the color of fate
Summary: She lives a quiet life, and she is happy. OneShot- Shirayuki, before the series. (Other girls dream of a prince on a white horse, and she laughs and says that the only prince they have is Raji, and thanks, but no thanks, she'd rather save herself.)
Warning: -
Set: Before the series.
Disclaimer: standards apply.
A/N: Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays 2017!
Once upon a time…
Most stories start like this, don't they? Most fairy-tales begin with those age-old words, passed down from generation to generation. Tales of love and loss, of deceit and happiness. Tales that make one wonder, perhaps, or smile. And the most wondrous, the most frightening and most educative: we take those tales and pass them on. And so they live on through the words of the elders and the sparkling eyes of the children. The stories live on, and so do the characters and events within the tale. At times, they are re-told so often that the original tale is lost and something new grows from the old; something more or less frightening, something more or less wondrous. And so, decades and centuries pass and old things are forgotten, and new things are born. But one thing will forever remain true, as long as the sun journeys across the sky and the stars sing their ancient tunes:
All stories are true.
Spring
The little ceramic bowl of water she had placed outside on her little balcony was occupied by three sparrows when Shirayuki opened the window.
The birds were bathing, splashing furiously, two of them chirping rather unharmoniously at the third. Almost as if in retaliation, the third one took off, water droplets raining down on his two companions. They cheeped even louder, indignant, and ruffled their feathers, and then saw the girl standing at the window.
"Good morning," she told them, cheerfully. "There's nothing like a bath in the morning, isn't there?"
The first sparrow took off, perhaps scared. The second one remained on the edge of the bird bath, cocking its tiny head in her direction curiously.
"Well, aren't you a feisty one." The girl laughed. She was young, perhaps fifteen summers of age, her figure was nice but not overly voluptuous and her features were soft and warm. The one thing that made her stand out from all the girls her age was her hair: it fell around her face in soft, long waves. It complemented her eyes, and made her soft skin shine. Her hair was red, a glowing, deep, apple-red color.
The sparrow chirped and hopped towards her, only to stop again.
"It's not winter anymore," Shirayuki told it, smiling. "Go, catch your own food!"
With a cheep that sounded like it understood, but did not necessarily agree, the tiny bird took off into the blue sky.
The girl shadowed her eyes to look over the village that spread out before her.
"Well, there goes," she told herself, smiling softly. "Spring's finally here."
"Shirayuki, love, are you up?" Her grandmother called upstairs. "Breakfast's ready!"
Shirayuki left the window open when she went downstairs.
Summer
Life in the village was simple and clear, especially in summer.
For most people, each day followed a routine: rising with the sun, preparing for the day. Doing the work they had done since they could remember: the washing ladies picked up the laundry, the market vendors opened up their stalls. The farmers went to milk their cows and feed their pigs and gather their eggs, or to sow their crops and grow and harvest them. The smith repaired loose horse shoes and blunted axes and broken axles. The shoemaker took care of the peoples' shoes. There were teachers and priests and seamstresses, and librarians and physicians and nurses. And most of them had something more in common aside from the fact that they shared a village: they would frequent the tavern at one point or other during their week, the men in the evening and the women during the day, would stop by for a tea and a piece of cake or a beer and stew, they would meet each other and exchange gossip and news, and they would laugh and shout orders at the barman and the lady swinging the ladle in the kitchen, making her assistants scatter. And they would smile at the young girl who served them their tea or their beer and would greet her cheerfully, and laugh or call and joke.
Shirayuki liked the tavern, loved her grandparents, and loved her work.
She liked meeting the people; serving them, listening to their stories, hearing their jokes. Of course there were evenings when a drunk became loud; mostly, her grandfather would talk him out of the tavern; mostly, it was peaceful.
"Are you going out into the mountains again today?" Tasha asked as she helped her friend carry the loaves of bread inside that had arrived in the early morning. Natasha was the baker's daughter, small and curvy like her mother, with hair as yellow as the rape flowers that surrounded the village in summer and twinkling, brown eyes.
