Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Author's Note: This is going to be around the size of a novella. I would really love to do a ridiculously grandiose, 152-chapter story for this pairing, but with two jobs, I just don't have time. So instead it's just a simple story, probably around ten chapters or so, and maybe when life calms down, I can revise it into what I'd like it to be.
In the meantime, you're going to see some characters from other tales from the Brothers Grimm. The premise is loosely based on Jorinda and Joringel, whose names I have changed to John and Jordana, because, let's face it, nobody in their right minds is that matchy-matchy these days. You're also going to see a few other faces for those that are familiar with their fairy tales and fairy creature bestiary, such as Mother Holle, The Washerwomen, and The Twelve Huntresses, to name a few. If you know your fairy tales and folklore, it will probably make a bit more sense to you. Not every fairy tale mention here will be Grimm's, either. Some are Celtic and Scottish myth, some of the ideas I got came from Andrew Lang's collection of Fairy Books.
Due to my busy schedule, I have the story written in a notebook longhand, and updates will only come when I've had time that week to type up what I've already written, not to mention longer if I choose to change the plot around.
Please be kind, and, if you like the story, review it. Review it even if you don't like it. It helps me become a better writer. But reviewing is a really simple thing to do, and occasionally can make the difference between an author having a terrible day or an uplifting one.
Once upon a time, a farmer and his eldest son walked side by side along the edge of their golden wheat field. Scythes rested over their shoulders, as evening was coming on, and having worked all day, they were hungry men and were looking forward to the stewed meat and potatoes they knew waited for them in the workhouse. The wheat was planted in immaculate rows, and the son counted them absent-mindedly as they walked by. The golden stalks swayed in the breeze, and the farmer and his son spoke of how their new queen was the catalyst of the verdant growth. Their farm was at the southeastern most border of the kingdom, and all the land they owned and worked had flourished since the removal of the former queen.
A loud cry from the nearby forest jerked them out of their tranquility, their gold-filled moment gone. The farmer grasped his scythe and his son raised his high, ready to strike if any creature came for them from the trees.
Another cry arose. "Help me!" It was a man's voice, not full of pain, but of fear and despair.
The farmer and his son did not hesitate to rush towards the sound, their tools-turned-weapons at the ready.
"We are coming to help you! Where are you?" the farmer yelled into the air.
"I am here!" the man called. "Please, come quickly! I am quite trapped!"
The two hurried to the sound of the man's voice, crashing through the foliage, branched whipping them in their faces. Not terribly far into the trees, there came a meadow, and the two were more than surprised to find a young man standing alone in a field of yellow flowers, appearing to be quite unharmed.
"What is the meaning of this?" demanded the farmer's son, irritated at having abandoned his dinner to rescue a moron from a cluster of untrimmed weeds.
"Please help me!" the young man cried out piteously. "I cannot move. I am rooted to this very spot!"
The farmer and his son exchanged a look. They each took a side, and attempted to hoist the man off of the ground. He stuck fast. The farmer frowned. He looked at his son, vexed.
"How did you come to be stuck?" he asked the young man.
"I was out walking with me beloved. We are to be married this spring." The young man tried hard to suppress a sob, and looked for all the world as though he might die of misery right there on that extremely fixed spot. "There she is." He nodded his head in the direction of a nearby oak, where a nightingale was perched, watching the trio intently.
The son scowled, and looked at his father.
The farmer shrugged, not entirely certain of what to make of the entire situation. "Stranger things have happened."
A large shadow passed over all three. They all looked up to see an enormous owl, larger than any of them had ever seen or even heard of, circling overhead. Its feathers were so very black they almost glowed blue at the tips, and its wingspan was a good fourteen feet across. It seemed to leer down at them as prey. Its eyes did not shine yellow like most owls; instead, they were a milky black, with no iris nor pupil, just a void, stirring black.
They stood as men hypnotized, staring straight up, until the owl unexpectedly dove.
"Duck!" the farmer yelled.
His son and he cowered to the ground, each throwing an arm over the young man in an attempt to shield him, supporting him as he hunched over the ground.
Just before the owl could make it near to them, there was a flash of purple-blue light and a crackle. There was a slight rustle of clothing, and then a deep, throaty, yet feminine voice said quietly, "You have trespassed upon my domain."
The three men slowly looked up at the woman standing before them. She was tall, as tall as some men, and wore a long gray peplos which trailed behind her. She had olive-colored skin, full lips, and long hair that fell in ringlets down to her waist. Her hands were clasped, and she stared down at them with a look of clear disdain, spoiling her beauty.
"My Lady?" the young man who was stuck to the ground peered up at her, sorrow etched deep into his features. "If we have trespassed on your land, we offer you our most sincere apologies, for it was done without our knowledge-" He managed to say this without a single quake in his voice.
