Disclaimer: Gundam Wing isn't mine, so don't sue me
Additional disclaimer: The story here is taken from one of my favorite fairy tales from a very old book that my grandfather always read to me as a child. The story itself is titled "Snow White and Rose Red" from the compilation book After the Sun Sets. It's a great book, read it sometime!
And now the tale:
A destitute father resided in the outskirts of a small country village with his two children. They lived in a modest home, made from fired clay, stones, and mended shards of broken glass. Originally, the family had come from a completely different country far south where they had many riches and privileged living conditions. However, not all was well, and before the youngest child had turned three, the family was driven from their homeland by new politics. What they had left behind was divided up and distributed to the impoverished seeking better lives, and new social order.
Feeling no longer safe in their country, the family fled by boat to a new land far up north where they finally settled. Ousted by their cultural differences, they built their dwelling somewhat secluded from town. The children were easier to adapt to their new surroundings, but the father found himself somewhat inadequate and preferred to hole himself up in what he found familiar. He was of smooth speech in his own language, but the foreigner's tongue was still incredibly hard to articulate. To his neighbors, he spoke brokenly and with a heavy accent. Often, his children were instrumental in translating and getting things done.
His children, he often referred to as his "valuables," since both were indispensable to his existence as he knew it. They were sweet and handsome as well. His eldest, a daughter, Iria was very robust and witty acting as a motherly figure for her younger sibling. There was a good six years age difference between her and her most treasured brother, Quatre. He was naïve, inquisitive, empathic, and a myriad of other things. Her pet name for him had always been "little angel."
Often at night as he was falling asleep, he would whisper to his sister through the silvery strands of moonlight peeking in by way of window, "Are you asleep, Iri?"
"Nay, sweetest. I am yet wakeful," would be the tired but warm reply from across the room.
"We shall always be together," Quatre would say quietly with the conviction that only a child could muster.
In good humor, Iria would reply softly, "Yes little angel, we shall always be together."
The conversation would end there, always, both siblings falling asleep before another word could be uttered.
It was never easy, but it was never hard for Iria to raise her brother. He was always eager to learn, eager to help, and saw everything with an unfaultable goodness that was peculiar but never tiring. Together, brother and sister would venture out into the vast meadows near their house and collect new flowers to transplant to their slowly growing garden. Too poor to buy playthings, they invented games that were terribly clever. A lot of it dealt with arithmetic, word play, memory, and other academic studies in Iria's efforts to pass on knowledge to her brother. Her greatest triumph was when her brother voiced his want for reading materials.
The years passed with both siblings growing more and more beautiful, dividing while bonding ever more closely at the same time. Their father's linguistic skills improved, but not much. Also, a queer thing was beginning to take over Quatre. He was growing increasingly melancholy and introverted, though he tried vainly to hide it. What he could possibly be brooding about was a complete mystery and left as such.
In Quatre's fifteenth year, summer had long come and gone. The winter was bitter and cold confining people to their houses struggling for warmth. That worry had long been abated a couple years before for the small family when Iria had proposed that they carve a deeper floor for their home much like animals burrow into the ground when the frost approaches. The abode stayed warm even with frigid winds wailing just outside.
By the fire, Quatre was in repose on his sister's lap reading a borrowed book while she spun flax to make new winter clothes. Their father, meanwhile, was busy salting and preserving the fish he'd caught that day in the pond.
Three firm knocks on the heavy oak door disturbed the tranquility of the evening.
"Iria, see who it is," father said not once looking up from his task.
Before she could even get up, her brother was already at the door. It opened with a loud creaking accompanied shortly by a rather surprised exclamation of "ah!"
Immediately, Iria was there as a living shield, or rather, deterrent, with her brother huddled behind her. Her own small expression of surprise arrested their father's attention.
In the doorway stood a snow colored wolf almost the size of a grown man if not more. Its forest green eyes lustily raked the interior of the dwelling and the two horrified siblings.
"If I may. I would be extremely grateful if you allow me to impose on your good humor and warm myself by the fire a little. I will not harm you," the wolf spoke eloquently and sincerely in the smoothest baritone greatly impressing everyone.
"Come, come," the father encouraged motioning admittance to the unusual visitor.
With surprising grace, the wolf entered the home, not bothering with the small steps that more than likely would have hindered his entry rather than aiding it.
"He has snow in his fur, help him with it," the father told his children in their native tongue before turning back to his momentarily interrupted task.
"Mr. Wolf, would you like us to help rid you of the snow in your fur? It clings tightly," Iria asked. "It does. Please. . ." the wolf agreed.
Carefully, the siblings went about picking the ice and snow from the wolf's magnificent coat. It gleamed in the firelight like a precious metal, but was softer than down, not unlike Quatre's hair. When the task was finished, the wolf lay down by the fire, closing his eyes at the comfort.
". . .Careful that your fur does not catch fire," Quatre warned shyly and was rewarded by a fleeting glance in his direction before the wolf's eyes once again slipped closed.
Everyone took up their tasks once again after the disturbing encounter as if nothing had happened, as if there wasn't a giant wolf soaking up warmth by the hearth.
Once the wolf had warmed enough, he and Quatre pursued each other in conversation and game. Iria was busy with chores, but kept an eye on her brother. Her original misgivings were allayed by the gentle way in which her brother was treated. It was a little surprising that the wolf could match wits with her brother. They parried with words and occasionally with each other. The wolf utilizing his superior body mass would simply roll the small boy over with his snout.