Shirayuki balanced three warm loaves in her arms precariously and grabbed a fourth one. "Not today, no. Why?"
"Mum asked for that stomach-ache tea you gave Minou the last time. She's colicky again."
"Oh, I still have some of that," Shirayuki said, absent-mindedly. "Though it's more potent when it's fresh. I can get some chamomile today, can your mother wait until next full moon?"
"That's in two days? Yeah, I suppose so, she still has some left."
"Good. I'll also make some of the valerian drops, she might be able to sleep better, then."
"Thanks, Yuki!" Tasha threw her arms around her neck briefly and hugged her. Shirayuki wasn't tall, but her friend barely reached her nose. "I'll put a batch of Daddy's sugar cookies aside for you, okay? Can you pick them up in the afternoon?"
"You know you don't have to-"
"Yeah, but I want to! And besides, your grandparents love them…"
And off she skipped, cheerfully greeting said grandparents. Shirayuki laughed and went back inside.
"Shirayuki, I'm having back pains again!"
Early midday, an elderly man with a long, grey beard and a gnarled back spotted her through the window as she was just preparing the tavern for the influx of lunch customers.
"I need some of your magic, please."
Shirayuki laughed. "It's no magic, Elder Harold. It's just plants and their effects."
"You are magic, girl, I swear, I just see your lovely face and I feel so much better!"
"Don't try to sweet-talk my grandchild, Harry!" Shirayuki's grandfather called inside through the open window, his voice taking on a slightly threatening sound. "She's not giving you anything for free!"
"Here's the balm." Smiling, Shirayuki accepted the coins the old man held out to her.
"Mead!" The old man crowed when he saw what she had also tucked into the small bundle. "You're the best!"
"Don't drink it all at once," she warned him, her eyes twinkling. "There's not too much of it left. The bees are busy, though. This year's batch will sure be plentiful."
Autumn
The bakery was seldom full on a workday afternoon in summer, but autumn was a different matter. In the cool, grey and drizzly mountain climate, everyone loved the opportunity to warm up with a hot tea and some sweets, and the bell at the entrance door ringing in the new customers was busy indeed.
Among the usual customers there was a small gaggle of girls crowding around a table in the back and Shirayuki instantly recognized Tasha's golden head, Clara's dark one and Marina's lean figure.
"Surprise!"
Shirayuki laughed. "What are you doing here?"
Tasha glowered at her. "Don't pretend you forgot that it was your birth day last week. We couldn't make it then, but we have a gift for you and…" She waved at the table. "Cake!"
"Sit," Clara, the laundrywoman's daughter, told her, her voice sweet and bubbly. "My mother and my siblings send their love."
Marina did not smile, but her eyes were soft. "Happy Birthday, Yuki."
"Thank you." Gratefully, she sat and accepted a piece of cake. "But I have to get back…"
"Don't worry. We told your grandparents you'd be back for dinner."
Shirayuki's eyebrows wandered up into her hairline. "They knew?"
Clara laughed. "Of course they did. Now, here's your gift."
Since the girls had turned fifteen and had begun to help their parents at work, they did not meet as much as they had when they still had been going to school. It was a rare occasion to have all of them there, and Shirayuki enjoyed it thoroughly. It was a time for girl talk and jokes, too. Tasha had the best of humors, Clara was a happy soul by nature and even Marina would laugh, occasionally, being the most serious of the four of them.
"Hey, did you hear Nina got engaged?" Tasha asked. "To one of the Count's sons. Now she can finally live the life of splendor and luxury she always loved."
"The Count's sons? It probably was Ivan. He's her age," Marina said indifferently. "They deserve each other. Arrogant and wealthy."
"Oh, you," Tasha said, sniffing like she could not stand the scent of commoners – and the other girls laughed. None of them were noble, after all, and Tasha made the best impression of their major's daughter.
