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quillovesdbz · 7 years ago

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Week 4 Submission for @tpthvegebulmayhem (3/3) Chapters: 1/2/3/4/5/6/7

Chapter 7: Deadly Conclusion

Rating: M

Genre: Cloak and Dagger, Fantasy, Fairytale AU, Dark Fiction, Mystery,

TW: Psychological abuse, physical abuse, homophobic ideology, depiction of intellectual disability, vomiting, depiction of sickness, strong language, revenge violence, major character death

Summary: Bulma is saved! The traitors pay for their crimes. Yamcha has a slight mix up. Bulma discovers a new secret, and Vegeta breaks his promise to the Duchess Suno.

It was early morning when Bulma was pulled violently from her bed. She had crusted vomit on her cracked and dry lips. Her hair was a sticky, greasy mess. And worst of all, she smelled like death. She was a living ghost, the result of two weeks starvation added to freezing cold temperatures and an unknown illness to boot. She had never been worse for wear.

Toma picked the nasty, scummy skeleton from her hay bed and threw her over his shoulder. What a sick way to die. And Bardock had doomed her to this fate. Toma knew her crimes. She cross dressed and nothing more, maybe lay with the prince but that wasn't likely. She didn't deserve the punishment she got, at least not in Toma’s eyes. He shot a quick glance at Bardock. He was cuffed on both wrists and bolted to the wall. He was stripped of the fancy garb he wore and now had only a long white shirt that barely covered his manhood. Toma mourned the Bardock he once knew, but that Bardock was no more.

…

Vegeta paced back and forth in his chambers. What would he do? How would she ever forgive him? Would she be well? Prisoners were known to catch cold and die in their sleep in the winter. He prayed she was strong enough to survive. What was he thinking? Of course she was strong enough… she was the strongest woman he knew…

There was a knock at his door.

His heart racing, he opened it up. Toma. And? A foul smelling skeleton of a woman he once knew. Toma pushed his way past the king and laid the woman on the bed. She was still, her eyelids at half mast. Vegeta could barely stand to look at her in such a state.

“Who did this to her?” he demanded. When Toma fell silent, he didn't know what to say, the king became furious.

“WHO DID THIS TO HER?!” He yelled, grasping the plainclothes clad general by the chest. The look in the king's eyes was that of a madman. The veins in his neck and temples bulged with anger. Vegeta's eyes began to swell with liquid. He was so furious he had started to cry.

Toma looked down to the floor.

“Bardock ordered her arrest. I was only following orders.” the tall general explained. Though he was outraged, he knew this wasn't Toma’s fault. The regent had superior power than the prince, at the time of her arrest. It was within his power to keep such a thing from the prince, even though it may not have been morally acceptable.

“Her charges?” he interrogated, fists shaking with the rush of adrenaline.

“Cross dressing, sodomy, lewd and lascivious behavior, and… witchcraft. Although I don't know the basis of the last accusation.”

“Accusation? Who accused-" he almost finished when he remembered a certain blue haired kitchen rat that had walked in in them that fateful day. The day of her arrest.

The king dropped his fists from his grasp on Toma. He turned to the unconscious woman on his bed. He pressed his ungloved fingers to her neck. Weak, but she still had a pulse.

“Send for the best physician in the kingdom. I am going to get to the bottom of this and punish those responsible.”

…

“This is by far the worst case of neglect I've ever seen. Where did you find this woman?” the physician was a short man with light hair, and his eyes told the story that he was much older than he looked.

“She was wrongfully sentenced and placed in our prisons. The care of criminals is not of utmost concern to those in power.” Toma replied bluntly.

The old man understood his explanation and began to get to work. She was severely malnourished, her stomach sunk low and her ribs were visible to count. She was pale white and nearly translucent. Her toes, ears and the tips of her fingers had early signs of frostbite. Her small toe on her left foot was dark, it had already begun to decay. He noticed signs of vomit on her mouth and determined she may have contracted a cold or worse, pneumonia.

She had begun to lose hair because of the lack of care and not getting enough nutrients.

The doctor contemplated given her morphine to lessen her pain, but he was sure it would kill her due to her weight. Instead, he ordered that the girl be fed hardtack biscuit soaked in water or milk, as many times as she could stand. And if she had energy to chew, fruits, vegetables and cured meats for balance.

Toma agreed to the order and immediately went to the kitchens to fetch some maids for the task.

…

The king had one thing and one thing only on his mind. Destroy the maiden Marron. As the prince, he was known for his downright evil scowls. There was almost never a time his brow wasn't pushed together in anger. Today, as the King, he had the blackest look he ever had. His eyes, though deep brown, burned with the fury of a thousand fires. His stride was confident, furious and ambitious. He was ready to inflict real punishment.