When Quatre was tired, Iria voiced her own fatigue. The wolf made ready to leave, but their father would not have it.
"Tell him to stay," he said to his eldest child.
"Mr. Wolf, stay for the night. It is much too cold outside to be sleeping in. Instead of catching dreams, you will catch your own death. Please, stay," Iria implored.
The wolf nodded his acquiescence and turned away from the door.
He spent the night there near the hearth and in the morning he asked the siblings to open the door. No sooner was the latch undone, than he was gone.
When evening came again, he returned. The winter continued on like this with him returning every day after sunset, and leaving every morning at dawn. Little by little, Quatre was coming out from his shell with help from the wolf's constant cajoling and even humor.
However, spring arrived and signaled change. Flowers bloomed in abundance on the hillsides turning acres pink, violet, blue, and a dozen other colors. People were coming out of their homes that had been shut tight for a good majority of the cold winter. The wolf took Quatre aside early one morning. Both had become attached to each other. "Quatre," the wolf said with his delightful accent that always made the name seem more exotic and pleasing. "I must depart now. It is likely that I shall not return until next winter." "Why must you leave?" Quatre asked pouting his lips.
"In the wood, I have treasures I must protect," the wolf explained making it a point not to look at the boy's eyes. "You know, there are dwarfs that roam the wood. They come out during springtime from their long winters of living underground. Dwarfs love anything that might reflect the sun's light. But, overall, they love other people's things. If given the chance, they would make off with everything in the world and find a way to stuff it into their underground hovels. Once they take something, it is very hard to gain it back again."
Quatre nodded chewing his lower lip. "As long as you return next winter. . ."
"I shall," the wolf assured.
Reluctantly, the boy opened the door and watched his friend spirit away like a pleasant dream. Just as the boy was about the shut the door, he spotted a tuft of fur in the catch. Gingerly, he removed it and was surprised to find green fibers adhered to the roots. It appeared to be velvet of some sort.
Could he not be a wolf? He wondered to himself.
Quatre went to his sister's nightstand and selected a tattered red ribbon that he used to bundle the fur with. He then placed it into his own box for safekeeping.
Long summer days passed with no sign of the wolf. Life continued as it had summers before. The siblings finding new flowers, borrowing new books, and so on.
One day, the father had many chores for his children, which was nothing really new. He sent them to go fetch firewood, which they did obediently, even gladly to dispel their idleness.
In the wood, they found a few felled trees from winter with dry, dead branches lying about. Iria and Quatre bundled them and set them in a pack on his back. At one tree, they were busy gathering what they could when a strange noise sounded from nearby, such a queer noise to disturb the constant calm of summer. The siblings warily approached seeing bright flashes of color appear over and over again over the top of a bush.
They were a little surprised to come across one of the funniest looking little men they'd ever seen. He was truly ugly, his little face scrunched up into a mass of blushing wrinkles, and bushy brows furrowed together in determination. He jumped up and down, pulled and yanked, but his long white beard would not come free of the long it had so curiously gotten wedged in. He grunted and whined, kicked, and tried to run, but nothing seemed to work.
Quatre and Iria couldn't help but laugh at the spectacle he presented.
They took the dwarf by surprise, and he turned two little beady red eyes on them. They brimmed with flames, he bared his teeth and cursed. "You mock me? Make yourself useful and help me!"
"What can we do?" asked Iria full of mirth.
"Hell if I know! My prided beard is caught in the trunk of this tree. I was busy making kindling. When I pulled my axe out, my beard had somehow gotten caught in the crevice. I cannot budge."
"We shall go fetch help," Iria assured him leading Quatre away.
"No, no, no! You must not!" the dwarf cried. "Are you such a fool? You want to bring the whole village back with you? You little twits! You're enough for me as it is!"
For a few minutes, Iria and Quatre assessed their situation turning their heads this way and that, examining the dwarf's ails from all angles.
"Ah! I have thought of something," Quatre said crouching down and pulling from his pocket a pair of farmer's scissors. Before the dwarf could put up a fight, snip, his beard was cut in two.
Free, but infuriated, the dwarf howled, "You little nitwit! My greatness hath been cut in twine! May a thousand pebbles strike you dead!" With that he popped Quatre outside the head. Then, he heaved a bag from the ground over his shoulder dropping a few gold coins that he paid no heed to and walked away as only a dwarf such as himself could. He did not glance back at either brother or sister that had aided him in his time of need.
Later, brother and sister were headed to the pond to catch some fish for supper, when they saw something colorful flailing around by the water's edge. They rushed down to assist whomever was by the pond panicking in such a fashion. When they were near enough, they could see that it was the dwarf again. His long nose was bunched up close to his face, as he huffed and struggled with in invisible foe.
"What are you doing, friend?" Iria inquired. "Do you want to fall in?"
"Stupid girl! Can you not see that this wily fish doth have my beautiful beard? I am not daft! And, I most certainly am not fish food! Help free me!" the old dwarf demanded.
Sure enough, when Quatre and Iria leaned to see, there was a rather large fish tugging at the wound length of the dwarf's beard.
"That's clever, using your beard as a lure," Quatre observed. While casting his line, the wind must have swept his beard up into the hook and caught it there. A sizeable fish had swallowed the line, and part of the dwarf's beard before anything could be done. The fish had about dragged the little man in by the time the siblings had arrived. Oh, how the fish pulled!
