CEINOS (FAIRYTALE WARFARE, F/F)

One day, Leoine was summoned by Alacia without a pretext—an unusual event. When she arrived at Alacia’s rooms, the princess was looking more serious than Leoine had seen her before.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, sitting on the chair Alacia usually reserved for her.
There was a long pause before Alacia answered her. “The hill tribes have banded together under a single warleader. There are usually raids around this time of year. But never all of them at once. One tribe at a time, my father’s troops can handle. This is closer to all-out war. My father’s men are preparing to fight them, and they’ll ride out tomorrow, but I don’t think there’s any way they can win.”
Leoine comforted her friend as well as she could, then left and went down to the stables. Men there were saddling horses, preparing weapons and armor for the battle the next day. Leoine ignored all of them. Instead, she approached a man who held himself as though accustomed to giving orders, the captain, perhaps.
“I want to fight,” she said without preamble. “I want to help tomorrow. You’ll need everyone you can get on the battlefield, and I want to be there.”
The captain looked her up and down as though surprised. “I’m sorry, lad,” he said, and gestured to one of the stalls. “This is the only horse who’ll be riderless by the time these men are done, and she’s hardly fit for battle.” The horse he indicated was skinny and old, and from the way she stood she walked with a limp as well. Leoine saw there was no use arguing.
~~~
That evening, in the gardener’s cabin, Leoine examined the wooden horse thoroughly, searching every inch of it for something that would reveal the name to call it. When that served with no success, she tried every variant and synonym of “horse” she could imagine. None of those worked either.
“Ye say the man as gave it to ye told ye to call it by name?” the gardener asked. He had been watching as she attempted to awaken the magic within the horse carving. “Why d’ye not use the ancient tongue? Such a thing would be made before our speech existed.”
Leoine looked at him, startled. “You think that’d work?” she asked. She barely remembered her lessons on the ancient language that was precursor to theirs from when she was a child.
“If ye have the knowin’ of such things,” the gardener replied. “It’s not something I’d know, for certain.”
Leoine turned the horse between her hands, thinking back to those days of outwitting her tutors for a short-lived adventure in the city. Half-remembered bits of information rose from her memory, but she discarded most of them. Finally, the word she was searching for came to mind.“Hrusson,” she muttered, and the wood became warm beneath her hands, as though the wood had gained blood of its own. Quickly, Leoine moved outside and set the three-colored horse on the ground, and within minutes it had become a copper-colored horse, not wood but blood and bone and skin. Quietly, Leoine gathered the other preparations she had acquired throughout the day, and quickly armored herself as a mounted archer. The helm covered most of her face, for which she was grateful, and the arrows and bow she had brought from the woods and hidden when she sought a position with the king were of her own making, and she trusted nothing more. She mounted the horse, and rode out to meet the king’s company as they left for the battle.
The sentry spotted her, and called out a warning. “Who are you?”
“A friend,” she replied. “That’s all you need to know.”
~~~
The battle the next morning was a victory. A close victory, but a victory nonetheless. The soldiers all admitted they would have lost, except for the mysterious archer riding a copper-colored steed, whose arrows never seemed to miss their targets. “He did half the work of their defeat,” the soldiers would say. “Without him, there’d be nothing left of our country to speak of.”
While the soldiers camped out on the fields of battle that evening, no sign could be found of their mysterious ally. They set guards to watch the flickering torchlight of the hillsmen, desperately hoping for the appearance of the mounted archer. That night was a long and anxious one, but the men survived to see the dawn.
As the sun cleared the horizon, a tent burst into flame, and a second arrow thudded into the ground nearby, extinguishing itself on the earth. The men, half-armed and half prepared, swung onto their horses and charged the ambushing hillspeople, getting inside the range of their archers as quickly as they could. The hillsmen were ready for this, though, and surrounded the king’s troops immediately. Though the king’s soldiers fought on valiantly, they feared they were lost.
Then one tribesman fell from his horse, followed by another. Slowly, the king’s men were able to fight their way out of the trap they had ridden into, and meet forces with the same mysterious archer as the day before, though today their ally rode a tall white horse, not the chestnut of the day before. The army rallied to the archer and again defeated their enemies, pushing them back beyond the hilltop on which that day’s battle had taken place. They made camp there that night and again watched their enemy’s fires with wary eyes, and again wondered at the vanishing of the hero of that day’s battle. The army was braver that night, happy with their victory. They made plans to attack the enemy camp at first light, confident in their previous successes.
Before dawn, the king’s army was ready to move. They were about to depart for the enemy camp when a black horse appeared, bearing a rider wearing the light leather armor of a mounted archer and carrying a bow. The archer and the black horse led the charge, and the hillmen were quickly routed and driven back. The army pressed until the hillmen turned and fled for their homeland, to look for an easier land to raid.
The king’s soldiers returned to their own realm, all whispering of the mysterious rider who had in some accounts led the soldiers to victory through cunning stratagems, and in others singlehandedly and alone defeated the raiders with force of strength. The gardener’s boy listened to these stories as the troops entered the keep, and smiled slightly, face hidden beneath the brim of his cap.
Within a week, an announcement had been spread that the king was to hold a contest: three days of sports and games, hunting, riding and the like. The winner of each contest would receive a golden token, with the king’s seal imprinted on it, and the winner of three of these tokens would be granted a special prize.
“He’s trying to draw out that archer who all the soldiers say won the war for them,” Alacia said to Leoine the afternoon before the first day of contests, as they sat in the garden. “He wants to give a reward for bravery or somesuch, and he thinks this’ll draw out anyone it could’ve been. Everyone’s heard the rumors by now that he’s going to grant a knighthood to the winner.”
Leoine laughed with her at the ridiculousness of a contest revealing one so intent on keeping a secret identity, but she kept her hand in her pocket, wrapped firmly around a carved wooden horse.
That night, she dreamed of the road she had walked to find this place. Just inside the curve of the road, a blanket was spread, with food laid out on it. “Looks like someone’s expecting me,” she said to herself with a half-smile, walking over to the blanket and sitting on it.
“Indeed, child, I was,” said a familiar voice. The old man who had given her the horse—the Tinker—sat cross-legged on the blanket across from her. “And now that you have achieved the purpose I sent you for, what do you plan to do? Travel around the lands as a mysterious rider who rescues the needy and guards those weaker? Return to the forest to live with the wild things and the spirits?”
Leoine laughed. “I’d thought to join in the king’s contests and try for a knighthood,” she said. “After that, who knows?” She absentmindedly shredded a piece of bread between her fingers as she thought. “I’d need a horse for the trials, though. Most of the contests are done from horseback, hunting and jousting and such.”
The Tinker gave her a secretive smile and extended a hand. “I think I can help with that,” he said. “Just this one time, though. I can’t extend the life of something like this forever. You’ll have to get your own horse after this.”
Leoine reached into her pocket and found the figurine of the wooden horse there. Pulling it out and handing it to the man sitting opposite her, she replied, “If I win a knighthood, I’ll be able to afford my own horse after this.”
The Tinker laughed, loud and clear. Then, cradling the wooden horse in his hands, he gently blew on it, an exhalation that seemed to go on forever. Handing it back to Leoine, he said, “Three more uses. As a reward for your dutiful service. Good luck, my daughter, and fare well.”
The roadside, the food, and the man in front of her faded into white, and then Leoine was awake, blinking in the sunlight streaming into her eyes from the window to the gardener’s cabin.

