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capri0mniThis started as an "Aha!" moment, almost exactly four years ago, when I reread the story The Frog King, or: Iron Heinrich (English translation by D.L. Ashlimann, (C) 1999-2002), looking for a clue as to what the king had done to piss off the witch, and get turned into a frog, in the first place, only to be gobsmacked by three realizations:
And that last one really cemented the disability metaphors in the story, for me. The unspoken assumption that it "must have been a witch" ties into the Just-World Fallacy that people get faced with when they become disabled: They must have eaten the wrong foods, or exercised too little (or too much, or the wrong way), or they had too many negative thoughts, etc., etc.. When in reality, there is often nothing-- and no one-- to blame. Sometimes, disability just happens.
So -- last November, for NaNoWriMo, I wanted a place in the forest for the queen to make a wish at a magical body of water, so I decided to make an allusion to the well and linden tree in "The Frog King." Now that it's the spring session of Camp NaNoWriMo, I decided to polish and finish my November Novel ... And uhm... my brief allusion/backstory turned into a full-on retelling of the original (with my protagonist princess made older, and given more agency when it comes to setting physical boundaries, 'cause having her be a little girl was just creepy)
The Frog King, retold:
Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess, who was so beautiful that even the sun lusted after her, so that, to find peace away from everyone's gaze (even the sun's), she went into the forest where there was a natural well at the root of a great linden tree, and there, she spend her time until the sun set tossing her favorite golden ball in the air and catching it again.
But then, one day, the ball slipped from her fingers, and landed in the well. And the well was so deep, she knew that she would never be able to reach all the way to the bottom. But as she sat there, mourning her loss, and wondering how she would tell her father, the king, that she had lost her treasure, and if he would ever let her go out into the forest alone again, a great big frog popped his head out of the water and asked her what she would give him if he retrieved her golden ball for her.
The princess was so astonished to hear a man's voice coming out of a frog's mouth that it took her a while to respond. Clearly, she thought, since frogs can't talk, this must be a man under some sort of spell; whether it was a spell he'd cast on himself, or had broken some taboo, or offended a witch somewhere, she had no way of knowing. And a shiver went through her at the thought that he might have been watching her, all this time, when she had thought that she was alone-- away from the gaze of men. Still, she (like all princesses) she had been raised to be gracious to those more vulnerable than herself, and, at the moment, she was the one with more power, here. "Well," she said, at last, "At the very least, I could invite you to dinner."
The frog nodded. "At the very least," he said, and with that, he dove under the water again.
The princess sat there at the edge of the well, waiting to see if the frog would return. But the well was very deep, and very dark, and when the surface of the water had gone completely still, so that there wasn't even a ripple on its surface, and looking into it was like looking into a mirror, she came to the conclusion that her ball was just too heavy for the frog. So, with a sigh, she started the long walk home back to her palace.
Before long, though, she heard a "plip, plop, plip" on the path behind her, and she turned around to see the frog hopping along behind her, with his great mouth stretched wide around her golden ball.
She gasped in surprise, and did her best not to laugh at the ridiculous sight.
The frog then dropped the ball at her feet, and said: "You promised."
And the princess agreed that she had. She thanked him. And picking the frog up in one hand, and the golden ball in the other, she continued the walk home, this time, trying to figure out how to tell her father that this big frog would be her guest at dinner that night.
The king was indeed surprised to see his daughter show up for dinner with a frog, and was about to order his personal guards to toss it out the window, when (to his surprise as much as her own) the frog spoke up in the clearest human voice and addressed him in the most courteous and proper royal etiquette (So not some unfortunate shepherd boy, then, the princess thought).
And in the astonished silence that fell over the table, the princess was able to explain that the frog had retrieved her golden ball for her, and she had promised him a seat at dinner in return.
And after that, the king enthusiastically agreed.
The princess set the frog down on the silken cushion of a golden chair right beside her own, and served him a smaller portion of each food of the meal, laid out on a fine china saucer.
But the frog objected: "That well was very deep and cold," he said, "and that golden ball was so heavy. If it weren't for me, your treasure would be lost forever. I should sit beside you, and eat from your own plate."
The princess was about to object that this was more than she had promised him.
But before she could say anything, her father the king replied: "Quite right. Quite right. A princess must always be a generous hostess."
So the king's youngest daughter lifted the frog from the chair to the table, while her two elder sisters squirmed and made faces.