As he rounded the corner to the kitchen he saw her. Her long blue hair disgusted him, the fact that she looked so similar to his Bulma disgusted him. He approached her swiftly, catching her by surprise.

“The prince will never know,” he whispered in her ear.

Marron felt a stinging chill run down her spine as she knew it to be the King standing directly behind her. She froze in fear. Her entire body stiffened, her mind was blank, and her heart had never beat so rapidly. She felt as if she could die, then and there. But she would not have that luxury.

Vegeta twisted his gloved fingers through her hair, anchoring himself. Then he pulled so hard that several large chunks came out, and the girl was forced to the floor. She yelped in agony.

“But the King knows now. And I will make good on my promise to you.” and then he kicked her hard, in the ribs, she could not scream, she only felt the air from her lungs be forcibly expelled from her body. She gasped for breath, but it was only let in with tiny bursts. Even more so now, she felt like she could die. And again, she would be afforded that luxury.

The King picked her up by the collar of her apron, choking her. He turned her face toward himself. She was a pitiful sight, and he knew she felt remorse for her actions. But remorse was not enough punishment. He wanted her to see what she'd done to Bulma. And after, he wanted her to share the same fate. So with a firm grasp on her collar, he drug her out of the kitchen and headed toward his chambers.

…

It had been several weeks since Bulma and the prince left for the castle. There were whispers of a coronation, and an unexpected arrest that happened at the coronation. Yamcha knew it had to her, though why would he have kept her in the castle for nearly a month before her arrest? His mind went to dark places when he thought about it.

There wasn't a day that went by that the children didn't ask about Bulma. And each time Yamcha had no idea what to say. Once, Goku told Launch that Bulma was in prison and she would never come back. Yamcha had the most trouble that day, trying calm her down. Launch thought of Bulma as her mother, and Yamcha was a most shitty replacement. He'd never had such a difficult time with them as he did without Bulma. But she left him in this predicament. And for that he was almost glad she was serving her time.

…

Bulma was only partly conscious when Vegeta and Marron had arrived. She noticed that Marron was crying profusely, and held her sides in pain. She also noticed that the girl had large chunks of hair missing from her head, not unlike herself. Bulma lacked the energy to even greet them.

Toma had passed the two on his way to kitchen and informed the King of the doctor's orders. He would be arriving back shortly with another kitchen staff and the necessary food.

Vegeta had Marron by her collar in one hand, and moved closer to Bulma so he could put his other hand on hers.

“I am so sorry,” Marron sobbed at the sight of her once friend.

Bulma was highly confused as to what was happening. She mustered as much energy as she could to ask what was going on. “What is happening?” she breathed, directing the question to Vegeta.

“Shh, rest. I will explain it all when you are lucid.”

She wasn't entirely sure if she could trust him, he had gone back and forth between her enemy and her lover so many times. But she had no choice this time, so she closed her eyes and drifted to sleep.

…

“Attention Citizens!! In one weeks time, there will be a public execution!! All citizens are invited to attend, and encouraged to ridicule the prisoner as much as possible. Their crimes include murder and conspiracy, and even betrayal and treason! Bring the children for extra hands to throw rotten produce!”

Yamcha stared wide eyed at the poster advertising an execution. His heart sunk when he knew. It had now been three months since Bulma was taken from her home and her family. He hoped she had been comfortable for that time. But this… this was madness. He felt his rage boil within his chest. He had to do something. Anything! She was a good person, an innocent woman just providing for her family. He had to do something. So he went to a man he knew would give him sage advice, Master Roshi.

“I see. You want to stage a rescue for this woman, who you love.”

“Well I'm not in love with her, but she has a family and she's innocent!” Yamcha corrected the old man.

“Well I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'll help you. I'd go to the ends of the earth if it meant you would get a nice piece of tail!” the old man said with a cackle.

Yamcha sighed. Hopeless. He lamented.

“I would rather not involve the boys, in case we get caught… they will be the only ones left to care for their siblings.” Yamcha said, worried the old master would want to include them. They were strong, there was no doubt about that. But the risk was far greater than the reward. I'm sorry Bulma, he thought as realized he had equated her to ‘the reward’.

…

Bulma had been recovering for nearly two months, though she was still having trouble keeping her food down. The new King had waited on her hand and foot. He told her every day how sorry he was for his harsh words, and how he would never let her go again. She was glad to hear it, but she stayed angry with him for some time. He broke her heart, and it wasn't easily repaired. But in the last couple weeks her mood had vastly changed. She thought it was a side effect of her new found energy, though his spoiling may have had an effect as well. She was beginning to remember what it felt like to love him. And she could picture herself doing so once again.