...

Leoine vaguely recognized the armor of the swordsman who was winning the majority of the bouts. He’d won the golden medallion in jousting the previous day. He seemed a fairly strong swordfighter, as far as she could tell—he won quickly and decisively, never getting entangled in drawn-out battles like some of the other fighters. His feet seemed to always be where they needed to be, precise and never off-balance. Leoine wondered half-heartedly where he had been when the army had fought the hill raiders, but she could tell swordfighting from horseback would be very different than on foot, and certainly different than these carefully controlled bouts.
The skilled swordsman defeated his last opponent to cheers from the crowd. He sheathed his sword, then bowed before the king’s seats and received his medallion. He was walking in her direction, she realized; he approached the piebald horse who stood next to her black one. He stowed the medallion in a leather saddlebag and swung up onto the horse’s back. “Here for the riding challenge, archer?” he asked. “Better hurry up then, it’s about to start.” He kicked his horse’s side and trotted off. Leoine mounted and followed him.
The competition was nothing other than she had expected—the riders had to trot, canter and gallop through a course that had ben set up within the arena. Leoine guided her horse through the course fairly easily, whatever residual magic making it easy for her to communicate her wishes. At one point she felt one of her horse’s hooves clip a barricade that had been set up as one of the obstacles, but that was the only mistake she felt she had made. She watched other riders pick their way through the course, some making many mistakes. The swordsman’s horse stumbled several times in the more difficult portion of the course, but many riders did a good job. She drifted into her own thoughts of the hunt tomorrow while the judges conferred—the prize would have originally gone to the hunter who brought back the most game, but reports from outlying farms told of a boar that had been seen in the area of woodland designated for the hunt. The king had announced shortly thereafter that the medallion would instead go to the person who brought back the boar’s tusks, as proof that it had been killed and a danger to the area removed. She was jolted out of her thoughts when the swordsman laid a hand on her shoulder and said, “They mean you, archer.” The crowd was cheering, the king in his booth holding the medallion above his head so everyone could see it. “Well ridden,” the swordsman said, giving her a half-smile.
Leoine realized what had happened, and mounted her horse to receive the prize. She and the swordsman were now tied in the competition, two medallions each.

...

“And so it is to our mysterious ally that we present the prize—a knighthood and free roam of this country, wherever he should wish to go.” The king finished his rousing speech, made to the watching populace after Leoine and the swordsman detailed what had happened in the forest.
Leoine tapped the side of her leg nervously. She hadn’t expected the king to behave so trustingly; she thought before elevating the status of a stranger he would at least ask his identity. “Sire?” she said. “I don’t believe I am worthy of that which you offer me. You see, I’ve lied.” She removed her helmet, revealing her face and distinctive hair.
“The gardener’s lad?” She heard the confused voice from the crowd but could not identify the speaker.
“Not even that,” she said. “I’ve been concealing my identity in more ways than one. I’m a woman.”
“And you think that makes you unworthy of a knighthood?” the king said in answer. “You not only excel in competitions of skill and strength, and save the life of one of our best fighters, but you helped save the kingdom as well! That far outweighs any lie you may have told.” He hesitated a moment. “What is your true name, then?”
“Leoine,” she answered.
“Then kneel, Leoine,” said the king. She started to protest, but he interrupted more forcefully. “Kneel. “ She obeyed.
The king drew his sword, lowered it to touch one shoulder, the other, and then rested the flat of it on the crown of her head. “Rise, Sir Leoine Archer,” he said, sheathing the sword.
Leoine stood, confused, as the crowd cheered, voices mingling chaotically. And then one quiet voice cut through them all, drawing the entirety of the crowd’s attention.
“Father,” said Alacia, stepping forward from where she had stood beside the king’s throne. “You’ve been telling me for a while that I should be thinking about choosing who to marry, so that you can have a quieter job and I can begin learning how to rule.”
“I can hardly deny it,” said the king, with a smile that seemed to say he knew what his daughter would say next.
“I’ve made my decision,” Alacia said. “I would like to marry the savior of my future kingdom. If she’ll have me, I’d like to marry Sir Leoine.”
Leoine hardly hesitated. She knew how much she cared about the princess, and was glad that Alacia cared in return. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, of course, I’ll marry you.”
Alacia threw herself forward and kissed Leoine, who caught her around the waist, not quite overbalancing, and kissed her back. If she had not been so involved, she would have heard the crowd cheer even louder than before.