"How are we to help you?" Iria asked. She was immensely amused. She held fast to his coat keeping him on shore while he yowled and kicked and screamed.
"I've an idea," Quatre piped up and grabbed a hold of the dwarf's beard. In one powerful tug, he shored the fish. Then, he took the pair of scissors from his pocket and cut the dwarf free again.
The fish flopped around with heavy, wet smacks in the dust. The dwarf in the meantime was fuming. "Oh, you cow! Look at your mistake! How am I to show my face again? You have ruined me! A curse upon your ancestors!" He kicked the fish ineffectively, and then rammed it with all of his might into the water. It sped away and disappeared into the murky depths of the lake taking some of his beard with it. Satisfied, the dwarf hauled a bag over his shoulder from the grass and stalked off dropping a few pearls in his wake.
Once again, he did not turn back while brother and sister watched him befuddled at his odd behavior. They caught a fish larger than that, which had almost devoured him.
A little later, Quatre and Iria were sent out again, this time to the village to barter for some dyes among other things that they needed back at the cottage. The shortest route to the village was through one of their favorite meadows. It was bright pink with wild azaleas, almost no grass could be seen.
"Oh, Quatre! There's a hawk! Look! Isn't it pretty!" Iria grinned.
Indeed, there was a large, and proud looking hawk soaring high above their heads in the sky. It circled the meadow in wide arcs, until swooping down with its talons spread wide.
A shrill cry issued from under the flowers, and blossoms seemed to explode as the hawk began its ascent. Within its grasp was the strange little dwarf kicking and howling, making such a fuss.
"Oh gosh!" the siblings exclaimed and dropped their things to run after and help the dwarf once again.
Iria, being taller and swifter was able to grab a hold of one of the dwarf's legs. Quatre caught up soon after and jumped up and arrested the other. Unable to support the weight of three, the mighty bird dropped its burden in a heap and flew away.
"Oh, you festered sore! You horrible, horrible thing! If you had it your way, you'd have me torn apart! Ugly, ugly children! Hideous little abominations!" the dwarf whined. He complained and complained though still in one piece and well. "May a dozen beasts take you!" He rapped Quatre on the head before disappearing in much the same fashion as he had before, this time with a bag of jewels in hand.
Brother and sister disentangled themselves from each other, retrieved the things they had dropped, and continued on into town.
There they traded herbs and spices for soap and dyes. People asked politely about the small scratches on Quatre's brow to which he replied was a product of a folly of youth. All the women in the village cooed and worried over the little marks as if he were their own son. Embarrassed, but kindly allowing the maids to fulfill their maternal instincts, Quatre watched his sister barter goods. Girls pined for his attentions if only to hear him speak with his lilting southeastern accent. He was always chaste and non- committal which served to frustrate as well as invigorate.
After they managed to pry themselves away from the attentions of attentive lasses, they made their way home. In the meadow, above a low row of rocks, they stumbled upon the dwarf. This time, all his riches were spread neatly on the flat surface of a large rock. They flickered in the sunlight like dozens of eyes. The siblings could only stare in amazement.
A small bundle of pigment herbs fell from Quatre's pack alerting the dwarf to the presence of others. He turned around, his cheeks bright red. "Go away! Go away! You vile things! Don't stare, you clods!" He leaned over his haul protectively with his tiny body. "Should I learn you once more, boy? Have you not enough humors upon your brow?" The dwarf huffed and squared his shoulders.
Just then, a loud, low growl caused the dwarf, Iria, and Quatre to jump. From the cover of the flower clusters, a large wolf stalked, his teeth bared, and eyes narrowed into slits. His white fur stood up on end increasing his size two fold.
"Kind Mr. Wolf! Good Mr. Wolf!" the dwarf cried. "Do not eat me! I am bony and small! You see those two there? They are much larger and healthier than I!"
Quatre and Iria stood paralyzed hugging each other tightly.
The wolf glanced their way only a moment before advancing further on the dwarf. Faster than the eye could follow, the wolf seized the dwarf in his muzzle and snapped his neck. The ugly man fell to the ground limply, lifelessly.
Iria fled with Quatre's hand trapped in hers until a familiar voice arrested their attention.
"Quatre! Iria! Care thee not to greet an old friend?"
"On the contrary!" Iria replied making her way back at her leisure.
Quatre ran ahead in earnest. "Wolf! I did not recognize you!"
The wolf's head rose in acknowledgement as it watched the siblings approach.
Quatre slowed his pace when he got close enough to realize that his dearest wolf was trembling. "Are you weary, Wolf?"
The wolf grimaced before all expression left its face sending Quatre into an instant fit of hysteria. "Wolf!"
"Calm yourself, Quatre. I am well, better than I have been in a long time," the wolf said without speaking.
The body of the wolf fell to the side revealing a young man crouched among the flowers.
He stood and dusted himself off, not once raising his head. A curtain of dark caramel hair created a sort of half mask for his face. He wore a dark green crushed velvet shirt, long black pants, and a pair of fine boots. When he lifted his chin, Quatre's breath hitched in his throat. His eyes were the same beautiful eyes of the wolf, his delicate brows arched, and all his features were elegantly defined as if sculpted from the finest clay. He was tall too, probably six feet in height, almost half a head taller than Quatre.
