In a certain Czardom, in a certain faraway land, the young Tsarevich Drakkon wished for Lilies of the Valley in the midst of December. What wouldn't Czar Lukovich do for his only son? He sent out a royal proclamation that read:
They who bring a basket of lilies to the Czar's Court will receive an equal basket of gold.
Every man and woman, pig and cow began their search.
The news had even reached a small izba at the forest's edge. There lived Weaslena and her daughter, Ronushka. When Ronushka heard of the proclamation, she drew the curtains of the home shut and kicked her woven shoes up on the wooden bench, putting another gingerbread biscuit behind her cheek. Her mother continued her sewing, contemplating ideas while pulling the needle through the cloth.
The family had a stepdaughter as well, the young and lovely Germilona.
That cold winter's night, the stepmother unceremoniously shoved Germilona out of the house with the biggest basket she could find.
"Go off to the forest you lazy girl, and complete the Czar's request. Should you return empty-handed, the door will be closed for you!"
What was she to do, dear reader?
Germilona took the basket in one hand and wrapped her shawl around her neck and head. Long and far she walked until the howling winds swallowed her breath and the snow blanket coated her bare ankles. She leaned against an old grandfather fir tree to sit out the storm.
Suddenly, bells rang out in the distance. The sound of the snow crackling drew closer and closer. A man who was large and tall and whose breath made no cloud in the air stood before her. It was Frost-Snape, Ruler of the Winter, Commander of the Northern Winds. He looked down at the girl whose cheeks had turned white as flour and whose lashes were frozen with sugar-like crystals.
"Are you warm, maiden?" he asked.
"Yes, sir." Germilona wrapped her shawl around herself, with only her blue fingers showing.
"Are you certain you aren't cold, redling?"
"Certainly, certainly sir," she whispered back.
"Baba-Yaga's left tit you aren't," he muttered under his breath.
With that, the Frost-Snape tossed a fox pelt on her shoulders and invited her onto his sleigh, drawn by three white steeds.
They came to his crystal castle made of ice-bricks and it was surprisingly warm inside. He gave her lemon tea and dried poppy-seed ringlets. As she warmed up, her cheeks flushed a very warm red, like currants in the summer and her hair fell in gentle ringlets down her back, like chocolate shavings on a warm pie. In fact, she was quite, well, quite lovely.
As they talked, he also found her quite agreeable. She did not argue with him like that Babka Yaga did nor did she ignore him in a very frosty tone as did Lillichka, Goddess of Spring. In fact, they often came to the same conclusions. When the night fell, the Frost-Snape had to decide where to put the maiden to sleep, and even in this decision, she was agreeable.
"I couldn't take your bed," she said, turning redder than before. "Where would you sleep?"
"I've spent many a night on my armchair," he said with a raised brow. He eyed her flimsy little throw and her old, woven slippers over torn socks. "Unless you would prefer to be taken back to your…previous accommodations."
The night was cold, the sky was dark, and she was much too underdressed. She couldn't argue with his offer and quickly slipped under the covers of his bed while he leaned back in the chair.
The following morning, the Frost-Snape went off to work, tipping icicles off roofs, nipping children's toes through their boots doing other Frost-Snape duties.
The maiden woke up alone. She had to repay the Frost-Snape for his kindness somehow. She got to work, bustling about with a straw broom, sending the rats and spiders out and about. Then she took to the kitchen, baking him a fresh rye bread. When the work was done and the bread was cooling, she tucked herself back into bed with an old book.
There was a knocking of boots at the porch and the door flew open followed by a gust of snow. Frost-Snape took in the sight: snow dust gathered underneath the rug, a burnt brick of bread and a stack of books piled around his bed. Perhaps this was her version of cleaning and cooking. She looked all too cozy snuggle up with one of his favorite tomes.
"By Gods, you're still here?" mumbled the Frost-Snape, walking towards his stores. She'd cleaned so vigorously that his vials and jar all seemed misplaced.
"I put in a lot of effort," Germilona said, batting her lashes and waiting for a compliment.
"Clearly," said the Frost-Snape, picking through his organized vials of snowflakes, now in backwards alphabetical order, the opposite way he liked to organize them. "Next time, a second helping of last night's thanks will be enough."
"But I didn't do anything last night."
"Exactly."