The original -- straight and more vague-- fairytale:
Not long afterwards, the country was overrun by war. The king gathered together his people, not knowing whether or not fight back against the enemy, who was more powerful and had a large army.
Then the gardener's lad said, "I am grown up, and I want to go to war as well. Just give me a horse."
The others laughed and said, "After we have left, then look for one by yourself. We will leave one behind for you in the stable."
After they had left, he went into the stable, and led the horse out. It had a lame foot, and it limped higgledy-hop, higgledy-hop.
Nevertheless he mounted it, and rode away into the dark woods. When he came to the edge of the woods, he called "Iron Hans" three times so loudly that it sounded through the trees.
The wild man appeared immediately, and said, "What do you need?"
"I need a strong steed, for I am going to war."
"That you shall have, and even more than you are asking for."
Then the wild man went back into the woods, and before long a stable-boy came out of the woods leading a horse. It was snorting with its nostrils, and could hardly be restrained. Behind them followed a large army of warriors, outfitted with iron armor, and with their swords flashing in the sun.
The youth left his three-legged horse with the stable-boy, mounted the other horse, and rode at the head of the army. When he approached the battlefield, a large number of the king's men had already fallen, and before long the others would have to retreat. Then the youth galloped up with his iron army and attacked the enemies like a storm, beating down all who opposed him. They tried to flee, but the youth was right behind them, and did not stop, until not a single man was left.
However, instead of returning to the king, he led his army on a roundabout way back into the woods, and then called for Iron Hans.
"What do you need?" asked the wild man.
"Take back your steed and your army, and give me my three-legged horse again."
It all happened just as he had requested, and he rode home on his three-legged horse.
When the king returned to his castle, his daughter went to meet him, and congratulated him for his victory.
"I am not the one who earned the victory," he said, "but a strange knight who came to my aid with his army."
The daughter wanted to hear who the strange knight was, but the king did not know, and said, "He pursued the enemy, and I did not see him again."
She asked the gardener where his aide was, but he laughed and said, "He has just come home on his three-legged horse. The others have been making fun of him and shouting, 'Here comes our higgledy-hop back again.' They also asked him, 'Under what hedge have you been lying asleep all this time?' But he said, 'I did better than anyone else. Without me it would have gone badly.' And then they laughed at him all the more."
The king said to his daughter, "I will proclaim a great festival. It shall last for three days, and you shall throw a golden apple. Perhaps the unknown knight will come."
When the festival was announced, the youth went out into the woods and called Iron Hans.
After the revels...
 The king had him summoned, and he appeared, again with his cap on his head. But the princess went up to him and took it off. His golden hair fell down over his shoulders, and he was so handsome that everyone was amazed.
"Are you the knight who came to the festival every day, each time in a different color, and who caught the three golden apples?" asked the king.
"Yes," he answered, "and here are the apples," taking them out of his pocket, and returning them to the king. "If you need more proof, you can see the wound that your men gave me when they were chasing me. But I am also the knight who helped you to your victory over your enemies."
"If you can perform deeds like these then you are not a gardener's lad. Tell me, who is your father?"
"My father is a powerful king, and my mother is his queen. I have as much gold as I might need."
"I can see," said the king, "that I owe you thanks. Can I do anything for you?"
"Yes," he answered. "You can indeed. Give me your daughter for my wife."
The maiden laughed and said, "He does not care much for ceremony, but I already had seen from his golden hair that he was not a gardener's lad," and then she went and kissed him.
His father and mother came to the wedding, and were filled with joy, for they had given up all hope of ever seeing their dear only son again.
While they sitting at the wedding feast, the music suddenly stopped, the doors opened, and a proud king came in with a great retinue. He walked up to the youth, embraced him, and said, "I am Iron Hans. I had been transformed into a wild man by a magic spell, but you have broken the spell. All the treasures that I possess shall belong to you."

THE THREE GLASS SHARDS

1.  The Window Shard

The Queen looked out the window and sighed--
she was waiting still for her lover to come by. 
He’d throw a pebble at the pane when he arrived.
She hoped to have a girl with his dark eyes.

When the King was traveling or with court matters occupied, 
they would sweet tryst in this high room all the while. 

She knew she was bearing the Huntsman’s child.
His hair was as black as a forest night, 
his knife at the hip, red with blood shiny as glass,
as he’d come to her in the white moonlight.

Now the window she used to sit by to await him is broken. 
A heavy tree branch shattered it in a violent snowstorm. 
One pointed shard lies on the floor of the boarded-up tower room--
no more a medium for reflections on his love, 
or daydreams of her child to be;
and unable to show the face she once yearned to see. 



2.    The Mirror Shard

When it told her Snow White was the fairest,
the Evil Queen had shattered the Mirror.

Now it lays on her chamber’s floor, 
silvers scattered and bent, 
whispering to itself in jagged fragments,
telling the truth to her vain ears no more.