"Hello," he said sheepishly.
"You were the wolf?" Quatre asked, his storm blue eyes scrutinizing the youth opposite him.
"I was. . .I guess this requires an explanation of some form. I am a prince from a land not far from here, but not near either. It has been three years under enchantment. I came across a dwarf in the imperial orchard making off with a few treasures, remnants of my late mother. Naturally, I pursued. . .and he resisted. Using his craft, he cast a spell upon me. He changed me into a wolf, the animal of the royal seal, as a small amusement. And unto that he sealed his devilry, a condition that he die before I return to my former self. I pursued him here, and came across your kindly home. Since coming here, I had seen the dwarf here and there, but could not catch him. I guess, I owe you and your sister thrice over by now."
"Do not jest," Quatre smiled warmly. "You owe us nothing. We are only glad to have met an individual such as yourself."
"Yeah," the prince agreed.
Quatre and the prince stood staring for a few moments. "Oh!" Quatre exclaimed. "I've no manners. What is your name, pray tell? I should have asked before."
"Trowa," the prince replied.
"Trowa," Quatre repeated to himself. His accent making it sound more like "teh-lo-uah." His strange pronunciation wasn't too different from the prince's of his name: "kat-erh-ah."
The silence that ensued after the few utterances of that one name seemed a little oppressive with things left unsaid.
As was customary, Quatre was the first to break the quiet, "You know. . .I really did miss you."
"I missed seeing you as well," Trowa replied.
"How do I address you now? Prince Trowa?"
"Just Trowa suits me better."
"How will you return to your kingdom?"
"I'm not entirely sure. . ."
". . ."
". . .that I want to."
"What?" Quatre responded bewildered but not entirely upset.
"I like it here.if you will be so gracious as to extend your household."
"Ofcourse!" Iria said excitedly, running down from her eavesdropping spot to greet the two boys. "We'd love you to stay! Bother the kingdom, right?"
Trowa nodded submissively.
"Let us return home hand in hand with wonderful tales to tell," Iria said smoothing her skirts and nudging her brother onward. Trowa stayed behind only a moment to retrieve his shed guise. Perhaps he'd find a purpose for it later."
Back at the house, Iria told her father of Trowa's woeful tale slipping in a few extra details since he could not deny it not knowing what she was saying.
"A prince in our midst!" father would exclaim with wonder truly delighting his children and leaving the foreign prince clueless occasionally wondering if he was being made the butt end of a joke.
The family went to great pains to make a fine meal fit for royalty that evening, and it was. Never could Quatre remember eating so well. They'd eaten rice porridge, fresh sweet snap peas, char-grilled fish, and a dozen other delights.
When time for sleep came, Trowa shared a bed insisting that he not put Quatre out. Needless to say, slumber would not visit them so eagerly then. Sure, they pretended hoping that it really would happen, but it didn't.
Tired, but not once to be led around by false pretenses, Quatre whispered, "Why do you want to stay?..We are a destitute family.What joy could you find here.when you have a great many more delights awaiting you back in your homeland? Do you not miss your family?"
"I miss my family, but they already take me for dead. It would be unfair of me to take their closure from them. My return would only herald political turmoil. As for my other reasons of wanting to stay. . .I was never one for the pomp and grandeur of royalty. I prefer a simple man's life. . ."
". . .tis not simple to be a simple man," Quatre countered foggily.
"I know that. It's better that way. Nothing worth having was ever free. Being of privileged station is superficial at best. I also have one other reason for remaining if you will hear it and grant me immunity from judgment."
"Granted," Quatre yawned cutely covering his mouth daintily with a beautifully sculpted hand. "In winter, in all my visits.I really enjoyed your company, honestly. I've never held ladies in high favor, rather than a bride, I'd take a groom."
Quatre's delicate flower like lips formed a perfect little "o" shape as the realization dawned upon him. Trowa was to the point and seemed unafraid of reproach as if his thoughts were the consensus view. For a moment, the information was digested in silence. Then, Quatre scooted his body closer to the prince's until he was comfortably nestled up against him with one arm pinned under his.
"If you promise to keep this between us.I shall tell you why I don't want you to go."
"I promise," was the solemn reply.
"I really liked, and like you too."
Gingerly, Quatre took Trowa's hand in his and brought it to his lips. "At least we will be spared the burden of explaining to our progeny how our meeting came about," Quatre joked lightly. "It would be funny to tell them that I fell deeply in love with a wolf."
"Mm," Trowa agreed lazily draping an arm over the smaller youth. "I'm tired now, Kat. . ." he mumbled breathing in deeply the cherry like fragrance of his downy white-blond hair.
"I think. . .I'm getting tired as well," Quatre yawned, tucking his arms and head into Trowa's lean but, none the less, comfortable chest.
". . .love you. . ." Quatre whispered timidly.
Sleepily, Trowa smiled and held him closer, ". . . love you too. . ."
"Together. . .always. . ."
END
post-reading notes: Trowa's character was originally that of a bear instead of a wolf. I like wolves better, so. . .there. Quatre played in this story the role of Snow White, and Iria played the role of Rose Red. And. . .I messed around a lot with the story. But the plot was kind of the same.