And in between bites, the frog and the king discussed political matters, and the state of diplomacy between the various neighboring kingdoms, while the princess's mind raced, trying to figure out who this might be. There had been no news of any nobleman going mysteriously missing, and no rumors of unwholesome magic at work in either her own kingdom, or in any of the neighboring kingdoms with which her father had made alliances. She began to worry that this might be a wizard in disguise, who'd come to spy on her father's affairs, and she kept trying to interject and change the subject, but to no avail. Her father was thoroughly charmed.
And after dinner, and after dessert, as the courtiers and family members were getting ready to go off to bed, the king spoke up and said that since it was now dark, and it was a long way back to the well, that their guest should spend the night, and that his daughter, the princess would carry him back to the forest in the morning.
She expected her father to offer the frog a resting place in the fountain, at the center of the royal courtyard, but instead, he said: "Of course, as my daughter's honored guest, you are welcome to sleep in her chambers."
And so, the princess was obligated, unable (without breaking royal protocol) to protest her father's word in front of guests, to carry the frog up to her room. She'd been mildly charmed by his efforts to return her golden ball to her, but by now, she was nearing the end of her patience.
Still, she held her tongue, and with as much courtesy as she could muster smiled the whole way to her room. She filled the basin on the washstand with fresh water for the frog, and set her him down beside it, bid him good night, and slipped behind the curtain for privacy, as she got herself ready for bed.
But her hand had barely touched the hem of the bed curtain when the frog called out to her: "Is that any way to treat an honored guest?" he demanded. "To give your guest a cold, hard place to sleep, and keep the feather bed for yourself? I should like to lie in your bed, as well."
And with that, the princess's last bit of patience finally snapped. She strode over to the frog, picked him up between her thumb and forefinger.
"If you want my bed, Sir Frog," she said, "you shall have it!" and with that, she flung him against the wall with all her might.
He did not turn into a messy splat, as she had half expected. But rather, as soon as he hit the wall, he changed into a full-grown man, as perfect as an image created by a painter, and as naked as a frog.
Or at least that was the impression in her mind after she had turned her back on him-- her reaction was as quick as pulling her hand away from a hot stove. And it took her a moment to find her voice: "You'd been enchanted, I suppose," she managed to say, as she waited for the blush to fade from her cheeks.
It felt like forever before he finally spoke. "Yes."
"A prince?"
"A king, actually."
"Oh." (Well, that explained the dinner conversation) "And you needed to get into a princess's bed in order to break the spell, I suppose?"
"I need to share her bed."
"Just 'share'?"
"Just."
"Alright, then," the princess said. "You face the wall, or you're turning back into a frog."
He said something then-- or he almost did-- something halfway between a word and a croak. And the princess fought the urge to turn and look back to see if voicing her doubt had caused the spell to revert, and there was now a frog in her bed.
But she heard the rustle of bedclothes, and the bed creak under the weight of something much larger than a frog.
And when she was sure he could not see her, she sat, gingerly, on the edge of the bed, and took off her shoes and stockings, and slipped, fully clothed, except for her bare feet) between the top sheet and the blanket at the very edge of her own mattress, and closed her eyes.
She drifted into uneasy half-dreams, ever aware of the walls around her, and of the square of sky she could see through her chamber window, of the weight of his body at her back, and the faint scent of well water that still clung to him. Was he really a king? Where, and what was his kingdom? He would be her husband-- and she, his wife-- probably before the next sunset; that was guaranteed, now that they had shared a bed. That meant this would likely be the last night she would ever spend in this room. She wished she could simply be at peace, then. But. Was there a queen he had left behind? What had become of her, if so?
At some point, she must have fallen asleep, because she had the distinct sensation of waking up. The square of moonlight on the far wall had faded into a uniform violet grey of predawn light.
And then, she heard the cock's crow from the palace courtyard, and quietly slid out from under the covers.
The man in her bed (whose name she still did not know) continued sleeping, But there came a brief shift in the rhythm of his breathing, and the princess knew that he would be waking soon.
She went to the washbasin to wash her face and hands. And the cock crowed a second time.
And the man in her bed mumbled in his sleep: something about the wind and a road, and other words which may have been in a language she had never heard.
She bent down to put on her stockings and shoes. The rooster in the palace courtyard crowed a third time, just as the first sliver of sunlight came through her window.