Each sliver, thin-edged with her blood like a gilt-border, 
shines, as snow falls white as fine cambric to embroider
against the hard ebony sky of winter. 

She does not know that her Mirror
had been forged by and instilled
with the dwarves’ magic will.


3.    The Coffin Shard

The seven had thought Snow White dead, 
but she could still hear and see,
though make no motion.

 She thought she saw her mother in the glass overhead
—but was it only her own face’s reflection?

Her mother was smiling at her.
“You will live again and be happy,” she said.

And it came true: after the apple fell from her mouth, 
she woke and left with the prince to wed.

The coffin in the forest was abandoned to decay. 
But the king’s men came across it
while hunting there years later, one day. 

It had become covered with moss and with brambles overgrown; 
a home to crawling­­­­­ insects and woodland mice. 

Now the glass has been splintered by heavy snow.
It gleams split by moonlight, capped with white ice, 
and strewn like wild roses on the forest floor--
bed and prison for the Queen’s dreamed child no more. 

SECRET PASSAGE OF THE ELDEST PRINCESS

By "star o'star"

After the second princess was already a toddler and the twins newborn, but before younger princesses were even thought of, the eldest princess was shaken awake on a pitch-black night.

She, her mother, and her baby sisters were bundled into a sable unliveried carriage at midnight and driven up, up, uphill to a loftily situated castle newly won by their father, the king-conqueror. This hasty uncomfortable move was, they were told, in order that they could be kept safe, for the peoples of the land were at war, their strong papa, the king, defending them. 

This mountainous castle had been hard won the eldest princess, heard them say. It was secured among stark peaks such that three sides of that fortress did not require ramparts at all. They were ‘natural solid vertical rock’. There could be no more protected place.

What followed was a bumpy jarring ride, wherein the eldest princess kept being awakened, alternatively jostled by the rolling of the carriage over rocks in the road and by sounds of her mother speaking tersely with the guards. Finally she was lifted and carried by strong arms to a wide drafty room. A lump stuffed mattress was unrolled for her on the bedstead and she was laid there, covered over with sheets and a warm blanket as she yawned, half-asleep. She turned on her side and fell back to slumber with a sigh.

She slept soundly then and of course was not upset until morning, when she found herself alone in a large echoing unfamiliar solar, its dark wood beams slanted with sunlight from tall thin windows. Was that a bird, a pigeon, in the rafters? She heard a coo and saw a single feather drift down to the floor near her bed.

The princess looked around in confusion, then jumped out of the warm bed in surprise, fully awake. What had happened? Standing, she shook with fear. Everything remained quiet, even the pigeon who was probably frightened by the princess’s racket.

After few moments she felt that her mind was orienting itself, accepting what she saw. She found she had stopped shaking. She went to look out of a window, her feet bare padding on the wooden floor. She swung the pane out into the summer air, which here in the mountains was still warm, though the breezes were cooler than at home.

She looked out the window for home. Below her was a long, low valley with a twisting river. Yes, she spotted her home castle like a small brown lump. There were borders of trees or maybe those were battle lines of foes. Somewhere her father was carrying his great sword and riding his war horse. She felt insignificant to him now – more insignificant than she felt when in his immense presence.  

The princess felt safe though. Looking at the road just below her, she realized that the solar she was in was at least several stories up from ground. Yes, high and safe.

Just then a young chambermaid bobbed in with the princess’s breakfast. Then she bid the princess ring the bell on the tray when she was done and liked to see her mother and the babies. When and if the princess, please, would care to. Also the princess might have to dress herself as the princess’ old nanny had been left behind at the old castle in the haste of the night’s flight. She would obtain for her some clothing. The princess started to reply, but the maid was off before the princess could speak.

The princess sat on the large bed and ate her breakfast alone, not feeling lonely, or at least not quite.

The walls of the solar were creamy coloured and the ceiling lofty. She could see dust twirling in the air where the sunlight flung its shafts. The large bed she sat on was dwarfed in the huge room, one in which ten or more similarly sized beds could easily have been accommodated.

After finishing her meager toast and tea, she stood up on the bed in her long white nightgown, which she just then noticed was slightly soiled from the ride in the night, perhaps from smears of dirt or being rubbed against some postern as she was carried in half-asleep. She brushed the fabric off absently. Then she looked back at what had attracted her attention in the first place. Standing on her mattress she could better see and run her hand across the headboard of the bed.

The intricately carved rich brown wooden headboard was wild with scores of flowers of every type. There were big tropical flowers alongside smaller more delicate temperate ones. She ran her finger over the lovely precise carvings. Then she stopped. There, just to one side of center, was a small carving of a snowflake among the blooms of the etch-fashioned wooden garden.

The center of the carved snowflake was round and she could not help but want to press it with her dainty finger, and so she did. It receded in. Simultaneously she heard a click and the bed she was standing on swung to the side in a wide arc. Startled, she sat down suddenly on it as it moved. She waited breathlessly until the swinging movement of the bedstead stopped, then lay down on her stomach to look over the side of the bed at the region of the floor the bed had swung away from. There was no floor at all there. Under the bed was a staircase.

Her eyes went wide and she gave a small gasp. Then she laughed. Surely she had found a servants’ staircase. She would, she decided, descend to what was probably the kitchen and surprise the chef, chambermaids, and little serving boys.

Barefoot, she stepped down the wooden stairs of that hidden staircase. The stairwell was unlit by any window. As she felt her way down in the dark, she wondered if this was indeed a passage to the kitchen. She could not smell any fire-smoke or foodstuffs that usually wafted up the servants’ stairwell at home.