Tasha laughed, too, and then asked: "But who wouldn't like it if a prince on a white horse came to carry you off into the sunset?"
"And take me where?" Shirayuki asked, reasonably. "To his castle? What would I do there? Princesses don't have gardens, can't go out into the mountains to collect herbs and, Gods forbid, don't work in taverns. I'd be bored to death. And besides, commoners can't become princesses, anyway."
Clara's eyes clouded, dreamily. "Oh, but if a prince really made me his bride it wouldn't matter that I'm not born noble! And I also wouldn't mind not working again. And I could send money to my mother and siblings, so they could go to school and Mother wouldn't need to worry about food…"
Shirayuki's glance, automatically, went down to Clara's hands. They were red, her skin cracked and tender, a constant reminder of her work. Clara's mother, one of the villages' laundry women, needed every help she got. In winter, the cold water made her hands crack and bleed, but even during the rest of the year the harsh soap would cause skin irritation. Shirayuki made a note to prepare a new batch of lotion for them tomorrow.
"For a village girl who lost her father when she was six you still dream an awful lot," Tasha remarked, teasingly.
But Marina only snorted. "Why would he take you?" She asked, scorching. "You are hardly a beauty–"
She stopped when Tasha kicked her under the bench, hard. Marina glared, but she turned to Clara. "Sorry, Clara."
Clara blushed, and shrugged. And Shirayuki sighed inwardly and hoped, against all reason, that Clara would find her prince one day.
"But you know," Clara said, with her usual hint of mischief in her voice, "that there is only one real prince Tanbarun has right now who'd be of our age?"
And all girls groaned simultaneously at the thought of Prince Raji, nicknamed The Idiot Prince by his people, and the topic was dropped.
Winter
Usually, when someone came down with an illness in her village, Shirayuki brought out her teas and her salves and her herbal medicines, and helped the local physician as much as she could.
When her grandmother got ill, she didn't think it was that bad, first.
Her grandfather followed, three weeks later, as if too tired to remain alive without his wife.
The tavern remained closed that winter.
Spring
It was just one sparrow in the ceramic bird bath outside Shirayuki's window that morning. She watched from behind the closed window as the little bird splashed and sang. And then, in a sudden stream of sunlight breaking out from behind the grey clouds, a second sparrow landed on the rim of the bird bath and stared, cocking its head. It cheeped a few notes – almost questioning, definitely cheerful – and the other sparrow answered, and something like a conversation began.
It made her smile.
She was not sure when she had smiled the last time. She went downstairs to open the tavern.
It took Shirayuki the whole of two months to find a routine, and to become comfortable with it. She got up at dawn and went downstairs to begin the daily work. She hired a chef and a barman, and placed orders for food and beverages. She helped with the morning cleaning and the preparations, and, at lunch and in the evening, served her customers herself. Most of the people knew her and were glad to see her back. But they told her, and looked at her in a way that made her feel slightly ill, and Shirayuki tried to smile and ignore the pity. It felt, oddly, very similar to the times when she had worked in the tavern with her grandparents, and she had to remind herself that they were gone on an almost daily basis. When the tavern finally closed at night she stayed some more time, taking care of the paperwork and the orders. And then she stumbled up the stairs and fell into bed, exhausted and spent, and slept, and dreamed of building something out of wooden blocks and stones she could barely lift by herself, of bloody hands and broken bones and of an absence that was too large to comprehend.
"You know," Marina said, wistfully. "You should change the tavern into a pharmacy. You always loved doing an apothecary's work, and you still sell salves and stuff, even if you barely have time to make them."
"I don't know," Shirayuki mumbled, pretending to be absorbed into grinding mustard seeds for a salve against skin rashes. "I've thought of it. But there are so many memories…"
"They wouldn't go away," her friend pointed out, reasonably. "And your grandparents would want you to do whatever you want."
"I know. I just… Can't do it yet, I think?"