By the way, if anyone wants me to write a follow up, or write a follow up for me, I think it'd be great! If this sounds good, e-mail me, alright? My e-mail addy is: lamese@hotmail.com
Additional disclaimer: The story here is taken from one of my favorite fairy tales from a very old book that my grandfather always read to me as a child. The story itself is titled "Snow White and Rose Red" from the compilation book After the Sun Sets. It's a great book, read it sometime!
And now the tale:
A destitute father resided in the outskirts of a small country village with his two children. They lived in a modest home, made from fired clay, stones, and mended shards of broken glass. Originally, the family had come from a completely different country far south where they had many riches and privileged living conditions. However, not all was well, and before the youngest child had turned three, the family was driven from their homeland by new politics. What they had left behind was divided up and distributed to the impoverished seeking better lives, and new social order.
Feeling no longer safe in their country, the family fled by boat to a new land far up north where they finally settled. Ousted by their cultural differences, they built their dwelling somewhat secluded from town. The children were easier to adapt to their new surroundings, but the father found himself somewhat inadequate and preferred to hole himself up in what he found familiar. He was of smooth speech in his own language, but the foreigner's tongue was still incredibly hard to articulate. To his neighbors, he spoke brokenly and with a heavy accent. Often, his children were instrumental in translating and getting things done.
His children, he often referred to as his "valuables," since both were indispensable to his existence as he knew it. They were sweet and handsome as well. His eldest, a daughter, Iria was very robust and witty acting as a motherly figure for her younger sibling. There was a good six years age difference between her and her most treasured brother, Quatre. He was naïve, inquisitive, empathic, and a myriad of other things. Her pet name for him had always been "little angel."
Often at night as he was falling asleep, he would whisper to his sister through the silvery strands of moonlight peeking in by way of window, "Are you asleep, Iri?"
"Nay, sweetest. I am yet wakeful," would be the tired but warm reply from across the room.
"We shall always be together," Quatre would say quietly with the conviction that only a child could muster.
In good humor, Iria would reply softly, "Yes little angel, we shall always be together."
The conversation would end there, always, both siblings falling asleep before another word could be uttered.
It was never easy, but it was never hard for Iria to raise her brother. He was always eager to learn, eager to help, and saw everything with an unfaultable goodness that was peculiar but never tiring. Together, brother and sister would venture out into the vast meadows near their house and collect new flowers to transplant to their slowly growing garden. Too poor to buy playthings, they invented games that were terribly clever. A lot of it dealt with arithmetic, word play, memory, and other academic studies in Iria's efforts to pass on knowledge to her brother. Her greatest triumph was when her brother voiced his want for reading materials.
The years passed with both siblings growing more and more beautiful, dividing while bonding ever more closely at the same time. Their father's linguistic skills improved, but not much. Also, a queer thing was beginning to take over Quatre. He was growing increasingly melancholy and introverted, though he tried vainly to hide it. What he could possibly be brooding about was a complete mystery and left as such.
In Quatre's fifteenth year, summer had long come and gone. The winter was bitter and cold confining people to their houses struggling for warmth. That worry had long been abated a couple years before for the small family when Iria had proposed that they carve a deeper floor for their home much like animals burrow into the ground when the frost approaches. The abode stayed warm even with frigid winds wailing just outside.
By the fire, Quatre was in repose on his sister's lap reading a borrowed book while she spun flax to make new winter clothes. Their father, meanwhile, was busy salting and preserving the fish he'd caught that day in the pond.
Three firm knocks on the heavy oak door disturbed the tranquility of the evening.
"Iria, see who it is," father said not once looking up from his task.
Before she could even get up, her brother was already at the door. It opened with a loud creaking accompanied shortly by a rather surprised exclamation of "ah!"
Immediately, Iria was there as a living shield, or rather, deterrent, with her brother huddled behind her. Her own small expression of surprise arrested their father's attention.
In the doorway stood a snow colored wolf almost the size of a grown man if not more. Its forest green eyes lustily raked the interior of the dwelling and the two horrified siblings.
"If I may. I would be extremely grateful if you allow me to impose on your good humor and warm myself by the fire a little. I will not harm you," the wolf spoke eloquently and sincerely in the smoothest baritone greatly impressing everyone.
"Come, come," the father encouraged motioning admittance to the unusual visitor.
With surprising grace, the wolf entered the home, not bothering with the small steps that more than likely would have hindered his entry rather than aiding it.
"He has snow in his fur, help him with it," the father told his children in their native tongue before turning back to his momentarily interrupted task.
"Mr. Wolf, would you like us to help rid you of the snow in your fur? It clings tightly," Iria asked. "It does. Please. . ." the wolf agreed.
Carefully, the siblings went about picking the ice and snow from the wolf's magnificent coat. It gleamed in the firelight like a precious metal, but was softer than down, not unlike Quatre's hair. When the task was finished, the wolf lay down by the fire, closing his eyes at the comfort.
". . .Careful that your fur does not catch fire," Quatre warned shyly and was rewarded by a fleeting glance in his direction before the wolf's eyes once again slipped closed.
Everyone took up their tasks once again after the disturbing encounter as if nothing had happened, as if there wasn't a giant wolf soaking up warmth by the hearth.
Once the wolf had warmed enough, he and Quatre pursued each other in conversation and game. Iria was busy with chores, but kept an eye on her brother. Her original misgivings were allayed by the gentle way in which her brother was treated. It was a little surprising that the wolf could match wits with her brother. They parried with words and occasionally with each other. The wolf utilizing his superior body mass would simply roll the small boy over with his snout.