Flight after flight, she realized that surely she had passed below even the level of the kitchens.  Still the steps went down. After a while they changed into a cool white stone that seemed to glow ever so slightly in the dark. As she went further, too curious to stop, she found herself thinking of her father. Maybe his bravery pumped in her veins? Clear-headed, she wondered, if not to the kitchens, where were the steps leading?

At last she spied the bottom of the staircase in the gloom. The air was cold and her feet felt cold too now. The bottom of the stairs was visible and the steps ended at a carved marble balustrade and a white powder. As she stepped into it she realized it was a dusting of snow. The stairs had brought her around the corner of what appeared to be the entrance out of a cave. Before her rose a hill, deep with snow at least up to her knees and topped with snow-covered ice-trimmed birch trees. She thought to run back upstairs and definitely try to find some lined slippers.

But it was not so very cold. Maybe she could go just far enough to peep over the top of this hill, then run back up the stairs to warmth. Would not her father want to know what land his castle connected to? She thought of his deep voice and his soft beard over a hard jaw. Was she perhaps on the other side of the mountains? But the mountains were so tall and surely she had not come so far down those steps. Had not her father said there was ocean on the other side of the mounts? Maybe this was a dream, but her cold feet said no, and she picked up some snow and made a snow ball in her hands and threw it, having then to wipe her wet chilled hands on her nightgown, a thick cotton that seemed far too thin now.

There was a brushing sound from among the birches on the hill and she looked up to see a white direwolf looking at her with dark eyes. After a while, when she did not run, it came down the short slope. She had frozen with dread, but the wolf approached her and nuzzled her hand like a dog. It looked into her eyes and she felt it was tame. Also, she felt approved of. Then the direwolf turned and went back up the slope along its trail through the deep snow.

The direwolf stopped halfway up the slope and looked back at the princess as if to say “follow me”, then continued up the hill. She set her jaw and decided to follow, as any courageous girl would do who wasn’t too cold, and who could see that the top of the hill did not seem that far. She would at least get a look over the hill before she retreated, flew back up the stairs and swung the bedstead back over its secret stairway. If she walked quickly surely her feet wouldn’t freeze.

Over the top of the hill, the snow-clad ground sloped downward and below the princess could see a lake, completely frozen over. A stiff breeze had cleared the lake of snow and was making the ice-coated trees crack. As she stood there though the wind ceased, and the trees which had been sprinkling down powdered snow, now stilled. The princess noticed the sky was actually not cloudy as she first thought, but was palest of evening blues.  Above the lake was rising a full moon. Even as she watched the moon climbed higher, a few tiny stars popped out in the darkening sky. ‘This is a strange part of the world or universe’, her old nanny, who had been left behind and was far away, might say.

The frozen lake was the same pale blue as the sky, and down there on the lake was someone ice-skating! She could make out that it was a boy. At the bottom of the hill was a tree log on its side and next to it was a fire in a circle of stones that gleamed brightly a colour of flickering gold so different than the surrounding whites, grays, silvers, and those so pale blues.  She found herself drawn to the fire. The princess followed the direwolf down the slope, still striding along in its made trail. She discovered laid across the log next to the fire was a cloak of white wool, thick white socks and a pair of white ice-skates. She picked them up and, yes, they were her size. 

The boy had noticed her and began to skate over. At first he had waved and made a direct path, but as he got closer he seemed to get shyer. He skated in loops and twists, showing off she thought. Finally he skated up to the frozen bank where she stood, close enough to speak to.

“I am sorry,” said the princess, “were you expecting someone?” She moved to shrug off the cloak that she had pulled over her shoulders.

“No,” said the boy. “I don’t know who I was expecting. Maybe I was just hoping. I am a prince of this land and I welcome you.”

“I am princess here,” she said with a proud pout and jutted out her chin. He laughed.

“You are most welcome princess,” he said, “because all I have is brothers of whom I am the eldest.”

“What?” she asked, then, “This is the strangest of places. Outside my bedroom it is now morning, not evening, and it is high summer at this time.”

“Oh,” he said with what seemed a slight confusion, “there are many wonders here! I would love to show them to you.” He looked hopeful, yet still shy.

“First, may we skate?” asked the princess. “I never have, though I have seen the performers do their tricks and spins. Can you teach me?”

“Most certainly,” he laughed, bowing with a joyful smile. At his bidding she slid on the socks laying on the log, then skates. He tied their laces for her and helped her secure the cloak. Then he smiled and took her hands and helped her up, leading her forward to the ice. He taught her how to ice skate as the moon lifted higher, until she tired.

“Now the wonders?” she asked.

“Another night,” he said. “Tomorrow perhaps? I am so glad to meet you, for I have had no one else calm to talk to and you are an answer to a dream. Please come again. Next time wear shoes though.”

The princess laughed and said she would. The princess smiled as she ran to the snow dusted marble stairs.

When she got back she rang for a bath and soaked her body to warmth again. She went afterwards to her mother. From her mother’s lips she heard that the war was going poorly. Then mother shooed her away, bidding the princess occupy herself as she was busy caring for babies without nursemaids. Picture-books, story-books, would be sent up to the princess’s solar from the castle’s intact library.

The princess descended to the silver-birched wood the next day, and though she wore a cloak and longed to skate, it rained a warm silver rain. She sat down on the bottom-most step and cried.

After a while a wolf appeared on the ridge as before. Its fur was damp and gray-looking in the rain. She heard it whimper. It was the same tame direwolf. The wolf came down the slick slope. She wiped her tears on her cloak and petted the wolf’s wet fur.  