"That's fine," Marina said, and Shirayuki threw her a grateful smile.
The tavern ran well, always had. In a small village in which people knew each other, nobody changed their routine too much. They had always eaten here, so they always would – as long as the tavern stood, and somebody sold them food and beverages.
And Shirayuki did just that.
At the beginning of the Fifth Month – a splendid, beautiful morning that promised to turn into a splendid, beautiful day – Shirayuki opened the door and found herself face to face with a stranger; a severe-looking, dark-haired man in an impeccable uniform and with a sword by his side.
"You are Shirayuki, the girl with the apple-colored hair," he said, unnecessarily.
Shirayuki suppressed a comment about his observational skills and smiled politely. "How may I help you?"
The man observed her with dark eyes, appraising and detached at the same time, and she suppressed a shiver.
"Prince Raji Shenazade, his Highness, First Prince of Tanbarun, wishes for you to become his companion."
Shirayuki stared, uncomprehending. "I do not understand."
"You work fifteen hours a day in a place you inherited from your late grandparents. You barely have enough money left to pay your suppliers. Do you not want to be saved from your current life?"
Shirayuki thought that she would save herself, thank you very much.
The dark-haired man did not smile. "Did you know there is a saying in one of our neighboring kingdoms? They say, red is the color of fate."
Summer
"Prince Raji says what?"
Tasha was spitting flames and fury, her eyes brighter than angry wildfire. It was so good: seeing her friend's anger, and knowing it was for her sake. Shirayuki felt dull and empty, unable to even muster up any rage at the message she had received precisely on the first day of summer.
"He said he wants me as his concubine, and I have to await his carriage three days from now."
"Just because of your hair? That's ridiculous! Preposterous! Idiot Prince Raji, how dare he– Fate, my ass! Just because your hair is red doesn't mean you were born to satisfy a stupid prince's whims!"
Shirayuki watched her own hands perform the necessary tasks without any drive of her own. Her body knew the steps: she was preparing chamomile, once again, this time for a hand salve. The dried blossoms rustled in her hands, he loves me, he loves me not – a children's game she had been taught by her grandmother. She had never been in love herself, had she not? And now she was supposed to give up her life in order to be an ornament for a prince who was notorious for his inability to grow up.
Did it matter, anyway? It was not like she had something to lose. Her life was empty, anyway.
"I might as well –"
"Don't you dare!" Tasha screeched, the sudden volume shocking her friend into finally looking at her. "You can't just give in, Yuki! You deserve a life. You deserve to see the world, like you've always dreamed! Oh, I wish you'd just run away instead of being so dreadfully calm and composed and accepting!"
With a silent, final crash, the porcelain mortar shattered on the ground.
Tasha made a sound of dismay. "Oh, Yuki! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to…"
Shirayuki watched her friend kneel and pick up the shards, and then slid to the ground, as well.
"Tasha, do you think I could do it?"
Tasha stopped gathering the broken pieces of ceramic. "Do what?"
"Run away." Shirayuki's voice was quiet, but intense. "Escape Raji." See the world. Travel. Find a reason to live. It went unsaid, but not unheard. They had been best friends since their mothers had first brought them together as toddlers.
"Where will you go?"
"I don't know. Away. Somewhere else."
"You could go to Lyrias," Thasha suggested. "Didn't you say you wanted to see the Great Library?"
"But that's days of travel… I have to cross Clarines…"
"Once you reach the capital, you can find a carriage. Lyrias also has the Houses of Healing. Oh, Yuki, you could become a pharmacist! You already know everything there is to be about plants and their healing abilities…"
"That's just the traditional stuff Grandma taught me…"
"Don't be silly! You've been helping the entire village for the past ten years. You'd be a brilliant apothecary, Yuki!"
"I can't sell the tavern in three days," Shirayuki said, slowly. "But…"
"I'll do it, and send you the money. Dad will help, I'm sure. Oh, Yuki!"