Next time? Germilona's heart skipped a beat. 'Next time' meant that she would be welcomed here again. She rather liked living alone and having the house to herself. She also liked that he was away at work for most of the day and that his library was well-stocked. Something could be done about his surly attitude, but she liked the Frost-Snape very much.
"If there's nothing else I can do for you-" said the Frost-Snape, snapping his fingers to call on his three white horses.
There was. She told him all about her mission in the woods and pointed to the woven birch basket.
"Only a miracle could make lilies grow in the dead of winter. Pity that nobody can help you-"
But the miracle-wisher was dressed in his old winter coat, and already half-way to his sled as she thanked him for his generosity. He swore that this was the last time he would be helping anyone out.
They rode through the white, velvet trails until they reached a clearing with a smokeless fire. Around it sat the Twelve Months, the Frost-Snape's brothers. He gave them a half-hearted wave and no sooner did he open his mouth did the young maiden spill all her troubles to them.
"We can help you. Brothers May and June, aide us!" called December.
They joined hands and chanted as the fire grew up to the heavens. Before Germilona's eyes, the thick snow melted, a spring stream crawled by and a hundred tiny white bells peaked from under the leaves.
Germilona hesitantly picked the blooms, flower by flower. She did so slowly, relishing her time. The Frost-Snape stood back, hands crossed over his chest. Unable to wait another moment, he picked a dozen in his left hand and two dozen in his right and put them in her basket. Before she could open her winter robes to enjoy the spring breeze, the Frost-Snape whisked her back into his sled and sped off through the forest. He dropped her back in front of the grandfather fir faster than she could say goodbye.
She hauled the basket home. The walk was long and difficult as she had nearly ten of his books hidden under her robes. When she reached the steps of the izba, her stepmother and stepsister pressed their noses on the windowpanes and looked her up and down. Surely, they must have thought she was a ghost as no one dressed like her could weather a storm.
She told them of her adventures, of how a handsome spirit took her home and how his brothers made the seasons change before her eyes. She showed them the basket filled to the brim with lilies.
"She must be feverish," Weaslena mumbled as she ran her fingers over the fresh blooms.
The following morning, they made their way to the capital. The Czar gave them an equal basket full of gold and sent them home on his best horses. The three of them had never lived so well.
As for Germilona, she spent many an evening enjoying the pictures in the books. Deciding she wanted to learn to read them, she volunteered to fetch snow for water from the forest (even though they had many servants who could do it themselves). Again, she waited by the grandfather fir and again the Frost-Snape happened to come by, most conveniently.
His home had grown rather colder these past few days and it had been laborious to take out his best tea china just for himself. He also noticed his best tomes missing along with his favorite old, worn in winter robes. Troublesome as she was, he couldn't leave the maiden illiterate and in possession of his collection's best works. There were far too many of those...pagans. He welcomed her into his home and set up a table with two chairs. They spent the evening together, heads buried in the books over tea and poppy seed ringlets.
The following day, he let her know that he'd be coming by her village to lengthen the icicles on the roofs. She, in turn, suggested that the day after his icicle check, she would be trimming them…for safety purposes.
That wouldn't do, thought the Frost-Snape. Now, the day after the day after tomorrow, he'd have to come back again and make sure the icicles were exactly two palms long, as they should be.
They couldn't come to an agreement, dear reader, so they decided that a formal discussion over tea would be the most civil thing to do. Moreover, if no decision about the icicles could be made, they would have no choice but to meet the following day. This debate spread over weeks until they had forgotten the original meaning of it.
A terrible thought struck the Frost-Snape. As soon as winter turned to spring, the young maiden would have no reason to read books by his fire, bundled up in a fox pelt. She'd spend her days in the village, dancing in the fields with the young men and exchanging wreaths out of daisies and golden, silken dandelions.
No, it shall not be that way. He struck his scepter on the ground and the spring turned to winter in the middle of February.
The stepmother's memory was sharp, her greed was bottomless, and when the gold ran short, she sent Germilona back into the forest to visit her spirit. This time she sent her with four baskets and asked the ironsmith's son to accompany her. With such a task, the Frost-Snape was sure to help her.
No sooner had the Frost-Snape laid eyes on the boy, did he turn him to ice. Germilona sat silently in his sled, the baskets in hand. She found the Frost-Snape in a state of summer, melted and black like a coal in a fireplace.