There was a quick and silent flash of light in the corner of her eye, and when the princess looked up, there was a full set of clothes laid out across the dowry chest at the foot of her bed. The coat was of red velvet, with gold buttons, and golden thread finishing the buttonholes. There was a broad purple sash, embroidered with heraldric designs she did not recognize.
He stirred again, kicking at the covers, and yawned widely.The princess stepped into the foyer of her bedchamber to give both of them a moment of privacy. She let down her hair, brush it, and braid it again. And as she brushed out the tangles in her hair, she sorted out the tangles in her thoughts as well.
So. The manifestation of his clothes was clearly a sign that whatever magic had transformed him to a frog's shape had been broken. And also, he clearly was a king, as he had claimed. Then why hadn't she or her father known of him before this?
She managed to keep her hands steady as she braided her hair, even as she listened to the sounds of him rising from the bed, and the rustle of his clothes as he dressed. When she heard, from the sound of his footsteps, that his boots were on, she took a deep breath, counted slowly to five, and stepped back into the main part of her bedchamber.
"Good morning... Your Majesty," she said, remembering the honorific in time, and feeling a blush rise up her cheeks and to her ears that seemed to burn even hotter than the night before, when he was naked in her bed (She supposed there was no good way to start a day with someone after you had flung them against the wall the night before).
The king bowed with a deep nod. "Your Highness," he said. He looked down at his hands and flexed his fingers. "I should, well-- I thank you."
"Really?"
"It feels odd, having so many bones, again," he said, instead of answering her directly, running one hand down his side over his ribs.
The princess had never considered how many bones there were in a frog, before. She cleared her throat. "They'll be expecting us at breakfast," she said. "... though probably not like this."
"I suppose not." He offered his arm.
And after only half moment's hesitation, she took it.
He ended up leaning more on her, on the way down the stairs, than she on him. And with each step, she could feel him testing his weight, as if he didn't quite trust his legs. It made her wonder just how long he had been living without this human form, and how long it would take him to get used to it again-- if ever.
But he managed, somehow, to hide his uncertainty, an embody the royal confidence expected of his status when they reached the bottom stair and turned the corner to the banquet hall, where breakfast had been laid out.
For her own part, the king's youngest daughter was taken aback by how much she enjoyed the looks of astonishment on her sisters' faces. For nearly as long as she could remember, they had made a point to remind her (sometimes mockingly, and sometimes with pity) that she was of the lowest rank among them, destined only to be a lady-in-waiting, and never a mother of kings. She had neither envied them, nor felt the need for their pity. Of all the things to long for, a husband had always struck her as being the least interesting. Still, it was amusing to watch as their smug assumptions crumbled before them.
Breakfast was eaten quickly and in near silence. Her father's face was a grim mask-- his mouth drawn straight and thin, and his left eye twitched in that way it did when he was holding his tongue. She wondered what he had been expecting to happen, since he seemed to know he'd been talking to an enchanted man of rank at dinner-- and he had been the one who insisted she host the stranger for the night.
The marriage ceremony was a hasty affair in the palace's private chapel, with only the immediate family and their servants as witnesses.
And the phrase "Husband and wife" was barely out of the priest's mouth before they heard the rattle and clatter of a carriage and eight roll up outside the door. Where it had come from she couldn't imagine. It must have materialized somewhere on the road, as his clothes had done, when it was needed.
The king-- her husband, she reminded herself-- nearly sprinted through the chapel door as the carriage slowed to a stop.
The coachman alighted, and was in the act of dropping to one knee to honor his master when the king interrupted him, and pulled him up into an embrace.
"Heinrich!" he exclaimed. "My good man-- it- it's been too long."
Heinrich pulled away first and straightened his shoulders in an effort to maintain decorum. But the princess could see that his cheeks were wet, and he swallowed hard before he managed to utter the words "Your Majesty," as he helped him up into the carriage.
As he turned to help her up, she said, quietly: "If we're-- if we're not to come back here, again, could you please stop by the path leading into the forest? There's someone... I mean a place, that I want to say 'Good-bye' to."
Heinrich looked to the king, who gave an almost imperceptible nod. "I know the place," he said.
Heinrich then turned to her and answered: "It would be my pleasure, Your Majesty," he said, as he helped her into the seat.
It was a short ride to the woodland path, and she made her way as quickly as she could to the linden tree, where she had spent so many days of her recent life. She lay her hand on the trunk, and it felt warm under her palm, like the touch of an old friend. Its branches, covered with large, heart-shaped leaves stretched over her head like a protective roof.
