Written for twinenigma, my LJ Secret Santa recipient, who suggested a version of the "Swan Maiden" tale for a prompt, and may be getting a lot more words than expected. It's a very good prompt; see Author's Notes at the end of Chapter 8 for more information.

The tale was true long before the Kingdom existed. Fifteen years ago, the Prince returned, having defeated the Raven and won the hand of his daughter. Now the King and Queen and their family confront a far older power than Drosselmeyer's hand in their story, while others are drawn in just as unwillingly.

Always a Price-ch.7

"So. Firstly, Mytho can't speak for three days, just as Princess Tutu couldn't speak her feelings to him, lest she vanish. Secondly, the first trial is supposed to be serpents keeping him trapped, and that first day I mentioned feeling like an encumbrance when we came here. Thirdly, something– turtles, according to the story– is to spit fire at him, and Elsa works off a bad mood upstairs where nobody but one of us should be able to listen. Lastly, a conversation about how the role of Tutu took over Duck's life, and the last trial is supposed to be the illusion– hopefully just an illusion– of being swallowed whole.

"Twice Elsa feels something leaving, maybe losing interest in us. The exception is the time she's involved herself. Duck feels a compulsion to land here her first night, and is led to this room; you compared it to having Fakir write for you, as you put it. When we put the swan- skins on, those first few days, Elsa and I were led straight here, the whole length of the Long Lake, and made to enter the tower. Once here, we were all on a schedule for changing into swans at night; that agrees with the swam- maiden story we know, in that the sisters had to leave the one whose skin had been stolen, because they were bound to go back to the castle at a certain time of day.

"Then the stories of the tower being haunted as it's completed, rather than as a ruin. All the accounts Elsa and I have heard have the same things in common– disorientation and hallucinations in the beginning, nothing physical. Then, more recently, things that could be not only seen but felt, like furniture. There are no live candidates we can see for any of this, just this castle and this tower in particular, and the skins Elsa found. Nothing in any of the most likely stories we know has any explanation of how the skins became either the property or the curse of the Swan Maidens.

"There's one other thing, I think, that might tie in with all of this somehow, but we'd need Fakir to tell us everything, maybe. Given the opportunity, this story turned you, Duck, into the third swan, and you told Elsa you think the third skin is yours. Fakir said, correctly, that there was tremendous magic in this kingdom, and we all felt that you were owed enough of it to make your choice– so whatever comes of all this, Duck, is on all our heads, not just yours, for choosing to be human. But I don't know exactly where and what that magic is. If Mytho and Fakir don't either, I suggest that it's from that third skin, as you said. But I'm guessing, and today I doubt it matters to Mytho."

"So we've been up here chatting away for days, and it hurt Mytho." Duck voiced the grim thought that had occurred to all of them.

"Somehow I doubt we're the only factor," said Rue. "I can't figure that part out, since we don't know exactly when these things might be happening to him. But the story is known here. No one should have to get ideas from us. If we're having pre- determined conversations about certain things... the things are still part of the story already." Rue sighed. "I don't get it."

"In the story we're thinking of, it was always three, um, beings that went after the husband, and they turned out to be the three swan- maidens in the end," mused Elsa. "But– Mother and I don't work together like that unless we're dancing, and this is really the first time the two of you have, you know, been around each other just talking and visiting. Maybe it's trying to tie us to the plot and having to settle for just one of us at a time. Maybe it needs, I don't know, the way we feel or something."

"Maybe," said Duck, wishing she could hand the conversation over to the experts at home.

"You keep saying 'it,'" said Rue, looking curiously at her daughter.

"Um. Yeah. I wonder– can a story come alive? Is that what happened to Goldkrone? Maybe that's why the tower's only haunted now, and why I came across the skins when I did. Maybe this place is haunted by a story, and it has to straighten itself out since Drosselmeyer's story demolished the castle and it's maybe gotten mixed up, in with all the stones or something, since it's been rebuilt... er, sorry. I don't know if it could even be... um, I'll shut up now."

"They've figured it out," Fakir told Autor as the latter came into the study, sandwich in hand. "About their connection to what's happening to Mytho. But from something Rue said it might not be such a cause- and- effect thing as we thought."

Autor nodded. "Good, on both counts. I'd hate to have to tell Duck about that, especially if it turned out to be wrong. But there's something else I think you should do, immediately."

"What?"

"I want you to try it. I think it will help a lot."

"Get to the point."

"You reek and you haven't eaten for over a day now. Eat this and go shower and change into something clean. Do that and I won't insist that you sleep yet. At least you've had catnaps. Keep on like this and Duck will have something to say about the smell in here when she comes back. You don't want to give her more to deal with, do you? Go on, nothing else should be happening until the third challenge tonight."