"Perhaps after we see yours brothers I can take out another one of your books-"
"Taking, taking, taking. It's all you women ever do. All I am to you is an endless river of generosity! Heed my words, even rivers run dry by spring," the Frost-Snape said, eyes focused on the road ahead. "Today you come with the ironsmith's son and tomorrow, with the blacksmith's. By the time the year is done, do you intend to introduce me to all the suitors of the village?"
Again they saw the smokeless fire and the twelve brothers gathered round it. When they had completed their ritual and the four baskets were filled with lilies, Germilona and Frost-Snape dragged on through the forest. His every step melted the snow and the grass beneath into dark, bottomless muck. So angry he was that he sent her home by foot.
Germilona returned to her cottage. However, this time something was different. At the door, stood not only the Czar's Svita, but Czar Lukavich himself. White was his hair and long were his velvet robes.
"Were you the one who found the lilies in the dead of winter? Either you are all sorcerers or lucky fools. Lest you're tricking me, maidens, take me to their growing spot," he said.
Ronushka looked at Germilona and saw that the girl had turned paler than milk. Again, the Czar repeated his request and again, she firmly declined him with her silence. When he continued to stand by the door, there was no use arguing.
They walked into the forest, Germilona first, the Czar and his patrons next. She led them astray to the frozen river banks where the snow met the ice-waters.
For the third time, the Czar demanded for her to show him the lilies.
"Tell me maiden, or your head will no longer rest on your shoulders."
Germilona bowed her head obediently. Better hers than his. Again she refused to betray her beloved's secret.
The Czar's patience grew thin. He drew his blade and it ran its sharp edge over her silken skin. It drew a red ribbon along her neckline. She sighed her last sigh and fell to the ground.
The girl lay in the snow, frail and limp. From her chestnut hair grew a thick trunk. From every red droplet of blood, a rowan berry. Her last breath coated the tree in thin frost.
Then the Czar turned to the Step Daughter, Ronushka. She had half a mind to put on Germilona's coat and hat. She led him through the forest and stopped under the grandfather fir tree.
"Hide here until the Frost-Snape comes," she told the Czar and his followers. "When he does, come out and follow him on your sleds."
She sat there, meek and quiet and prayed that Germilona's stories had all been true.
The Frost-Snape, cool and collected, came by again with his silver steeds. There was his beloved, waiting for him beneath the fir tree in her winter wear. He took her shoulders and whispered for her to forgive him. Though cold from afar, his hot breath mingled on her cheeks, sending drops down her neck. Ronushka lost all sense of speech and simply nodded.
The Frost-Snape took the maiden's hand and together, they sat on his sled. On the white horses trotted to his castle in the woodlands, making soft steps in the snow. They sat in silence, one too afraid to utter a word and the utter to afraid to say the wrong ones and the apology lingering on his lips.
Behind the sled, the Czar and his men followed.
By the Frost-Snape, a wood deer came by and said, "beware master of the woodlands, this is not your beloved. Look at her hands, they are soft from not having worked and pink from having been warmed by the fire."
With those words, the deer hopped away. No sooner had it stepped aside did the Czar's men shoot it, heaving its body on the sleigh.
The Frost-Snape reached for his beloved's hands. Indeed, they were soft and pink.
"It is only because I am flustered to be beside you," the maiden replied in her defense.
The sleigh went on, deeper into the woods. Now, a red squirrel hopped forth. "Beware Frost-Snape, ruler amongst the firs, this is not your beloved. See her hair, red as my own tail."
With those words, the squirrel hopped off. No sooner did it jump on a branch did the Czar catch it in his palms and smuggle it in his robes.
The Frost-Snape gently brushed his fingers along the hood of the maiden's cape. A strand of red hair laced through his fingers.
"It is only because the sun stroked my hair through the window as I was waiting for you to come by," she whispered.
Finally, a tiny waxwing twitted and dropped a frozen, rowanberry branch into his hands. "Beware master of frozen hearts, beware your own heart, hardened with fear and your own eyes, clouded with love. This is not your beloved, fear the worst... fear the worst-"
The Frost-Snape was unsettled. He'd always been a level spirit. How could the bird judge him with its tiny eyes and its quick beak? He removed the maiden's hood and hat and alas, it was not his Germilona. He pulled his horses to a halt.