She looked down at her reflection in that well at the tree's roots. She didn't see the beauty that inspired the lust and envy of so many others-- the lust and envy that had spurred her to seek this place as refuge.
What if she had said "No, thank you," when the frog had offered to retrieve her golden ball for her? Was the bauble worth this price? Then the image of the young king hugging his manservant-- the joyful tears at their reunion-- flashed before her mind's eye. Was her continued freedom worth more than that joy denied?
She patted the tree's trunk, as though it were a dear friend's shoulder. Then, on an impulse, she plucked one of the slender, leafy, branches to take with her. She just could not bear to leave this old friend behind entirely.
And then, as quickly as she could, she ran back to the carriage, where the eight fine horses with ostrich plumes decorating their harnesses and golden bells on their bridles, were tossing their heads impatiently.
No sooner was she back in her seat than Heinrich cracked his whip, and they were off faster than she had ever gone before. The carriage rocked side to side, its frame creaked and complained over the sound of the horses' galloping hooves. The landscape was a blur of green below and blue above, as if it were a long stroke of paint from an artist's brush.
And then, all of a sudden, came three, loud, metallic, bangs, like giant watch springs breaking, or three swords being broken over stones, that left her ears ringing and made her head ache.
"Heinrich!" the young king called, over his shoulder, "is the carriage in danger?"
"The carriage is fine, my king," he said. "Those were three iron bands I'd put around my heart, for fear it would break in two for grief, when you were lost to us."
The king slumped back in his seat, and his shoulders sagged, as if overcome with exhaustion.
No more words were spoken by any of them, the rest of the way, though the carriage sped on, and the horses never tired, and the landscape remained blur outside the window, so she could not see where it was they were going, or the way in which they went to get there.
So, instead, she stared at the branch from the linden tree in her hand, all through the day until it was too dark to see anything, and she drifted into another uneasy sleep, holding on to the comfort that the stranger she had married could not be wholly evil, if he inspired such love and loyalty in others.
The carriage did not slow until morning light crossed their faces again, and Heinrich called out to them that they were once again crossing the border of their home country. Only then did his stop the carriage and unhitch the horses, to let them graze, and drink from the river that marked the nation's border.
She took the opportunity to alight from the carriage and stretch her for as long as the horses needed to graze. She went as far as the nearest crossroads, and there, she planted the linden tree's branch, with a silent prayer that it take root and flourish, so that in this strange new land, there might still be a connection to home.
The linden tree did indeed take root. and it continued to grow for years, even as the king's new bride became the mother of kings, turn, even as she and the frog king became figures of history, then legend, and, finally, fairy tales-- no longer believed to be true. And through all those centuries, rain dripped down from one branch of that now giant tree, until, drop by drop, a well formed, as deep and round, and as perfectly clear as a mirror.
Some said that well was a source of magic, and if you weren't careful, it would grant you a whatever you wished-- no matter how hasty or foolish that wish might be.
- The sexual overtones mixed with paternalism and suggestions of pedophilia
- The potential for disability metaphors from start to finish (The frog makes no demands for token demonstrations of love, only of access to spaces associated with human dignity: a place at the table, and a soft place to sleep), and
- There is No Witch in the entire story!
(not even at the very end, when the witch would ordinarily be punished for her evildoing, in order to provide the denouement)
And that last one really cemented the disability metaphors in the story, for me. The unspoken assumption that it "must have been a witch" ties into the Just-World Fallacy that people get faced with when they become disabled: They must have eaten the wrong foods, or exercised too little (or too much, or the wrong way), or they had too many negative thoughts, etc., etc.. When in reality, there is often nothing-- and no one-- to blame. Sometimes, disability just happens.
So -- last November, for NaNoWriMo, I wanted a place in the forest for the queen to make a wish at a magical body of water, so I decided to make an allusion to the well and linden tree in "The Frog King." Now that it's the spring session of Camp NaNoWriMo, I decided to polish and finish my November Novel ... And uhm... my brief allusion/backstory turned into a full-on retelling of the original (with my protagonist princess made older, and given more agency when it comes to setting physical boundaries, 'cause having her be a little girl was just creepy)
The Frog King, retold:
Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess, who was so beautiful that even the sun lusted after her, so that, to find peace away from everyone's gaze (even the sun's), she went into the forest where there was a natural well at the root of a great linden tree, and there, she spend her time until the sun set tossing her favorite golden ball in the air and catching it again.
