Notes, Notings, and Common Refrains

(This post is cross-posted to queerly_beloved)

Preface:

This is in response to the Grimm Brothers tale The Frog King, or Iron Heinrich, specifically, which is not any more "authentic" than any other version you may have learned (regardless of the reputation that the Grimm fellows crafted for themselves, for political and commercial reason). Stories of royal men enchanted into the shape of frogs, who make some sort of deal with young women (or girls), abound all over Europe. But this is the version that bothered me the most. So this is the version I sat down to write an answer to.

Here's the translation that I used as my source material

The biggest thing that bothered me about this version is that the princess is child-coded (the youngest daughter, who weeps uncontrollably over the loss of a plaything), and yet, is objectified for her beauty -- the opening sentence (as translated by D. L. Ashliman) includes this line:

"the sun itself, who, indeed, has seen so much, marveled every time it shone upon her face."

And then, there's the fact that, instead of a kiss that turns the frog-shaped king back into a man-shaped king, it's this (again, the D.L. Ashliman translation):

With that she became bitterly angry and threw him against the wall with all her might. "Now you will have your peace, you disgusting frog!"

And once he's beautiful, like her, she's happy to go to bed with him, and marry him, at her father's command (still child-coded, remember).

(Aside: it's actually one of the folk motifs that pops up now and then, that, in order to free an enchanted someone from an animal shape, the animal body must be killed. But it's often after the talking animal companion/guide and the human protagonist have become close friends: "Please chop off my head, now" "Are you insane? I can't do that!" etc.)

Naturally, as someone who is demi-/asexual, aromantic, and desire repulsed reading this version with the critical eye of an adult turned this fairy tale into something that was not just unbelievable, but a horror story.

So I gave myself this challenge:

Without changing the components of the magical spell, or the span of time the Grimm version covers: rewrite it, and shuffle bits around, so the happy ending actually makes sense, even if the viewpoint character is aro-ace, like me.

Anyway, I thought it would end up being ~5,000 words. It ended up being ~7,500, which is straining against the bounds of "Short Story," and brushing up against "Novella." So I've broken it into chapters.

Under the Linden Tree
(Part 1/5)

Once upon a time, there lived a king who was widowed, and remarried. His first wife had been a true princess of a wealthy kingdom, and the daughters they had together, Zephyra. and Aurora, were as lovely as a summer breeze, and the dawn. His living wife had only became queen through marriage to him. But she was exceedingly lovely, and gracious, and kind, and she had many brothers. So the king hoped she would deliver him a son. Instead, he got a third daughter, whom they named Galantha.

As she grew, Galantha became even more beautiful and gracious, until, as she approached womanhood, she began to outshine even her mother. Her elder sisters, once happy playmates, now teased her, and reminded her, whenever they had the chance, that her lineage would never be as great as theirs, and that she was last in line to be married, and most likely to a baron, if not a common paddler.

Galantha would sigh, and say she knew this. She would also turn away and hide her smile. She had little interest in being wooed. And being the mother of a future king just seemed like an extra weight upon her head that she would rather do without.

But Fate and Nature had little care for her secret desires. Every day, she could feel the eyes of the courtiers watching her. Their murmurs of praise for her beauty and grace seemed like the constant drone of crickets in her ears. On festival days and market days, minstrels could be heard singing songs about how the sun, itself, was jealous of her beauty.

Whenever she could, Galantha escaped to her favorite place in the royal forest, where the Tree of Oaths stood: a linden tree with a trunk wider than the span of her arms, with leaves broader than her palm, and a well between the forks of its roots, formed from a thousand years of rain and dew dripping from the leaves above. According to the law, it was forbidden to tell a lie within its shade; according to legend, it was impossible. Its crown had spread wide enough to preside over murderers' trials, and lovers' weddings since this kingdom had been the size of a village. And these were recorded with carvings in its bark, some so old that even the alphabets they were written in had been forgotten.

She would spend whole days here, tossing and juggling her golden ball (her favorite plaything), entranced by how it glinted in the dim light.

But the king started grumbling that she was neglecting her royal duties, that she was growing too old to spend her days amusing herself with a mere child's plaything.

Her mother would lay her fingertips on his arm, smile in that way she had, and, almost imperceptibly, shake her head.

Then, the king would sigh, and say that he would permit her private walks, for now. But soon, she'd have to grow up, and perform her duties for the court.

It was after one such scolding, when Galantha distracted by worries, that the ball slipped from her fingers. It sank into the well before her cry of dismay had escaped her lips.

She sat mourning her loss, and wondering if her father would ever let her go out into the forest alone again, when the biggest frog she'd ever seen popped its head out of the water.

"What would you grant me," the frog asked, in a perfectly clear human voice, "if I returned your golden ball?"

