothair stood and began to walk toward the voices. His foot became trapped in a small hole causing him to fall forward his face landing in a puddle of mud.

“Blecch!” he shouted.

Then the laughter tripled in volume.  There were several voices, all seemingly coming from the area of a strange glow.  He gathered himself, wiped the mud off his face, and walked further. 

“I know you’re there!  Why not show yourself!

At that moment, a chipmunk bit him on his ankle, not nearly hard enough to draw blood but enough for Lothair to feel a sting. 

“Gaaaaaaaaaaa” he took off running into the dark and fell ass-backwards into the lake.

It was too much for the Nymphs of the Lake to bear.  The all fluttered around Lothair, laughing, singing, but mostly laughing.  Lothair sat in the water, looking on in dumb amazement. 

“I must be dreaming,” he said. That only caused them to laugh even harder.  Lothair then noticed two gnomes on the shore of the lake smiling, and smoking pipes.  Several small animals, perched in the trees, also laughed heartily.

“Good lord! I…I…”

“He cannot speak!” said Felixerie. “Have we startled the wits out of you?”

“Yes, indeed you have! I cannot believe my own eyes.  Are you all real?”

“Oh…we are real,” said Roxanna.  “At first it was we who thought you were not real.  We have never seen your kind before.  What are you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You are not a wolf, or a bear, nor are you a horse of any kind.   You stand on two legs, yet…you are no ostrich!”  This brought howls of laughter, even from the gnomes and they were a tough audience.

“I am Lothair of Toyland.”

“Is that your name?”

“Yes.”

“But what are you?  What kind of being?  You are not a god are you?”

“Good heavens, no!  I’m just a person.  A…uh…human.”

“Human!  Oh….”

The night passed with much conversation and exchange of information.   Lothair, now completely mesmerized by the beautiful nymphs, the talking raccoons, and even the cantankerous gnomes, was like a child again, marveling, with great pleasure at his discovery. 

“And that is how we came to be here,” said Lothair.  “Not a very interesting story, it’s true, but you haven’t told me how you came to be here.”

“Ah,” said Felixerie, “that is a tale that we ourselves have yet to learn.  But look!  The sun rises!  We must go.  Farewell, Lothair of Toyland.  Come visit us again.”

“I certainly will, my new friends. Farewell.”

“And stay away from the Valley of Drollo!”

“Drollo?”

“The dragon! Did you not know?”

“The dragon!  But what…” it was too late.  The nymphs had disappeared.

Lothair intrigued by the nymphs warning could not but resist the urge to see this monster, if it were real and not some new joke of those merry pranksters.  Lothair packed his belongings and resumed his journey to the dreaded Valley of Drollo.  

Along the way a scent greeted Lothair’s nose, a strange, unsettling scent. 

“What is that odor,” Lothair wondered out loud to himself.

“That’s Drollo, fool!”  A voice bellowed from the side of the road.

“Who’s there?  Who calls Lothair of Toyland a fool?”

“I do!  It is Hortun of the Underplace who calls you a fool.”

“Underplace?”

“Yes, it is the dwelling of the gnomes.”

“Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!” Lothair roared with laughter.  “Underplace!  How clever?  How did you ever come up with THAT name?  Wow!  Underplace!  You should all be given a special…”

Suddenly, Lothair was hit in the mouth with a wad of thick horseshit.

“Keep it up, pal, and you will be known as Lothair the Loser, as you shall have lost your ball sack!”

“Alright!  Alright! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend—but you did call me a fool.”

“Well, anyone who doesn’t recognize the smell of the dragon must be a fool, or else he be doomed.”

“Doomed?”

“Yes, for the Drollo will swallow you whole.”

“I must see this dragon.”

“I warn you, you’d better be very careful.  Few survive a visit with Drollo.  May I offer a word of advice?”

“Surely.”

“Do not believe anything he tells you.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“Well, that is easy enough.”

“You would think so, but he is a clever monster who knows how to trick you into his lair.”

“I will not be fooled by a dumb animal.”

“An attitude of that kind will surely get you eaten, Lothair the Doomed.”

“Very well, I shall be careful.  Thank you dear gnome, whose name is Hortun.”

“My name is Winkie.”

“But you just said,

“I lied.  See how easy it is to fool you?”

“Well, thank you Winkie, I hope we meet again.”

“I hope so too, traveler, but I doubt we will, as you will be no match for Drollo’s cunning.”

“Not only will we meet again,” Lothair added, “but I will bring with me one of Drollo’s teeth.”

The gnome stared in utter disbelief.  He thought Lothair mad for sure.

And so, Lothair armed with new knowledge headed into Drollo’s Valley.

“Mmmm…what is that smell?  New meat that is unknown to me.”