When Quatre was tired, Iria voiced her own fatigue. The wolf made ready to leave, but their father would not have it.
"Tell him to stay," he said to his eldest child.
"Mr. Wolf, stay for the night. It is much too cold outside to be sleeping in. Instead of catching dreams, you will catch your own death. Please, stay," Iria implored.
The wolf nodded his acquiescence and turned away from the door.
He spent the night there near the hearth and in the morning he asked the siblings to open the door. No sooner was the latch undone, than he was gone.
When evening came again, he returned. The winter continued on like this with him returning every day after sunset, and leaving every morning at dawn. Little by little, Quatre was coming out from his shell with help from the wolf's constant cajoling and even humor.
However, spring arrived and signaled change. Flowers bloomed in abundance on the hillsides turning acres pink, violet, blue, and a dozen other colors. People were coming out of their homes that had been shut tight for a good majority of the cold winter. The wolf took Quatre aside early one morning. Both had become attached to each other. "Quatre," the wolf said with his delightful accent that always made the name seem more exotic and pleasing. "I must depart now. It is likely that I shall not return until next winter." "Why must you leave?" Quatre asked pouting his lips.
"In the wood, I have treasures I must protect," the wolf explained making it a point not to look at the boy's eyes. "You know, there are dwarfs that roam the wood. They come out during springtime from their long winters of living underground. Dwarfs love anything that might reflect the sun's light. But, overall, they love other people's things. If given the chance, they would make off with everything in the world and find a way to stuff it into their underground hovels. Once they take something, it is very hard to gain it back again."
Quatre nodded chewing his lower lip. "As long as you return next winter. . ."
"I shall," the wolf assured.
Reluctantly, the boy opened the door and watched his friend spirit away like a pleasant dream. Just as the boy was about the shut the door, he spotted a tuft of fur in the catch. Gingerly, he removed it and was surprised to find green fibers adhered to the roots. It appeared to be velvet of some sort.
Could he not be a wolf? He wondered to himself.
Quatre went to his sister's nightstand and selected a tattered red ribbon that he used to bundle the fur with. He then placed it into his own box for safekeeping.
Long summer days passed with no sign of the wolf. Life continued as it had summers before. The siblings finding new flowers, borrowing new books, and so on.
One day, the father had many chores for his children, which was nothing really new. He sent them to go fetch firewood, which they did obediently, even gladly to dispel their idleness.
In the wood, they found a few felled trees from winter with dry, dead branches lying about. Iria and Quatre bundled them and set them in a pack on his back. At one tree, they were busy gathering what they could when a strange noise sounded from nearby, such a queer noise to disturb the constant calm of summer. The siblings warily approached seeing bright flashes of color appear over and over again over the top of a bush.
They were a little surprised to come across one of the funniest looking little men they'd ever seen. He was truly ugly, his little face scrunched up into a mass of blushing wrinkles, and bushy brows furrowed together in determination. He jumped up and down, pulled and yanked, but his long white beard would not come free of the long it had so curiously gotten wedged in. He grunted and whined, kicked, and tried to run, but nothing seemed to work.
Quatre and Iria couldn't help but laugh at the spectacle he presented.
They took the dwarf by surprise, and he turned two little beady red eyes on them. They brimmed with flames, he bared his teeth and cursed. "You mock me? Make yourself useful and help me!"
"What can we do?" asked Iria full of mirth.
"Hell if I know! My prided beard is caught in the trunk of this tree. I was busy making kindling. When I pulled my axe out, my beard had somehow gotten caught in the crevice. I cannot budge."
"We shall go fetch help," Iria assured him leading Quatre away.
"No, no, no! You must not!" the dwarf cried. "Are you such a fool? You want to bring the whole village back with you? You little twits! You're enough for me as it is!"
For a few minutes, Iria and Quatre assessed their situation turning their heads this way and that, examining the dwarf's ails from all angles.
"Ah! I have thought of something," Quatre said crouching down and pulling from his pocket a pair of farmer's scissors. Before the dwarf could put up a fight, snip, his beard was cut in two.
Free, but infuriated, the dwarf howled, "You little nitwit! My greatness hath been cut in twine! May a thousand pebbles strike you dead!" With that he popped Quatre outside the head. Then, he heaved a bag from the ground over his shoulder dropping a few gold coins that he paid no heed to and walked away as only a dwarf such as himself could. He did not glance back at either brother or sister that had aided him in his time of need.
Later, brother and sister were headed to the pond to catch some fish for supper, when they saw something colorful flailing around by the water's edge. They rushed down to assist whomever was by the pond panicking in such a fashion. When they were near enough, they could see that it was the dwarf again. His long nose was bunched up close to his face, as he huffed and struggled with in invisible foe.
"What are you doing, friend?" Iria inquired. "Do you want to fall in?"
"Stupid girl! Can you not see that this wily fish doth have my beautiful beard? I am not daft! And, I most certainly am not fish food! Help free me!" the old dwarf demanded.
Sure enough, when Quatre and Iria leaned to see, there was a rather large fish tugging at the wound length of the dwarf's beard.
"That's clever, using your beard as a lure," Quatre observed. While casting his line, the wind must have swept his beard up into the hook and caught it there. A sizeable fish had swallowed the line, and part of the dwarf's beard before anything could be done. The fish had about dragged the little man in by the time the siblings had arrived. Oh, how the fish pulled!