But then, one day, the ball slipped from her fingers, and landed in the well. And the well was so deep, she knew that she would never be able to reach all the way to the bottom. But as she sat there, mourning her loss, and wondering how she would tell her father, the king, that she had lost her treasure, and if he would ever let her go out into the forest alone again, a great big frog popped his head out of the water and asked her what she would give him if he retrieved her golden ball for her.
The princess was so astonished to hear a man's voice coming out of a frog's mouth that it took her a while to respond. Clearly, she thought, since frogs can't talk, this must be a man under some sort of spell; whether it was a spell he'd cast on himself, or had broken some taboo, or offended a witch somewhere, she had no way of knowing. And a shiver went through her at the thought that he might have been watching her, all this time, when she had thought that she was alone-- away from the gaze of men. Still, she (like all princesses) she had been raised to be gracious to those more vulnerable than herself, and, at the moment, she was the one with more power, here. "Well," she said, at last, "At the very least, I could invite you to dinner."
The frog nodded. "At the very least," he said, and with that, he dove under the water again.
The princess sat there at the edge of the well, waiting to see if the frog would return. But the well was very deep, and very dark, and when the surface of the water had gone completely still, so that there wasn't even a ripple on its surface, and looking into it was like looking into a mirror, she came to the conclusion that her ball was just too heavy for the frog. So, with a sigh, she started the long walk home back to her palace.
Before long, though, she heard a "plip, plop, plip" on the path behind her, and she turned around to see the frog hopping along behind her, with his great mouth stretched wide around her golden ball.
She gasped in surprise, and did her best not to laugh at the ridiculous sight.
The frog then dropped the ball at her feet, and said: "You promised."
And the princess agreed that she had. She thanked him. And picking the frog up in one hand, and the golden ball in the other, she continued the walk home, this time, trying to figure out how to tell her father that this big frog would be her guest at dinner that night.
The king was indeed surprised to see his daughter show up for dinner with a frog, and was about to order his personal guards to toss it out the window, when (to his surprise as much as her own) the frog spoke up in the clearest human voice and addressed him in the most courteous and proper royal etiquette (So not some unfortunate shepherd boy, then, the princess thought).
And in the astonished silence that fell over the table, the princess was able to explain that the frog had retrieved her golden ball for her, and she had promised him a seat at dinner in return.
And after that, the king enthusiastically agreed.
The princess set the frog down on the silken cushion of a golden chair right beside her own, and served him a smaller portion of each food of the meal, laid out on a fine china saucer.
But the frog objected: "That well was very deep and cold," he said, "and that golden ball was so heavy. If it weren't for me, your treasure would be lost forever. I should sit beside you, and eat from your own plate."
The princess was about to object that this was more than she had promised him.
But before she could say anything, her father the king replied: "Quite right. Quite right. A princess must always be a generous hostess."
So the king's youngest daughter lifted the frog from the chair to the table, while her two elder sisters squirmed and made faces.
And in between bites, the frog and the king discussed political matters, and the state of diplomacy between the various neighboring kingdoms, while the princess's mind raced, trying to figure out who this might be. There had been no news of any nobleman going mysteriously missing, and no rumors of unwholesome magic at work in either her own kingdom, or in any of the neighboring kingdoms with which her father had made alliances. She began to worry that this might be a wizard in disguise, who'd come to spy on her father's affairs, and she kept trying to interject and change the subject, but to no avail. Her father was thoroughly charmed.
And after dinner, and after dessert, as the courtiers and family members were getting ready to go off to bed, the king spoke up and said that since it was now dark, and it was a long way back to the well, that their guest should spend the night, and that his daughter, the princess would carry him back to the forest in the morning.
She expected her father to offer the frog a resting place in the fountain, at the center of the royal courtyard, but instead, he said: "Of course, as my daughter's honored guest, you are welcome to sleep in her chambers."
And so, the princess was obligated, unable (without breaking royal protocol) to protest her father's word in front of guests, to carry the frog up to her room. She'd been mildly charmed by his efforts to return her golden ball to her, but by now, she was nearing the end of her patience.
Still, she held her tongue, and with as much courtesy as she could muster smiled the whole way to her room. She filled the basin on the washstand with fresh water for the frog, and set her him down beside it, bid him good night, and slipped behind the curtain for privacy, as she got herself ready for bed.