"Not all three of you," she said irritably, waving him quiet. "You and the woman." She jerked her head towards the nightingale in the oak tree. "Her."
One moment, she was standing before them, and in the next, she had flashed to the oak tree, and seized the nightingale in her fist. In the next second, she stood a hair's breadth in front of them, and was stuffing the poor nightingale, who chirped helplessly, into a gilt cage.
"Please leave her be!" the stuck man pleaded. "We have done nothing to you. She is me cherished one. I beg of you, return her to me!"
The woman held the cage at eye level, admiring her prize, before turning her head to look at the trapped man. She said only one word. "No."
She reached out with a slender arm and tapped the man on his forehead. The sound of a log snapping in a bonfire broke through the air, forcing all three men into unconsciousness. When they awoke, the stuck man could now move, and the woman was gone.
Some considerable time and distance away, the new queen sat in the Great Hall, listening to a shoemaker, Andre, bring a case against a rival shoemaker, Mueller.
"He is stealing my business!" Andre was telling her, his voice raised. "Three months ago, his shoes were clumsy, thick-soled boots. And now, look! Just look!" He held up a new pair, a tiny red suede ladies' slipper with embroidered flowers across the toes. "My wife purchased these so that I might show you. They are exquisite!"
The Queen raised an eyebrow. "Forgive me, sir, but I fail to see the damage here?"
"He is not making them!" Andre cried dramatically, the tips of his ears beginning to grow purple with fury as he jabbed an accusing finger at Mueller.
The Queen suppressed the urge to smile, bemused, and looked at the other man. "Mueller?"
"It's true that I did not embroider the designs. My wife did that, my Queen," Mueller said softly. "As for the shoe, I…I have simply been fortunate enough lately to be able to buy quality materials."
"He is not making them! It's the elves!" Andre screeched, his voice moving to octaves few men possess.
The Queen stared blankly at him, and Andre looked behind him at the courtiers for help, only to find that the Queen's advisors, her ladies-in-waiting, and most of the courtiers were giving him a collective countenance of bewilderment.
"Elves?" the Queen repeated.
"Elves!" shrieked Andre passionately.
The Queen pursed her lips thoughtfully while she planned her response. "Andre. I cannot pass judgment where no crime has been committed. Heir Mueller has a right to earn money, just as anyone else does. His methods of production are of no concern of yours. Perhaps Heir Mueller would be willing to share trade secrets, but that is at his discretion. Go and sell your wares, Andre. There is always someone who needs a good pair of shoes."
Andre's face turned sour, but he made no further comment and turned away, stamping to the exit of the Hall in a curmudgeonly fashion.
"Next!" Beith yelled.
Up came three weary-looking men, an elder one and two young men, early twenties. As they approached, they removed their hats and briefly dipped to one knee in respect.
"My Queen, I come seeking aid," one of the younger men spoke.
"Your name, sir?" asked the Queen.
"John," he told her. He gestured to the other young man. "This is Sean, and Peter, his father. They were with me when it happened, come with me to back up me story."
"What happened?" the Queen asked.
"Me betrothed has been taken from me,' he said, and such sorrow was in his voice, the lighthearted bemusement the Queen had been in but moments before vanished.
"Her name was—is—Jordana," John told her. "She and me are to be married come spring. We were out walking and talking about the wedding near our home in the southeast of the kingdom, near Peter's farm. We realized that we had wandered a bit far and were lost, and suddenly—I know how unlikely this will sound, my Queen, but Jordana was changed, just transformed, right where she stood before me eyes, into a nightingale."
He paused, checking to gauge her reaction for disbelief. While she looked somewhat startled, she showed no signs that she might be thinking about ridiculing him, so he continued. "My feet stuck in the ground, as though I had been chained to a heavy stone, and I could not move. I called for help for hours, and eventually Peter and Sean heard me."
"And there he was, just standin' there, fixed to the ground. We thought for a moment he were joking, but…look at my son, Sean, my Queen. He is strong, years of hard work in the fields have made him so. He can pull a cart full of corn as easily as any beast, but when he tried to move John here, the lad wouldn't budge," Peter said.
"And then the worst part happened," added Sean.
"An owl, larger than any I've ever seen in me many considerable years, circled over our heads," Peter said, raising his arms wide to describe it.
"She swooped down to us, and became a woman," John said. "She said, 'You have trespassed on my domain.'"
"She disappeared for a moment, and reappeared with a gold cage, and shoved the nightingale—me beautiful Jordana—into it," John said. "I begged her to leave us be. I have no idea what we did to anger her so. But she said, 'No,' and struck me on me forehead, and down we went, fast asleep like babes in a cradle. When we awoke, I could move me limbs again." He hung his head. "I just want me Jordana back. I don't know who to go to, my Queen. She is everything to me."