It was the only lever that could pry Fakir out of the chair. As soon as he heard the pipes thump and whine Autor busied himself detecting and disposing of the remains of the few meals that had been consumed, putting the dishes to soak and opening doors and windows to air out the study. Thank goodness neither Raetsel nor his own wife had to see this. Raetsel would be bringing Kat and Gottfried back tomorrow afternoon from their visit. Thank goodness for her, thought Autor; upon hearing that Duck had gone to help Mytho and Rue, she had immediately taken charge of the children. It was so handy to have someone else who knew what Fakir would be doing and how important it was. Raetsel and Hans were always happy to add a few more kids to their household, which Autor suspected was a madhouse in the normal course of things.

As he brought some order to the loose pages that had scattered themselves throughout the room, he remembered airing out his Drosselmeyer's Study after initiating Fakir into the way of the true writer. 'Hone his mind' indeed. How stupid. Fakir had no problem concentrating on a story for three days, especially where Duck was concerned. But then someone had to clean up after him, and this time it was Autor. Again.

Last night's burns stung. At least Mytho hadn't gone into shock, but he had drunk enough that his water was almost gone.

He knew what the last trial should be, and it frightened him more than the others, more than almost anything. He hoped it wouldn't be like feeling the Raven's blood pervade his heart, and then his body. But of course it might be. It might even be worse, and that he had a hard time imagining.

This wouldn't do. He was winding himself up, making himself afraid, preparing himself for failure. He could betray this whole effort, set his and his family's suffering at naught, with no help from an opponent. He was perfectly capable of meeting this as he should, as a King should, as a father should for a daughter; as a husband had for his wife of fifteen years, in a story, in his bloodline...

Another thought had almost touched that one. Frustrated, he could not make a connection he knew should be there. He needed rest, real rest, not half- awake drowsing and crazed half- asleep thinking, with music looping through every semi- conscious moment.

He tried to remember. Nothing had been set on fire last night, though leather and wool had smouldered, the stench of it still lingering. The first night's impression had been of both scales and feathers, perhaps like a snake but a foot thick; last night's... he had never seen nor touched the attacker. The story he'd seen so long ago had made it into a turtle or tortoise or some such. He had nothing else to go by. A rope, a snake, a tree: an elephant to three blind men, one of Gunter's favorite nursery tales...

A few feet away, the last candle but one sputtered a bit, almost burnt down to its base, which was stuck in a pool of wax melted from its predecessors. As he had done obsessively for the last day, he felt around his pack. Matches, there; last candle, there. He had almost foregone the comfort of light today. He knew now every detail of every one of the seven upright monoliths and the slab they supported, and the stones laid for the floor, and even the look of the stones that completed the walls, filling the gaps between uprights.

The bandage had long since gone back around his jaws. He must look a fright, he thought inconsequentially. His hands were gray from flour and dust, with burnt holes in his clothing and scabbed burns on his skin from last night, and with this cloth tying his jaws shut...

It didn't register that the moonbeam had entered the very heart of the spiral, because he had nearly screamed. It was all illusion, and had always been. This was a tomb, and he had been dead here for days. No wonder he hadn't spoken. He could not. Corpses did not.

Then the darkness engulfed him, seeking a way transform the illusion into truth.

Disclaimer: Princess Tutu and all related characters and elements are the property, copyright and trademark of HAL– GANSIS/TUTU and Ikukoh Itoh and no ownership or claim on said property, copyright or trademark is made or implied by their use in the work(s) of fan fiction presented here. This fan fiction constitutes a personal comment on the aforesaid properties pursuant to doctrines of fair use and fair comment. This fan fiction is non-commercial, not for sale or profit, and may not be sold or reproduced for commercial purposes.

My favorite version of A Christmas Carol is the George C. Scott one. One detail in it is that Marley has to unbind his jaw before he can speak. If this wasn't done to a body (as Marley demonstrates) there wasn't anything else to hold the mouth closed.

Here and in Chapter 8, the description of a tomb is cobbled from dolmens found all over Europe. The burial chamber is all that remains, the roof slab perched on upright wall slabs, with the mound covering it long since washed away.

The tumulus of the Hochdorf Prince is a recently- discovered example of a mound covering a tomb chamber, though the construction differs greatly; it's a much, much later and more sophisticated example, from the end of the Hallstatt period. Its grave goods were intact, and included a huge bronze cauldron for drink, a bronze couch on casters, and gold jewelry adorning the body. Mytho is thinking of such a one in Chapter 8. The megalithic dolmens, however, are older than the Celtic cultures; the two are conflated here for the convenience of the Story. (Bad pun.)

'The elephant and the three blind men' is in a collection of Mother Goose stories and poems somewhere in my house. I have no idea if it has been translated into German as a poem, but I daresay the story is known.

If anyone figures out some music, let me know. Dvorak's "New World Symphony" keeps popping up for me now.

More detailed author's notes at the end of Chapter 8.

FFN does not allow the quotation of web addresses, but the first result of a Google search of " D. L. Ashliman swan maidens" will lead to a page with several stories, including the one from Germany used throughout this story, and several others.