But her hand had barely touched the hem of the bed curtain when the frog called out to her: "Is that any way to treat an honored guest?" he demanded. "To give your guest a cold, hard place to sleep, and keep the feather bed for yourself? I should like to lie in your bed, as well."
And with that, the princess's last bit of patience finally snapped. She strode over to the frog, picked him up between her thumb and forefinger.
"If you want my bed, Sir Frog," she said, "you shall have it!" and with that, she flung him against the wall with all her might.
He did not turn into a messy splat, as she had half expected. But rather, as soon as he hit the wall, he changed into a full-grown man, as perfect as an image created by a painter, and as naked as a frog.
Or at least that was the impression in her mind after she had turned her back on him-- her reaction was as quick as pulling her hand away from a hot stove. And it took her a moment to find her voice: "You'd been enchanted, I suppose," she managed to say, as she waited for the blush to fade from her cheeks.
It felt like forever before he finally spoke. "Yes."
"A prince?"
"A king, actually."
"Oh." (Well, that explained the dinner conversation) "And you needed to get into a princess's bed in order to break the spell, I suppose?"
"I need to share her bed."
"Just 'share'?"
"Just."
"Alright, then," the princess said. "You face the wall, or you're turning back into a frog."
He said something then-- or he almost did-- something halfway between a word and a croak. And the princess fought the urge to turn and look back to see if voicing her doubt had caused the spell to revert, and there was now a frog in her bed.
But she heard the rustle of bedclothes, and the bed creak under the weight of something much larger than a frog.
And when she was sure he could not see her, she sat, gingerly, on the edge of the bed, and took off her shoes and stockings, and slipped, fully clothed, except for her bare feet) between the top sheet and the blanket at the very edge of her own mattress, and closed her eyes.
She drifted into uneasy half-dreams, ever aware of the walls around her, and of the square of sky she could see through her chamber window, of the weight of his body at her back, and the faint scent of well water that still clung to him. Was he really a king? Where, and what was his kingdom? He would be her husband-- and she, his wife-- probably before the next sunset; that was guaranteed, now that they had shared a bed. That meant this would likely be the last night she would ever spend in this room. She wished she could simply be at peace, then. But. Was there a queen he had left behind? What had become of her, if so?
At some point, she must have fallen asleep, because she had the distinct sensation of waking up. The square of moonlight on the far wall had faded into a uniform violet grey of predawn light.
And then, she heard the cock's crow from the palace courtyard, and quietly slid out from under the covers.
The man in her bed (whose name she still did not know) continued sleeping, But there came a brief shift in the rhythm of his breathing, and the princess knew that he would be waking soon.
She went to the washbasin to wash her face and hands. And the cock crowed a second time.
And the man in her bed mumbled in his sleep: something about the wind and a road, and other words which may have been in a language she had never heard.
She bent down to put on her stockings and shoes. The rooster in the palace courtyard crowed a third time, just as the first sliver of sunlight came through her window.
There was a quick and silent flash of light in the corner of her eye, and when the princess looked up, there was a full set of clothes laid out across the dowry chest at the foot of her bed. The coat was of red velvet, with gold buttons, and golden thread finishing the buttonholes. There was a broad purple sash, embroidered with heraldric designs she did not recognize.
He stirred again, kicking at the covers, and yawned widely.The princess stepped into the foyer of her bedchamber to give both of them a moment of privacy. She let down her hair, brush it, and braid it again. And as she brushed out the tangles in her hair, she sorted out the tangles in her thoughts as well.
So. The manifestation of his clothes was clearly a sign that whatever magic had transformed him to a frog's shape had been broken. And also, he clearly was a king, as he had claimed. Then why hadn't she or her father known of him before this?
She managed to keep her hands steady as she braided her hair, even as she listened to the sounds of him rising from the bed, and the rustle of his clothes as he dressed. When she heard, from the sound of his footsteps, that his boots were on, she took a deep breath, counted slowly to five, and stepped back into the main part of her bedchamber.
"Good morning... Your Majesty," she said, remembering the honorific in time, and feeling a blush rise up her cheeks and to her ears that seemed to burn even hotter than the night before, when he was naked in her bed (She supposed there was no good way to start a day with someone after you had flung them against the wall the night before).
The king bowed with a deep nod. "Your Highness," he said. He looked down at his hands and flexed his fingers. "I should, well-- I thank you."