Drollo raised his head to find the origin of the scent that so struck him. He spied Lothair.  “And who are you, young man?”

“It is I, Lothair of Toyland.”  Lothair stood on a tall rock well up the side of the hill that with several other hills encased Drollo in his lair.  Now he understood why so few had escaped and that Drollo himself could never. 

“A visitor!  Come friend, and make my acquaintance!”

“I will stay here for the moment if you don’t mind.”

“I do.  This is my home, and I wish you to be my guest.  Here I have all manner of fruit and vegetables to share with you.”

“I thank you, but here I will stay.”

“Ah, I understand now.  You have heard vicious rumors about me.  That I eat all who visit me, and that you must stay away.  Alas!  It is my curse!  And I spend a lonely life trapped in this valley!  Alas!  Boo-hoo! They are all jealous of me and have conspired to force me to live a life of lonely isolation in this dreary valley.   Boo-hoo!”

If he is lying, thought Lothair, then he is truly the most skilled liar he had ever seen.  Lothair actually felt pity for him.  But not enough to trust him.

“Dragon sir!  Please do not weep!”

“Oh, I shall never have friends.  No one will believe that I mean no harm.”

“Suppose there were a way to prove yourself to me?”

“What?  Tell me—anything—I shall do anything to prove myself.”

“Suppose you let me come down to the valley and do not eat me and let me go my way.”

“Excellent idea.”  Drollo began to salivate in anticipation of this meal.

“Better yet!  I will enter your mouth, sit on your tongue and you will not eat me, and let me walk out!”

“Even better idea!” This was too easy, thought Drollo.

“Fine!  Let me just remove my poisoned berries from my sack…”

“Poisoned berries?”

“Oh, yes.  Everyone in my village must carry poisoned berries. It is the law.  But don’t worry.  I’ll remove them.  Now, where did I put them…?” 

Lothair began searching and searching his packs and could not find them.  Of course, he couldn’t for they did not exist.  What the gnomes did not realize was that while Drollo lied beautifully and prayed on the gullibility of others, none were as gullible as Drollo, himself.  And so, Lothair, acting without doubt that he was carrying poisoned berries convinced Drollo of such, without a doubt.

“Oh, well, no matter. I should not be without them in any case.  If it were found out that I removed them, I would be in grave trouble.”

“Poisoned berries?”  Drollo repeated.  The dragon was beginning to sweat.

“Yes, very powerful, created by the Great Merlin himself.”

“Great Merlin?”

“Yes, the Sorcerer.”

“Sorcerer?”

“Oh, yes, he specializes in poisons of the most powerful kind.”

“Most powerful kind?”

“Come now, since you will not eat me, you will have nothing to fear. Now, open up and let me in.”

“This may not be the best way to…”

“I will be your friend forever.”

“I…I…” By this time Lothair was eye to eye with the large beast and began tapping on his nose.

“Come on, come on, open up!  Let’s go!” 

“Okay.  But be careful.  I don’t want any poisoned berries in my mouth.”

“Don’t worry, they are very secure.”

Slowly, Drollo opened his large mouth.  Teeth the size of Lothair hands sparkled in the light.  It was a frightening sight.  But Lothair continued his game unflinchingly.

He jumped up into the dragon’s mouth. 

“Uh…uh…be careful!” the dragon uttered, almost unintelligibly—the sweat was pouring profusely down his face.  He began trembling with nervousness.

“Okay, that’s long enough.”

“Why the rush?” Lothair reached for club he was carrying in his shirt. “I’m feeling very comfortable in here.” 

In one motion, Lothair clubbed one of the dragon’s teeth, and jumped from his mouth. The dragon barely felt the pain.

“Oh, so sorry, but I think I may have dropped several of the berries.”

“Whaaaaaaa?” shouted Drollo, who began spinning in circles.

“I have poisoned berries in my mouth!  Help!  What can I do?”

“Don’t worry.  Run over to the stream and drink as much water as you…”

In a flash, Drollo was drinking at the stream, and Lothair was up the side of the mountain, his prize tooth in hand.

“Farewell, my new friend,” Lothair shouted. “Don’t be surprised if you have very loose bowels for the next few days.

“Mmrmrmgh…slurp…slurp…”

Poor Drollo drank so much he almost drowned himself, but so sure he was that he had ingested poison that he had diarrhea for three days.

And so, Lothair returned triumphantly to town, dragoon’s tooth in hand, to the praise and tribute of all, I among them, shouting, “All hail, Lothair!  Hail the great Lothair!”  Thanks to Lothair safe trade routes to the east were determined and our village prospered and grew beyond any of our most reasonable expectations.

Hail Lothair, the Great!

I, Sigurd, King of Toyland, greet you!

All Hail, Lothair!  Lothair, the Great!