She leaned forwards, the shards forgotten in her lap, and hugged her best friend. "I will miss you so much, but you need to go! You were shackled to us all this time. Now it's your chance to be free!"
Shirayuki felt a tear run down her cheek, and held on to Tasha as if she was drowning.
And then she left.
How strange, to suddenly be all by herself, unburdened, untethered. So free, and, at the same time, so insecure.
The forest she entered by the early afternoon was light and green, and smelled like the forest at home. Shirayuki swallowed a bout of homesickness and marched on. She had passed the border between Tanbarun and Clarines by noon and had expected the neighboring country to look completely different than her home country, but if there were differences, she had yet to see them.
Instead, she had seen hills and vales just like home, and farmsteads, a small village in which she had bought some lunch, and now this forest. The path through the forest was clearly visible, but the growling sound of her stomach told her it would be evening soon. When the wall of hedges and ferns to her side suddenly turned into a red stone wall, covered by ivy and roses, she halted, surprised. A mansion, just like that, in the middle of the forest? Did people live here? And, if so, would she be able to ask for permission to spend the night within the walls? She was not so much afraid of animals and nightly predators – there were wolves in Tanbarun's mountains, but the villagers would have warned her if there were any in their forest – but of human predators, and having a wall between her and the world seemed like a good idea.
But maybe there would be other mansions coming up further along the way?
Then, also, maybe not.
Unwilling to take a risk, Shirayuki decided to check on this house. Unluckily – or luckily, who knew? – it proved to be uninhabited. The gate did not open, but when she followed the wall, she found a small hole in it, hidden away under a bush and just big enough for her to crawl through. The house itself showed all signs of a lacking occupancy. But there was a functioning well in the courtyard, and while the stables were barred closed there was a nice, protected shelter tucked into the wall that would protect her from the elements at night. It wasn't quite midsummer completely, but Shirayuki hoped her traveling cloak and bedroll would keep her warm enough. She had just settled down and freed the ground from some sharp stones, when she heard rustling steps and voices from the other side of the wall.
Frozen, she tried to decide whether to run or to hide.
But the people would surely not climb the wall, would they? That was ridiculous!
Oh, no.
They were talking about the house, and it did not sound as if they were the owners. So more stragglers, just like her? Shirayuki shifted forward, grabbing her bag, ready to bolt to her feet and run. Cursing Tasha, inwardly, for having talked her into this.
And a boy vaulted over the wall in one jump.
She caught flax-colored hair and dark-blue-grey clothes and the blink of steel at the handle of a sword. And then, violet eyes, deep and dark, with a hint of mischief and an equal amount of seriousness, and Shirayuki–
Their eyes met.
"Oh!" Said the boy, mid-flight, catching sight of her.
And his foot caught on the top of the wall and made him lose his balance. He dropped towards the ground in an inelegant flash of rustling clothes and a sword, twisted himself into a roll, made an anguished sound as his arm hit one of the stones Shirayuki had just moved, and landed in a crouch in front of her.
They stared at each other, mute, both ignoring the sudden worried shouts from the other side of the wall.
"Well," the boy said and stood. "Look what we've got here."
And somewhere, slow but insistently, the gears began to turn.
"They say red is the color of fate, you know," the boy-turned-prince said, and, for the first time, Shirayuki liked the sound of those words.
Once upon a time…
That is how most stories begin. Maybe your story will be told, too, one day, my child. Maybe your story will be told to a little girl dreaming of a prince and a horse, or to a little boy, aspiring to be a knight. Maybe your story will hold cautions and morals, too, and maybe it will be told because it is funny, and people love to laugh. Maybe it will be a story just for you, child. But, you see, that won't be bad. Because every life is a story, and every story is remembered: somewhere, somehow. And as long as your story is remembered, you will never disappear.
Live your life, child. Become your own story.
And then, someday, people will say the same they say when they finish the story of the red-haired pharmacist and the second prince that met by accident, one day:
And they lived happily ever after.