She lay in his bed, relishing the scent of lavender and the feel of fine satin sheets. She smiled in delight and thanked God for saving her. She would surely have been dead if she was not rescued when she was.

There was a tap at the door before it opened to reveal the old physician. She had called him for a very specific reason, and hoped he had the answer.

“Miss Briefs,” he greeted her with a bow she surely did not deserve.

“Oh please I am no lady nor anyones wife. Just call me Bulma.”

“Yes of course. You said you had some concerns?”

“Yes, though I have been gaining weight and energy rapidly, I still vomit almost daily. This illness is not related to my neglect in the prison.”

“Yes it seems you are right. For a woman you are very well educated in medicine. When was the last time you menstruated?”

Bulma heard his last word and her stomach began to feel ill once again. It couldn't be. But it could! She placed a hand on her abdomen.

“I… I can't remember.” She admitted truthfully. “Alright, dear, I'm sure you can put two and two together for a diagnosis, but to make sure…” He pulled what Bulma identified as a stethoscope from his medical bag. He placed the long wooden tube to her abdomen, and laid his ear on the other end.

“And there is the proof. A tiny heartbeat as clear as day. May God bless you with a healthy and happy child. For the remainder of your ailment I will check on you frequently. Please stay in bed as much as possible to ensure your health as well.”

Bulma had thought it a possibility once before. But she quickly put it out of her mind.

Now, this was real. She would birth the king’s child. She was terrified to tell him.

…

When the time came for the public execution, Goku would not take no for an answer. And then Tien and Krillin began to beg. All three boys were hitting and kicking Yamcha, screaming at the top of their lungs. They wanted in on the rescue mission, and the more he said no, the more they protested.

“Who will care for the girls and Oolong if we are caught? They need you, more than anything. You cannot come.” the scar faced boy insisted.

But they insisted back, threatening to come anyway and execute their own rescue plan, though it was likely much less thought out than his.

If only to stop their incessant crying and attacks, he caved in.

“Ok,” he said. “But if things turn sour, promise me you will run. Even if I'm in trouble, leave.”

The boys immediately stopped and nodded their heads.

Yamcha knew this was a bad idea, but maybe they could be of some help.

…

So the two men and three boys made their way to the town, to the execution. They were dressed in their plainclothes, so as to not draw attention. They adopted the role of participants for the execution they believed to be of their dear friend and sister. Goku carried a basket of overly ripe tomatoes. “So we just throw these at Bulma?” he asked.

“No! Not actually! Just pretend!” Yamcha whisper yelled at the boy.

“Oh!” Goku said confidently, as if he knew exactly what Yamcha was saying. “What does pretend mean, Yamcha?” Goku asked, completely undermining his so confident expression of understanding.

Yamcha feared their plan would not work, but he had no choice.

…

Marron was roused early on the day of her execution. Because of her crimes the king sentenced her to public humiliation before being hung. The same fate was to befall Bardock, the once trusted regent and long time friend of the crown.

It was a cold morning, it had just snowed the night before. It was a wonder Marron had lasted this long, but then again she did not suffer from the ailment of pregnancy like Bulma did. Marron’s feet and most of her fingers had succumbed to frost bite she was beginning to develop an infection in one foot. She was thinner than before, but not emaciated. She was able to keep her food down, most of the time.

Bardock had the constitution of an ox. He was hardly different at all, save for slightly skinnier and a small amount of frostbite on his toes. He had found it easy to keep himself warm by using the friction of rubbing his hands together, and placing them on any part of his body that felt numb. He lost some sleep over the cold, but not much. It was enough to conjure dark circles under his eyes.

He tried so hard to provoke Broly to his favor. But the tall burly man would not budge. It saddened him to see his friend and father figure in such a state, but his conviction to performing his job as close to perfect as humanly possible. Even though he had no one to make proud of him if he lost Bardock, he still honored his duties.

Bardock was not pleased with this behavior. No matter what he bargained or promised, he never got what he wanted. Even when all he wanted was an extra blanket.

Bardock awoke to Toma, fully armored, pulling him by the hair on his head.

The two criminals were brought to the streets and cuffed to a horse drawn carriage, led by a single armored soldier. The two had no shoes, and only their dirty prison shifts on. The roads were muddy with partially melted snow. It was freezing cold outside, where most were wearing several warm layers of clothes, the criminals did not. The wind howled an agonizing cry. Today was the day.

Yamcha and the others could see the prisoners beginning their road to the gallows. One tall, black haired man, and one short blue haired girl. Bulma! Yamcha squinted to get a better look but alas they were too far away still.