“You are brave to come back,” said a voice. It was the prince. He was wearing a sleek cloak which the rain beaded off. The rain was penetrating the princess’s own cape.

“I came…”

“I know,” he replied, “from the land of magic.”

“Magic,” she laughed, chagrined, “I don’t have magic.”

“You have what we lack here,” said the prince, “maybe it’s the magic of your sheer courage, happiness, kindness...”

She laughed with delight, for it felt true.

The wolf moved away. The prince took her hand and led her to the top of the slope that overlooked the now liquid lake, choppy and the same gray as the sky. This time though he led her through a rock-outcrop.

“The wonders?” she asked.

“At one time…” he replied with a sad tone. He looked down and sighed.

Below, on an island, was a palace in obvious disrepair. On the shore was a ransacked-looking village surrounded by bedraggled trees that nonetheless appeared to have small buds that sparkled like diamonds even in the drizzle. The fields though were empty of sprouts.

“This side of the rocks is supposed to be summer but these buds were not here until you came,” said the prince. “Many long years of hot and cold we have had. The people in the huts below will be too starving to even come out and greet you.”

The princess turned to look at him in surprise. The cliffs behind him were lovely rocky waterfalls under the spattering sky, beckoning one to climb, but she turned back to the misery below.

“I am the eldest of my brothers, heir to this kingdom. There have been floods, famine, plague. My parents are gone, dead.” He added the last with sadness, as if it was hard for him to say.

“I am sorry,” said the princess. The fear of her father dying was a real one, but not actuated.

“I told my brothers about you. I realize that we should try to rebuild. Make this place worthy of you.”

The princess held on to his hand, “Upstairs, my father is fighting too - another king’s claim, a bad king. My queen-mum and sisters and I are living in a castle that my papa captured. He is trying to win more land and there is always someone, my mother says, who has brash words against my father and he fights them.” She added then, “People are dying for it all.” She said that proudly but then cast her eyes down with realization.

“People are dying?” The prince looked stung. “From fighting for land?”

In an insightful blurting out of words, she added, “My king-papa likes to fight.” She realized the lameness of the remark. She thought of him on his war horse, looking up and away from her. Her sense that she was never quite brave or clever enough faded. How smart was he? How helpful to his people? She thought of the refugees moving outside her windows back at her home castle.

The prince continued, “Princess, my kingdom is different. I invite you here. Its people need leadership, wisdom, help...”

“No one from my family will come,” said the princess. “They won’t even listen to me.” Then she thought of the warring ways of her father and his soldiers. How could she tell of this place – have them bring rough ways here.

“We need you, princess. I need you. You bring me so much hope. I will host a dance for you, bring out the last of our stores, feast and eat with our people,” he said. “My mother used to dance with my brothers and I.”

The princess laughed at this. “I’d like that.”

“There is a new springtime in our land and dancing will cheer us. Be here and someday…” the Prince’s voice trailed off.

Idealistically, she drew herself up. She would help, plan with him. Together. As friends. As equals.

Still, a land one day hard ice and the next searing rain? She wondered, as much as she tried, would she ever be properly prepared for what would come? She determined she would adapt.

Beaming, the princess said, “Yes, and if you tell me your name, I will tell you mine.”

THE KNIGHT OF THE SUN, MOON, AND STARS

Adapted from the tale by Angie Dickinson, rewritten from the Grimm Brothers

The tales are never as simple as they seem. My mother’s ending was unhappy, contrary to popular belief, and I have been forced to become my own fairy godmother. Shocking, I know, but there hasn’t been a real fairy godmother in these parts since the days of my great-grandmother. I’ve been told she was the last.

These days, a fairy godmother of one’s own would be very useful, for we have a dangerously mad king. This could be considered an advantage, if you happened to be one of the greedy old lords who pulled the strings behind the throne, awkwardly lifting the limp royal fingers to sign decrees with an ignorant and complacent scrawl. If you kept the vacant fool happy in his whims, why then, the land would be yours to rule, as a royal advisor with the heart of a tyrant.

What, after all, was the harm in executing all the millers in the kingdom? They could be replaced, and in return, your pockets were lined by the tax reforms that the king blithely signed in your favor. Or, so what if the king demanded that nothing but jelly rolls be served at breakfast, lest the entire kitchen staff face the axe? Jelly rolls became tiresome, but laws were being rewritten, and the trio of trusted advisors were fast becoming the most powerful men in the land.

And so what if the king had a mind to marry his own daughter? She was the mirror image of her mother, taken by a fever so many years past, and the king cared nothing for the new highway tax, so long as he could have his long-dead wife returned to him.

In this particular way, if you happened to be the daughter in question, raised in a convent and recently reintroduced at court, it was largely to your disadvantage to have a mad king, and father.

My mother was a commoner, you see, and the imp that made her queen flew into such a blood-red rage when he was denied me, my mother’s firstborn, that he struck my father with madness and my mother with a deadly fever on his way to hell.

I knew to expect something awful when the sisters at the convent told me I was summoned to court. In fact, they had been using their own skills and knowledge of fairy ways to reinforce my inherited magic and prepare me to protect myself. Nevertheless, I had not expected this.

The horror was undisguised on my face as the most withered and wretched of the greedy advisors, Lord Rufin, declared my fate.

“You shall never have a child by him, we will take measures,” he said, patting my hand with his paper-dry one. Of course, not. The beauty of granting the king this whim is that the royal line would end with me, leaving the advisors free to select their next puppet. They likely would sentence my father and me with incest and execute us directly following the wedding. The reassuring lord made no mention of changing our kingdom’s laws to satisfy this whim of my father’s.