Galantha stammered a few syllables before she regained her composure. "Forgive me," she said, practicing her diplomacy as her father never imagined, "but you must understand how it would me unwise of me to negotiate with a complete stranger."

The frog blinked in the slow, deliberate, way that frogs had, and the princess took that as acknowledgment.

"Three questions, then," she said, "I think is fair."

The frog blinked again.

"First question: Are you a frog enchanted with the gift of human speech," she asked, "or are you a man trapped in the form of a frog?"

The frog responded with a long, rolling, croak. And then, as if startled by the sound of his own voice, disappeared beneath the surface of the water.

The princess sighed. Maybe it was true that the frog could not lie to her, here, but neither the legends, nor the law, said anything about answering her in her own language. When the surface of the water stilled, and the frog had not yet returned, she thought the interview over, and started for home.

She had not gone three steps, however, when she heard a small croak from behind her, sounding, for all the world, like an embarrassed cough.

So—a man, she thought.

She smoothed the smile off her expression and returned to the well's edge.

"Second question: is this form one of your own choosing?"

"No."

"Final question: Was this form imposed upon you as punishment for a crime, or the breaking of an oath?"

The frog (or rather, man) was silent. She was nearly ready to take that as a refusal to answer, and to walk away, without his help.

But then, the frog took a deep breath, and let out an uncertain "No." Then sighed wearily, in a way that was unmistakably human.

She smiled. "All right, then," she said, "I accept your offer. I will grant you anything that's mine to give, short of my body, or my will."

"Then my wish is to pass between the walls where you have tread," he said.

She was taken aback. "That's all?"

"That is all I ask from you, Your Highness," the frog replied.

She nodded. "That price is certainly a fair one," she answered. "And I'll grant it freely, once you return with my treasure."

The frog disappeared below the water.

The surface still. There was no sign that any living thing moved beneath. Her gold ball was heavy, she thought, and even very large frogs must have limited strength. So, with a sigh, she started the long walk home.

But soon, there was a "plip, plop, plip" on the path behind her. She turned around. The frog hopped after her, carrying her treasure in his mouth.

She gasped, and managed to not to laugh.

The frog dropped the ball at her feet. "You promised."

Galantha admitted that she had, and thanked him. As she lowered herself to pick him up, she was nearly overcome by a horrid feeling, as if her body, itself, were recoiling in disgust.

It took all her strength to resist hurling the frog to the ground. Still, Galantha strode home with the frog under her arm and the golden ball in her hand. She passed through the gate of her palace courtyard with her chin held high, barely acknowledging the guards.

And at that moment, the strange sensation of disgust faded so much, she hardly noticed it. She made her way to the throne room with a light and playful step.

Her sisters squealed in harmony, and hid behind their thrones. Her mother gasped, and looked a bit ill (and for that, Galantha was sorry). Her father was the angriest, rising from his throne, red in the face, and signaling for his guards. He had just opened his mouth to give his orders, when the frog addressed him in the most courteous and proper royal etiquette.

Galantha then broke her family's astonished silence by recalling, in the most flowery language she could imagine, how this wondrous frog had swum to the bottom of that unfathomed well, and retrieved her precious family heirloom, the golden ball.

"All he asked, in return," she concluded, "was to pass between the walls where I have tread. It seemed a small price to pay."

Upon hearing that, the king agreed. He insisted on leading a tour of the palace himself, with his wife and daughters behind in a small parade. He repeated the story the princess had told to each courtier they met, saying that, as a courteous and generous monarch, it was his duty to ensure that the just payment was given to even the lowliest of his subjects, even those as lowly as an ugly frog.

The frog-man under her arm, if he were able to show expression, was very good at keeping his opinion to himself. For her own part, Galantha struggled to hide her embarrassment.

The tour ended in the kitchen, and the king was making a show of his magnanimity toward the servants, sniffing all the dishes as they roasted and bubbled away.

As if struck by a sudden thought, he turned to the frog tucked under the princess's arm, and said, with a grand sweep of his arm: "It would be a great honor to me, Sir Frog, if you would stay, and be my daughter's special guest at dinner, tonight."

Her two elder sisters, bringing up the rear of their little parade, giggled behind their hands.

The frog shifted his weight under her arm and opened his mouth as if to speak. But in the end, said nothing.

Galantha was ready to object on his behalf, and her own. But her father looked her in the eye with a frown, daring her to disobey his wishes a second time that day.

She dropped her gaze to the floor. "Yes. Of course it would be my honor. Please, be my guest."

No sooner were those words out of her mouth than the strange, horrid, feeling strengthened once more, spreading from the frog like ink from a tipped bottle. She fought to keep from hurling him to the floor that very instant.

(On to Part 2)