"Really?"
"It feels odd, having so many bones, again," he said, instead of answering her directly, running one hand down his side over his ribs.
The princess had never considered how many bones there were in a frog, before. She cleared her throat. "They'll be expecting us at breakfast," she said. "... though probably not like this."
"I suppose not." He offered his arm.
And after only half moment's hesitation, she took it.
He ended up leaning more on her, on the way down the stairs, than she on him. And with each step, she could feel him testing his weight, as if he didn't quite trust his legs. It made her wonder just how long he had been living without this human form, and how long it would take him to get used to it again-- if ever.
But he managed, somehow, to hide his uncertainty, an embody the royal confidence expected of his status when they reached the bottom stair and turned the corner to the banquet hall, where breakfast had been laid out.
For her own part, the king's youngest daughter was taken aback by how much she enjoyed the looks of astonishment on her sisters' faces. For nearly as long as she could remember, they had made a point to remind her (sometimes mockingly, and sometimes with pity) that she was of the lowest rank among them, destined only to be a lady-in-waiting, and never a mother of kings. She had neither envied them, nor felt the need for their pity. Of all the things to long for, a husband had always struck her as being the least interesting. Still, it was amusing to watch as their smug assumptions crumbled before them.
Breakfast was eaten quickly and in near silence. Her father's face was a grim mask-- his mouth drawn straight and thin, and his left eye twitched in that way it did when he was holding his tongue. She wondered what he had been expecting to happen, since he seemed to know he'd been talking to an enchanted man of rank at dinner-- and he had been the one who insisted she host the stranger for the night.
The marriage ceremony was a hasty affair in the palace's private chapel, with only the immediate family and their servants as witnesses.
And the phrase "Husband and wife" was barely out of the priest's mouth before they heard the rattle and clatter of a carriage and eight roll up outside the door. Where it had come from she couldn't imagine. It must have materialized somewhere on the road, as his clothes had done, when it was needed.
The king-- her husband, she reminded herself-- nearly sprinted through the chapel door as the carriage slowed to a stop.
The coachman alighted, and was in the act of dropping to one knee to honor his master when the king interrupted him, and pulled him up into an embrace.
"Heinrich!" he exclaimed. "My good man-- it- it's been too long."
Heinrich pulled away first and straightened his shoulders in an effort to maintain decorum. But the princess could see that his cheeks were wet, and he swallowed hard before he managed to utter the words "Your Majesty," as he helped him up into the carriage.
As he turned to help her up, she said, quietly: "If we're-- if we're not to come back here, again, could you please stop by the path leading into the forest? There's someone... I mean a place, that I want to say 'Good-bye' to."
Heinrich looked to the king, who gave an almost imperceptible nod. "I know the place," he said.
Heinrich then turned to her and answered: "It would be my pleasure, Your Majesty," he said, as he helped her into the seat.
It was a short ride to the woodland path, and she made her way as quickly as she could to the linden tree, where she had spent so many days of her recent life. She lay her hand on the trunk, and it felt warm under her palm, like the touch of an old friend. Its branches, covered with large, heart-shaped leaves stretched over her head like a protective roof.
She looked down at her reflection in that well at the tree's roots. She didn't see the beauty that inspired the lust and envy of so many others-- the lust and envy that had spurred her to seek this place as refuge.
What if she had said "No, thank you," when the frog had offered to retrieve her golden ball for her? Was the bauble worth this price? Then the image of the young king hugging his manservant-- the joyful tears at their reunion-- flashed before her mind's eye. Was her continued freedom worth more than that joy denied?
She patted the tree's trunk, as though it were a dear friend's shoulder. Then, on an impulse, she plucked one of the slender, leafy, branches to take with her. She just could not bear to leave this old friend behind entirely.
And then, as quickly as she could, she ran back to the carriage, where the eight fine horses with ostrich plumes decorating their harnesses and golden bells on their bridles, were tossing their heads impatiently.
No sooner was she back in her seat than Heinrich cracked his whip, and they were off faster than she had ever gone before. The carriage rocked side to side, its frame creaked and complained over the sound of the horses' galloping hooves. The landscape was a blur of green below and blue above, as if it were a long stroke of paint from an artist's brush.
And then, all of a sudden, came three, loud, metallic, bangs, like giant watch springs breaking, or three swords being broken over stones, that left her ears ringing and made her head ache.