The Queen nodded. "I will speak with my advisors." She stood and strode into a room attached to the Hall specially made for this purpose. Beith, Muir, Quert, Coll, Duir, Gort, and Nion filed in behind her.
"I've never heard of such a thing," the Queen told them.
"There were tales told, long ago," Muir told her quietly. "Long before you were born, my Queen. "I was but a wee child then, and even then, those tales were nigh ancient. They spoke of a witch, who lived in a palace made of obsidian. She captures young girls and rips them away from their sweethearts and turns them into exotic songbirds. Parents used to tell the story to their children to keep them from wandering too far. But I haven't heard that story in decades."
"There haven't been any stories because Ravenna was too busy sucking the life out of the population," Beith said bluntly.
The Queen listened to all of this. "We will send someone to go see."
"A wise decision, my Queen," said Gort gallantly, only to have six of his companions look at him with an eye-rolling expression. "What? It is."
The Queen grinned at him and made her way back to her chair on the raised platform at the head of the Great Hall. She sat down, arranging her skirt neatly.
"We shall send someone to investigate. In the meantime, you are welcome in the court. I imagine you are tired and hungry. Rest, and eat your fill. I will let you know as soon as we hear anything."
At the end of the day, Snow White stood in the aviary, writing out her message.
Greta, who had come up to bring her a fresh candle, asked, "My Queen? Do you write to the Huntsman?" She lit the new candle, replacing the old one.
For the briefest of instances, a grimace spread over the young queen's features, and she looked down to hide it. "No, not the Huntsman. I don't even know…I wouldn't know where to send it." She cleared her throat. "I am writing to William." She glanced over her letter.
Dear Friend William,
A man from the south of Tabor has come to me for help. His betrothed was captured by a woman, a woman with dark magic. I would go myself if I did not feel that I am needed here so. If you can spare the time and the men, please investigate this matter.
Your Friend,
Snow White
The Queen rolled it tightly, placed it in a tube, and attached it to a golden osprey before releasing the hawk into the night. She stared out of the window at the waxing crescent of the moon, and remembered looking upon another moon exactly like it two months ago.
Snow White was pacing the hallways in the early house of the morning. After years of sleeping on a straw-tick mattress, she could not find comfort in the down mattress that awaited her in her chambers. Ravenna had died two days ago, the coronation was yesterday, and now she was exhausted. Yet sleep evaded her. She found herself roaming the castle, exploring rooms and passages she had forgotten even existed.
By chance, she somehow arrived in the main hall leading out into the courtyard. It was still and dark this time of night, save for the candlestick she carried.
A sudden rustling nearly caused her to cry out in alarm, but she managed to clasp her hand over her mouth. The rustling was followed by heavy footsteps, and then Eric came into view.
She was so relieved that she had to laugh. "Eric, you frightened me! I thought-" she stopped abruptly, seeing his knapsack and axe over one shoulder, and the look of relief on her face faded. "What are you doing?"
In the flickering light of the candle, she could see the torment on his face. "I am leaving, my Queen."
"What? Why?"
"I must."
"Must why? You are needed here! There is much work to be done! I want you to stay!"
"If I stay…" he lowered his knapsack and axe to the ground. "If I stay, it would not be in your best interests. You have your people; you have-" he paused, "William."
"William is…he is but a friend."
"He wants to be more than that. Naïve you are, Princess, but you know that much. You should let him."
"I do not think of him as—as I think of you." There, I said it!
His expression softened. "I must go so that I might become the man you think I am."
"Then you will return?"
He could not meet her eyes. "I shall try."
A lone tear slid down her left cheek. "You must return. I am Queen; I order you to return!" She sobbed. "Please. Promise me you'll come back."
He moved forward to place an arm around her, drawing her forward to hold her. He wrapped his other arm tightly around her, stroking her hair.
"A kiss before you go?" she whispered softly against his chest.
Eric cradled her faced in his hands. He tenderly kissed her forehead, then her left cheek, then her right.
Leave. Leave, now, he told himself.
But he couldn't. Not until he'd had a kiss, a real one. Her green eyes met his blue ones, so full of hope and consuming heartache. He bent down and touched his lips to hers.
He had meant to kiss her for a moment and hurry away with his stolen kiss, but the second his lips met hers, his self-control fled the room. He moved his mouth over hers, a hand snaking around her back, pulling her closer. His tongue flicked across her lips, and she opened her mouth, allowing him to fully kiss her.
It was over much too quickly.
He pulled away from her reluctantly, resting his forehead against hers, eyes closed.
"Promise," she reminded him.
"I promise I'll come back."
He pulled away and was gone.
"My Queen?"
The Queen was jostled from her memories, turning around to see Great looking at her expectantly. "Yes?"
"Would Her Majesty like to return to her chambers? It is getting late."
The Queen gave her a small smile, and nodded, following her out of the aviary, shutting the door tightly behind her.