There was not a moment to lose if I was to survive this.

I took steps to ensure that I would be working with the best ingredients. I demanded three ballgowns be presented me as a bridal gift. One, made of tempered silver threads and set with moonstones. Another, gold threads. Simple enough, our vaults had been overflowing with gold threads since my mother arrived. The last one was trickier and took longer to acquire, but the lords went to great lengths to please my father. It was woven with literal starlight. The peddlers from far lands carry the most exotic things, and through my amateur magic I verified the authenticity of these shining threads.

A month before the wedding, I was poring over the gowns in an attempt to awaken my brain and figure out how best to use the powerful properties, when someone pounded on my door. I opened it, and a guard pushed me roughly aside as he entered, his arms full of dead four-footed beasts.

He was followed by another guard, and another. Finally, Lord Rufin entered. He smirked as the guards, one by one, dumped their grisly armloads of bloody carcasses on my bed. They piled them on top the gowns.

“What is this?” I finally gasped, choking through the heavy stench.

“Another wedding gift, from your father,” Lord Rufin responded silkily. “He thought you would appreciate one of each kind of beast in the kingdom to be hunted for your enjoyment. We thought it best to indulge him. He means well.” He could not hide his glee behind the thin façade of compassion. He gestured for the guards to precede him out of the room, then turned to me once more when we were alone.

“One more thing. You may as well make one of those gowns your trousseau, for there has been a change of plans. Your wedding will take place tomorrow.”

“Another whim of my father’s?” I spat, my chest tightening.

“Oh no.” His pale, watery eyes were unblinking. “No, we felt this was the best course.” He dropped something at my feet. It was a fox with a broken neck.

I knelt down and gently scooped up the still-warm, soft body of the small fox as Lord Rufin swept from the room. My tears froze in my eyes and I smiled. I needed to work quickly.

#

Our land is imbued with powerful magic. Everything serves a unique purpose, if you know how to use it.

With a speed born of desperation, I fashioned the cloak. I constructed it of fur, a bit from every beast in the kingdom. My heart broke as I sifted through the remains of the creatures, and I blessed each of them for their gift to me. I harnessed the powerful combination of magical properties and wove them together to suit my need. The cloak would conceal my identity, and give me the appearance of anyone I chose. There would be no need to disguise my face with ashes, or steal the apparel of a servant. I could be anyone.

I worked feverishly as dawn broke, and the morning light illuminated the ravaged, bloody scene of my chamber. Three of the woodland denizens, three rodents, held a walnut in their cheeks, and I took each of these and spelled their interiors to expand. Holding my breath, I fed the fabric of the golden gown into the spelled walnut, gently, until it was completely concealed within. I heard footsteps in the corridor, and crammed the others into their shells hastily.

Someone tapped gently on my door. I stuffed the walnuts into my pocket and flung the cloak over myself. The handle began to turn. I ran to my dressing table and scooped up my mother’s ring: the emerald that my father gave her as a wedding gift before his madness took him.

The door swung open. A maid entered, followed closely by Lord Rufin. I closed my eyes, and envisioned another of my lady’s maids, then opened them again.

“Where is she?” Rufin asked, glancing at me.

I bobbed a curtsy.

“She said she fancied a walk in the garden before breakfast, my lord,” I answered.

“Did she, indeed,” Lord Rufin sneered. “Clean this up, you two.” He strode out of the room.

The other maid glanced at me, then looked around the room. “What was she doing in here?” she asked in disgust.

“I’ll fetch a bucket,” I said.

#

It took me no time at all to leave the castle grounds. The cloak allowed me to appear as a servant or guard to every person I passed.


Guards barrelled about in a panic, which likely signified that my flight had been discovered. They jostled me a few times in their haste, but were no threat to me.

I managed to make my way into a neighboring village. I grew weak from the journey, and I knew that I had drained much of my magic while making the cloak. I needed rest to restore it.

I found work at a few rich homes and inns, scrubbing and sweeping the hearths for meager wages. Eventually, I felt my magic returning, but at an achingly slow pace. I kept it in reserve, rather than using it to deflect the innkeepers’ backhands, or the cooks’ smacks, or to heal the sores that opened on my fingers as I scrubbed the skin clean off them. I grew heartily tired of this, but over time my strength and magic were nearly restored. I hoped to return home someday when my power had grown, to take up my great-grandmother’s work and save others from the evil that ruled my kingdom.

The shouts of a village crier, who tore through the streets shrieking the news, froze my blood and changed my plans. My king was dead.

I fell to the cold ground, heedless of the shouts around me, and grieved for my father, for he was never my enemy. I barely knew the poor man, and he thought I was my mother. I knew that I was not free. If his advisors ever found me, they would kill me quietly.

“The princess, too! Took her own life, she did!” the crier shouted. “No blood heir remaining!”

The next king would be chosen via tournament. Of course, I knew he’d already been selected – groomed, or ensorcelled, doubtless, to be the malleable toy of the lords. The tournament would be held immediately, three days of fighting, accompanied by a masquerade ball each night. There would be no time of mourning for my father, or for me.

My magic was nearly at full strength, fuller now for all that I’d endured. I knew what I needed to do. 

I left the village in the night and made my way back to my father’s castle. To my castle. I constructed a tent alongside those of the many travelers who arrived for the event.

The first ball was held the night before the tournament. With my heart pounding and fingers trembling, I took my golden dress out of its walnut shell, and shook it out. It was as bright as the sun. I washed my face and shining hair, and fashioned a mask out of golden wheat and violets.