"How are we to help you?" Iria asked. She was immensely amused. She held fast to his coat keeping him on shore while he yowled and kicked and screamed.
"I've an idea," Quatre piped up and grabbed a hold of the dwarf's beard. In one powerful tug, he shored the fish. Then, he took the pair of scissors from his pocket and cut the dwarf free again.
The fish flopped around with heavy, wet smacks in the dust. The dwarf in the meantime was fuming. "Oh, you cow! Look at your mistake! How am I to show my face again? You have ruined me! A curse upon your ancestors!" He kicked the fish ineffectively, and then rammed it with all of his might into the water. It sped away and disappeared into the murky depths of the lake taking some of his beard with it. Satisfied, the dwarf hauled a bag over his shoulder from the grass and stalked off dropping a few pearls in his wake.
Once again, he did not turn back while brother and sister watched him befuddled at his odd behavior. They caught a fish larger than that, which had almost devoured him.
A little later, Quatre and Iria were sent out again, this time to the village to barter for some dyes among other things that they needed back at the cottage. The shortest route to the village was through one of their favorite meadows. It was bright pink with wild azaleas, almost no grass could be seen.
"Oh, Quatre! There's a hawk! Look! Isn't it pretty!" Iria grinned.
Indeed, there was a large, and proud looking hawk soaring high above their heads in the sky. It circled the meadow in wide arcs, until swooping down with its talons spread wide.
A shrill cry issued from under the flowers, and blossoms seemed to explode as the hawk began its ascent. Within its grasp was the strange little dwarf kicking and howling, making such a fuss.
"Oh gosh!" the siblings exclaimed and dropped their things to run after and help the dwarf once again.
Iria, being taller and swifter was able to grab a hold of one of the dwarf's legs. Quatre caught up soon after and jumped up and arrested the other. Unable to support the weight of three, the mighty bird dropped its burden in a heap and flew away.
"Oh, you festered sore! You horrible, horrible thing! If you had it your way, you'd have me torn apart! Ugly, ugly children! Hideous little abominations!" the dwarf whined. He complained and complained though still in one piece and well. "May a dozen beasts take you!" He rapped Quatre on the head before disappearing in much the same fashion as he had before, this time with a bag of jewels in hand.
Brother and sister disentangled themselves from each other, retrieved the things they had dropped, and continued on into town.
There they traded herbs and spices for soap and dyes. People asked politely about the small scratches on Quatre's brow to which he replied was a product of a folly of youth. All the women in the village cooed and worried over the little marks as if he were their own son. Embarrassed, but kindly allowing the maids to fulfill their maternal instincts, Quatre watched his sister barter goods. Girls pined for his attentions if only to hear him speak with his lilting southeastern accent. He was always chaste and non- committal which served to frustrate as well as invigorate.
After they managed to pry themselves away from the attentions of attentive lasses, they made their way home. In the meadow, above a low row of rocks, they stumbled upon the dwarf. This time, all his riches were spread neatly on the flat surface of a large rock. They flickered in the sunlight like dozens of eyes. The siblings could only stare in amazement.
A small bundle of pigment herbs fell from Quatre's pack alerting the dwarf to the presence of others. He turned around, his cheeks bright red. "Go away! Go away! You vile things! Don't stare, you clods!" He leaned over his haul protectively with his tiny body. "Should I learn you once more, boy? Have you not enough humors upon your brow?" The dwarf huffed and squared his shoulders.
Just then, a loud, low growl caused the dwarf, Iria, and Quatre to jump. From the cover of the flower clusters, a large wolf stalked, his teeth bared, and eyes narrowed into slits. His white fur stood up on end increasing his size two fold.
"Kind Mr. Wolf! Good Mr. Wolf!" the dwarf cried. "Do not eat me! I am bony and small! You see those two there? They are much larger and healthier than I!"
Quatre and Iria stood paralyzed hugging each other tightly.
The wolf glanced their way only a moment before advancing further on the dwarf. Faster than the eye could follow, the wolf seized the dwarf in his muzzle and snapped his neck. The ugly man fell to the ground limply, lifelessly.
Iria fled with Quatre's hand trapped in hers until a familiar voice arrested their attention.
"Quatre! Iria! Care thee not to greet an old friend?"
"On the contrary!" Iria replied making her way back at her leisure.
Quatre ran ahead in earnest. "Wolf! I did not recognize you!"
The wolf's head rose in acknowledgement as it watched the siblings approach.
Quatre slowed his pace when he got close enough to realize that his dearest wolf was trembling. "Are you weary, Wolf?"
The wolf grimaced before all expression left its face sending Quatre into an instant fit of hysteria. "Wolf!"
"Calm yourself, Quatre. I am well, better than I have been in a long time," the wolf said without speaking.
The body of the wolf fell to the side revealing a young man crouched among the flowers.
He stood and dusted himself off, not once raising his head. A curtain of dark caramel hair created a sort of half mask for his face. He wore a dark green crushed velvet shirt, long black pants, and a pair of fine boots. When he lifted his chin, Quatre's breath hitched in his throat. His eyes were the same beautiful eyes of the wolf, his delicate brows arched, and all his features were elegantly defined as if sculpted from the finest clay. He was tall too, probably six feet in height, almost half a head taller than Quatre.