"Heinrich!" the young king called, over his shoulder, "is the carriage in danger?"
"The carriage is fine, my king," he said. "Those were three iron bands I'd put around my heart, for fear it would break in two for grief, when you were lost to us."
The king slumped back in his seat, and his shoulders sagged, as if overcome with exhaustion.
No more words were spoken by any of them, the rest of the way, though the carriage sped on, and the horses never tired, and the landscape remained blur outside the window, so she could not see where it was they were going, or the way in which they went to get there.
So, instead, she stared at the branch from the linden tree in her hand, all through the day until it was too dark to see anything, and she drifted into another uneasy sleep, holding on to the comfort that the stranger she had married could not be wholly evil, if he inspired such love and loyalty in others.
The carriage did not slow until morning light crossed their faces again, and Heinrich called out to them that they were once again crossing the border of their home country. Only then did his stop the carriage and unhitch the horses, to let them graze, and drink from the river that marked the nation's border.
She took the opportunity to alight from the carriage and stretch her for as long as the horses needed to graze. She went as far as the nearest crossroads, and there, she planted the linden tree's branch, with a silent prayer that it take root and flourish, so that in this strange new land, there might still be a connection to home.
The linden tree did indeed take root. and it continued to grow for years, even as the king's new bride became the mother of kings, turn, even as she and the frog king became figures of history, then legend, and, finally, fairy tales-- no longer believed to be true. And through all those centuries, rain dripped down from one branch of that now giant tree, until, drop by drop, a well formed, as deep and round, and as perfectly clear as a mirror.
Some said that well was a source of magic, and if you weren't careful, it would grant you a whatever you wished-- no matter how hasty or foolish that wish might be.
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Date: 2020-04-08 12:16 am (UTC)I do know there is an amazingly large gap of time between the Grimm tale's origins and the Victorian understanding but then marriageable age was much lower. 100% agree on the modern view creep factor though! glad you changed the ages
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Date: 2020-04-08 11:36 am (UTC)Actually, that's not true. The Grimm boys were contemporaries of the Victorians, and though they actively promoted the idea that the stories they collected were ancient and unadulterated tales going back to Ancient Times[TM, the truth is that they edited and rewrote them quite heavily, because they had a political agenda to end Germany's current political system (They started out studying the roots of German law, and that led to a study of the German language, and that led to an interest in German legends and "household tales"). And they marketed their collection of stories quite heavily (for the time) as a way to spread their ideas of "Proper German Virtues" to the upper middle class people, whose support they would need to bring about those political changes. And part of the "Good German Values" they wanted to promote was strict gender roles between the sexes.
(It's one of the reasons, after I learned this history, that I no longer feel like I'm "Corrupting the originals" when I sot down to rewrite them, to express my own values. If they could do it, I can, too!)
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Date: 2020-04-08 11:36 pm (UTC)The Victorian beliefs were things I found when I was researching about Alice in Wonderland, but I was doing an essay not a thesis so I grabbed from professional achademic's conclusions. Which then dragged me into UK folklore with all its boggarts and barguests. Many of those tales were recorded by people striving to be accurate historians or academics so I must have just overlaid the later English motivations onto the Grimm brothers work. Wow, I really make sucky assumptions when I'm not bothering to think about things critically.
*I had always put that down to the potential actions of a translator though.
no subject
Date: 2020-04-09 10:24 am (UTC)Because that was the propaganda the Grimm fellows themselves were pushing -- and the same strain of propaganda showed up a hundred years later in Germany, with the rise of Nazism, unfortunately (The true nature of pure, German virtues can only be found if you go back to an ancient, "unsullied" source).
I was angered and disappointed, years later, to learn I'd been fed the propaganda by a well-meaning (and beloved, by the time I graduated) teacher. ...And that's part of the reason I take such delight in re-imagining the stories, now, to give their female characters agency and push back against the ableism, etc..
no subject
Date: 2020-04-15 04:18 am (UTC)ha, I ignore mysogeny, ableism, amatonormativity and heaps of other stuff, but you try blaming a native Australian animal for something but ignore feral animal influence and I bite heads off.
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Date: 2020-04-15 11:23 am (UTC)And then, when we start to step out, our circle expands.
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Date: 2020-04-08 02:01 pm (UTC)There's something missing, probably the word "king", when they were getting ready to go off to bed, the [] spoke up and said...
no subject
Date: 2020-04-08 05:03 pm (UTC)