The ballroom was bright and loud with revelry, and I danced merrily, keeping far away from the lords, lest they recognize my gown. I found the chosen champion easily, a strapping, young beast of a man. I sensed the mark of sorcery upon him, and knew that he was bewitched to do as he was bidden – probably to win at any cost. Magic radiated from the sword at his hip, as well. Nevertheless, his good nature shone through when I danced with him, and he seemed awfully sorry to see me leave.

The tournament would begin at dawn, but I had too much work to do to sleep. Throughout the night, I worked enchantments over my glittering gown, until it was not a gown at all. I was ready when the time came.

I retrieved my own horse from the stables, and rode onto the jousting field when my name was called. I kept my visor down, and used a name I created for myself: The Knight of the Sun, Moon, and Stars. Golden armour might be a bit ostentatious, but it would have to do.

Using every speck of magical fury that I could access, to make up for my lack of experience, I managed to unseat enough knights to advance to the next day’s melee round. The spectators seemed to enjoy the golden knight, for their cries grew louder with each victory I won.

I swirled my beastskin cloak over my shoulders the moment I rode off the field, and slipped away, unrecognized, from the seething crowd and harried guards.

I wore my silver gown to the ball that night. The crowd was abuzz with gossip of the day’s champion, and I knew I must be careful not to be noticed. The young man I met the night before was swift to find me. I adjusted my grass and snowbell-woven mask nervously, but could not suppress a smile at his enthusiasm. He said his name was Corin, and he made no mention of the many knights he himself unseated. I sensed a heavier magic upon him than before, and knew that I would have to fight even harder tomorrow.

I worked through the night yet again. I was delighted with the liquid magic that emanated from the silver in my gown, and the armour I created was truly striking to behold.

The next day was bright and heaving with energy, and the melee was terrifying. It was every knight for himself as we attempted to unseat one another in a frenzied battle of clubs. The crowd began to chant my title. I saw Corin, the lords' champion, beating knights down with fervor. There was a glazed sort of confusion in his eyes, and he fought like a man possessed. In the end, he and I were among the final five to make it through the round. I glanced through my visor at the lords, high in their canopied box, and saw that they were infuriated that I, the crowd’s favorite, had advanced. I feared for their champion.

I slept through the day, but was still exhausted by nightfall. I put on my gown of starlight and stood on the hillside outside the castle. As the heavens shone down over me, I felt the very light of the star-threads in my gown soaking into me, feeding my magic and renewing my strength. With renewed purpose, I ran down the hill and strode into the ballroom.

Corin found me immediately, and begged for a dance. I clasped his hand, and felt the hot fever of heavy enchantment over him. The lords, so desperate for their champion to succeed, might just kill him in the process. I would have to be his fairy godmother, as well as my own.

“Sit with me?” he asked hopefully as the banquet was laid out. I noted the eagle eye of Lord Rufin upon me, but I sat. I felt the lord’s gaze, and a buzzing filled my ears, and my head began to pound as he directed a silent enchantment at me. I was certain, then, that he was the one holding Corin captive to his sorcery. I whispered fiercely over my mother’s emerald ring, and left my seat, approaching Lord Rufin. His mouth dropped open as I leaned in close.

“Your sins will find you, murderer,” I hissed into his face. His concentration faltered, and the buzzing in my ears stopped. While his pale eyes were on mine, I dropped my ring into his soup.

That night, I stole a sword from one of the defeated knights’ tents, and infused it with a measure of magic. I wondered if it would be enough when I faced Corin. His spelled sword and bewitched state could mean the death of me, and him, if the enchantment did not break soon. Again, I worked feverishly through the night. The starlight proved to be a more rebellious material, but finally, as dawn lifted the night away, my shimmering armour was complete. I steadied myself, and approached the combat grounds.

A larger crowd than ever before teemed around the field, from neighboring kingdoms as well as my own. There were two knights I needed to defeat before I faced Corin. I battled fiercely in the blazing sun, and emerged the victor, to the raucous joy of my people. I fought back tears as their love washed over me.

No knights remained except for Corin. I glanced up at Rufin, white and still as a statue in his box. I took a deep breath as Corin faced me. He charged suddenly, ferociously, his eyes gleaming beneath his visor. I raised my sword, and met his in a ground-shuddering clash that vibrated painfully through my bones. As violently as he’d attacked, he wheeled back, and flung his helmet to the ground, shaking his head. He threw his sword at my feet.

“I don’t want to be king,” he ground out. I sensed the sorcery draining out of him.

He looked up at the lords in fury, and I followed his gaze. Lord Rufin, his body and magic now clearly weakened from the poisonous spell on my ring, stood and tottered forward, hands outstretched. He swayed, and toppled from the balcony of the scaffolding.

His weak-chinned comrades stared at the broken body in fear as the crowd began to rustle. I took a deep breath, and pulled off my helmet. My hair spilled out over my starlight armour. The silence throughout the grounds felt full and ominous.

Corin’s face split into a grin, and he clasped my hand, then raised my sword arm up over my head. We faced the crowd. They were silent as the wind howled around me. Then a courtier stood up and shouted, “It’s the princess! She’s alive!”

The silence broke like the rushing of a waterfall crashing over a boulder. “Long live the queen! Long live the queen!” my people bellowed, rushing into the ring to embrace me. I looked up into the box and saw that the remaining lords were restrained by the firm grasp of the guards, who saluted me.

My heart felt full to bursting as my people knelt and cheered. They welcomed me home, and I would look after them, always.

Angie received a B.A. in English Literature from Spring Arbor University, and has been writing for her own enjoyment for many years. She has been passionate about fairy tales in their various forms for as long as she can remember.