Behind him, the waxwing took flight. Off the sleigh it flew and towards the Czar and his men. No matter how hard he tried, Czar Lukovich could not trap the tiny bird in his fingers. With a final jump, he fell out of the sleigh and into the snow.
Ginger-red hair spilled over the maiden's hands as she threw herself down at his knees.
"Have mercy on me, master. The Czar will surely kill me and my mother for not having brought him any lilies. Let us escape, let us run from his merciless hands."
The Frost-Snape looked at the red-haired maiden and he looked at the Czar and his men, standing around him in the snow.
"Where is my true beloved?" he asked.
"You will not find her, scoundrel. Her resting place forevermore is hidden among the trees," the Czar replied, with a touch of satisfaction for having wounded the mighty ruler. "So it shall be until the endless winter of yours turns to spring and my men can live in peace from your howling winds and dark days."
But the Frost-Snape remained fixed in place. He lifted his frozen scepter and struck the ground once. He turned Weaslena and her daughter into foxes.
"You wanted to run, you cunning heathens, and so you shall. You will run through the forest and hide in holes until your days are through."
He turned to the Czar and his men. He struck his scepter in the ground two times and the Czar and his men turned to wolves.
"You wanted the howling winds to stop and the cold to leave your men alone. You will roam the forests, keeping quiet until you can no longer bear the sounds of the firs and crackling snow. When you do finally break, you will howl at the moon until your heart's content. Should a village man find you away from your pack, he will strip you of your skin and make a fine fur coat out of you."
He left the foxes to run one way and the wolves the other. He struck his scepter the last time and the three animals came before him: the deer, the red squirrel and the waxwing.
"You will show me where my beloved lies," he said.
"Master Snape, master Snape, are you certain? Your beloved awaits you in eternal slumber in the kingdom from which no mortal returns," the answered in unison. "Her bridal dress covers her bones, her feet sink deep below the soils, and her veil reveals no eyes for a groom to gaze upon and no lips for her lover to kiss."
"Show me her," Frost-Snape said. "I shall be the judge of whom my lips will kiss and who my eyes will gaze upon."
So they hopped, they flew, the ran ahead of their master. He drove off through the forest, through the trees and hills until he reached the bank where his beloved lay. Alas, his Germilona was dead, a rowan tree in the place of her body.
He looked upon her eyes, now hollows in the bark. He touched her lips, now red berries. He threw himself at her feet, now roots sinking deep into the soil and wept. His tears flowed through the snow and into the soil, down into her roots. It made the river warm from the bottom up. It made the snow drip from the branches and run onto the hills.
"Brothers, brothers, what have I done? Fool that I am, I've condemned my beloved," he cried.
His brothers, the Twelve Months, heard him cry. They came to him and looked at the sight. Poor, poor Frost-Snape and poor Germilona. Far ahead in the distance, the wolves howled to the moon and the foxes scurried to find cover.
"Serves him right for meddling with the seasons," said October whose golden time was not once cut short by the Frost-Snape's morning breath.
However, December, who saw the joy in the children's eyes as they played in the fresh snow and made angels in the fields, had mercy for the winter spirit. He took his brother January's hand, who took February's. On and on they joined hands until they formed a circle around the couple.
They chanted an ancient chant, one that had no words man could utter nor could tune a fowl repeat.
The seasons changed all at once: winter turned to spring, spring to summer, summer made way for autumn and autumn for winter. When at last they had finished, the maiden's eyes had opened again. No longer rose and chestnut-haired, her skin was fair and blue and her locks were white. She reached out and stroked the Frost-Snape's face. He, in turn, kissed her.
Then he struck his foot into the soils above his beloved's grave and willed that the Czar's lands and everything up north will rest in darkness for half a year. Since that day, the sun turns its eye from October until March. Germilona struck her foot down and willed that the other six months will be spent in prosperity and sunshine.
As for Germilona, he taught the maiden all there was to know about frost and snow magic. So they live to this day in perfect harmony, handling disputes in minor measures and settling on major ones.
Betas
Thank you to the . fallen . malfoy for correcting spelling, grammar and punctuation as well as for helping with sentence structure.
Thank you to Wiz at PPygmyPuff for helping with dialogue and characterization.
All other errors are part of my own personal recipe.
Both writers are on FF . net and AO3 and I reccomend you read their works!
Thanks to duj for catching some spelling errors.