"Hello," he said sheepishly.
"You were the wolf?" Quatre asked, his storm blue eyes scrutinizing the youth opposite him.
"I was. . .I guess this requires an explanation of some form. I am a prince from a land not far from here, but not near either. It has been three years under enchantment. I came across a dwarf in the imperial orchard making off with a few treasures, remnants of my late mother. Naturally, I pursued. . .and he resisted. Using his craft, he cast a spell upon me. He changed me into a wolf, the animal of the royal seal, as a small amusement. And unto that he sealed his devilry, a condition that he die before I return to my former self. I pursued him here, and came across your kindly home. Since coming here, I had seen the dwarf here and there, but could not catch him. I guess, I owe you and your sister thrice over by now."
"Do not jest," Quatre smiled warmly. "You owe us nothing. We are only glad to have met an individual such as yourself."
"Yeah," the prince agreed.
Quatre and the prince stood staring for a few moments. "Oh!" Quatre exclaimed. "I've no manners. What is your name, pray tell? I should have asked before."
"Trowa," the prince replied.
"Trowa," Quatre repeated to himself. His accent making it sound more like "teh-lo-uah." His strange pronunciation wasn't too different from the prince's of his name: "kat-erh-ah."
The silence that ensued after the few utterances of that one name seemed a little oppressive with things left unsaid.
As was customary, Quatre was the first to break the quiet, "You know. . .I really did miss you."
"I missed seeing you as well," Trowa replied.
"How do I address you now? Prince Trowa?"
"Just Trowa suits me better."
"How will you return to your kingdom?"
"I'm not entirely sure. . ."
". . ."
". . .that I want to."
"What?" Quatre responded bewildered but not entirely upset.
"I like it here.if you will be so gracious as to extend your household."
"Ofcourse!" Iria said excitedly, running down from her eavesdropping spot to greet the two boys. "We'd love you to stay! Bother the kingdom, right?"
Trowa nodded submissively.
"Let us return home hand in hand with wonderful tales to tell," Iria said smoothing her skirts and nudging her brother onward. Trowa stayed behind only a moment to retrieve his shed guise. Perhaps he'd find a purpose for it later."
Back at the house, Iria told her father of Trowa's woeful tale slipping in a few extra details since he could not deny it not knowing what she was saying.
"A prince in our midst!" father would exclaim with wonder truly delighting his children and leaving the foreign prince clueless occasionally wondering if he was being made the butt end of a joke.
The family went to great pains to make a fine meal fit for royalty that evening, and it was. Never could Quatre remember eating so well. They'd eaten rice porridge, fresh sweet snap peas, char-grilled fish, and a dozen other delights.
When time for sleep came, Trowa shared a bed insisting that he not put Quatre out. Needless to say, slumber would not visit them so eagerly then. Sure, they pretended hoping that it really would happen, but it didn't.
Tired, but not once to be led around by false pretenses, Quatre whispered, "Why do you want to stay?..We are a destitute family.What joy could you find here.when you have a great many more delights awaiting you back in your homeland? Do you not miss your family?"
"I miss my family, but they already take me for dead. It would be unfair of me to take their closure from them. My return would only herald political turmoil. As for my other reasons of wanting to stay. . .I was never one for the pomp and grandeur of royalty. I prefer a simple man's life. . ."
". . .tis not simple to be a simple man," Quatre countered foggily.
"I know that. It's better that way. Nothing worth having was ever free. Being of privileged station is superficial at best. I also have one other reason for remaining if you will hear it and grant me immunity from judgment."
"Granted," Quatre yawned cutely covering his mouth daintily with a beautifully sculpted hand. "In winter, in all my visits.I really enjoyed your company, honestly. I've never held ladies in high favor, rather than a bride, I'd take a groom."
Quatre's delicate flower like lips formed a perfect little "o" shape as the realization dawned upon him. Trowa was to the point and seemed unafraid of reproach as if his thoughts were the consensus view. For a moment, the information was digested in silence. Then, Quatre scooted his body closer to the prince's until he was comfortably nestled up against him with one arm pinned under his.
"If you promise to keep this between us.I shall tell you why I don't want you to go."
"I promise," was the solemn reply.
"I really liked, and like you too."
Gingerly, Quatre took Trowa's hand in his and brought it to his lips. "At least we will be spared the burden of explaining to our progeny how our meeting came about," Quatre joked lightly. "It would be funny to tell them that I fell deeply in love with a wolf."
"Mm," Trowa agreed lazily draping an arm over the smaller youth. "I'm tired now, Kat. . ." he mumbled breathing in deeply the cherry like fragrance of his downy white-blond hair.
"I think. . .I'm getting tired as well," Quatre yawned, tucking his arms and head into Trowa's lean but, none the less, comfortable chest.
". . .love you. . ." Quatre whispered timidly.
Sleepily, Trowa smiled and held him closer, ". . . love you too. . ."
"Together. . .always. . ."
END
post-reading notes: Trowa's character was originally that of a bear instead of a wolf. I like wolves better, so. . .there. Quatre played in this story the role of Snow White, and Iria played the role of Rose Red. And. . .I messed around a lot with the story. But the plot was kind of the same.
By the way, if anyone wants me to write a follow up, or write a follow up for me, I think it'd be great! If this sounds good, e-mail me, alright? My e-mail addy is: lamese@hotmail.com