…

Vegeta wantonly dressed in front of her. She was the intruder in his bedroom, even though he wanted her there. So he used his room as he usually did, and that included stripping naked to bathe, and dress. She admired his physique, every crevasse in his sinew was delicately carved, as if he was made of marble. The small white scars on his body made him even more handsome to her, a symbol of his strength and perseverance. She reminisced the only time their bodies had connected, and wanted so badly to relive those moments. With the news, of course, they would have to wait until it was safe for the baby. Which made her want him even more.

When he turned his head to glance at her, he noticed the look in her eyes. It was that of insatiable hunger, the craving call of a lioness in heat. He smiled slightly at her vulgarity.

“Go easy on her,” Bulma pled for the small girl who would lose her life today. “Make it quick and painless. For him too, afterall he raised you.” Her bleeding heart had gotten the best of her as she begged her king for his mercy on them.

Vegeta looked down to the ground and finished lacing his tall black boots. He said nothing, but nodded to her as he left the room.

…

In the street the cries and shouts of the entire kingdom could be heard. The people were like wild animals, calling names and throwing food all about. They enjoyed the spectacle, however disgusting and uncivilized it may be.

When Yamcha and the old master had attempted to make their way to the front to see their friend, they were kicked and shoved out of the way. This angered them both, and a fists were thrown. A fight broke out among the citizens in the confusion, and it spread like wildfire. Soon the entire street was in an all out brawl, people were hitting and kicking people they didn't even know, and in turn those people hit back. It had gone from riotous fun in one instant, to actual full on riot the next.

Yamcha decided the boys needed to leave, he could carry this out on his own.

“Roshi!” he yelled as loudly as he could, the crowd drowning out his voice. The old master turned to him and acknowledged the call.

“Take the boys and get out! This is my burden to bear!”

And although the old hermit hesitated, he accepted the order and scooped the boys up.

Yamcha tried to watch and make sure they made it out of the violent pit, but he lost sight of them. He hoped for the best, and swiftly took a dive into the crowd, toward the gallows.

…

When Vegeta arrived to the large wooden structure, aptly named the gallows, he was shocked at what he saw. His people were behaving like animals. They were turning on each other, and even his own guards. It was a horrible mess, an it was a wonder that the prisoners actually made it to their destination, and not gotten stomped into the cold mud.

They were escorted onto the platform, where the executioner placed the nooses on their necks. Bardock was solemn and said nothing. Marron was inconsolable, every cry seemed to choke her. It was pitiful, but to Vegeta and most of the kingdom, they were getting what they deserved.

The horns blew in rapid succession in attempts to gain the crowd's attention. The mob calmed down dramatically as the anticipated the main attraction.

The executioner read from a scroll each prisoner's crimes and their punishment before reciting their last rights.

Finally, they were asked for any final words.

Bardock remained silent, his eyes dark and face hollow. He was already dead on the inside, and he prayed for death to come quickly.

Marron chose to deny her crimes.

“I am innocent, as God is my witness. He will harken to me with open arms,” she recited through ugly sobs.

Yamcha had made his way to the structure, just in time to hear her voice. And he knew this woman could not be Bulma. Though they shared a hair color, her voice was completely wrong. He began to wonder what was going on.

The king gave a nod to his black clad executioner, who nodded back.

And as if in slow motion…

Their bodies fell hard, snapping their neck in harmony, like fragile glass slippers.

And they were gone…

…

After it was all said and done, Yamcha shoved his way to the king. There were many guards who held him back, but he shouted and pushed still.

“Vegeta! Prince Vegeta!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. It was just barely loud enough and disrespectful enough to catch the king's attention.

He turned his head toward the boy. He recognized him as Yamcha, the boy who had helped him when Nappa was dying. And who helped bury him as well. This peaked his interest so he signalled his guards to let the boy through.

“Where is she?!” he demanded.

The king was not in the mood to correct his atrocious behavior, so instead he said, “Follow me.” And the two headed back toward the castle.

…

Bulma had fallen asleep shortly after her king had left. She awoke to the sound of the chamber door opening…

Vegeta entered, in all his glory, and made his way to her side. He grabbed her hand and held it tightly.

“ You… have a visitor..” he said to her.

Even in their intimate moments, he refused to relax his scowl. But she didn't mind.

“A visitor?” She inquired.

Just then she saw Yamcha enter the room. She had never felt such happiness in her life. She was so grateful to be in that room at that very moment, and not swinging from a rope like her less fortunate friend.

...

They talked for what seemed like hours. She told him every detail of her stay, including her stay in the cells. And he told her all about what was happening back home, though it wasn't quite as exciting.

And when the time was right, she broke the news to both Vegeta and Yamcha. And together they celebrated their happy endings…

But there was one person in the castle who was not celebrating.

…

Suno had packed her bags, and gathered Zarbon to head back to France. She was tired of waiting for the king, and the fact that he had a whore in his bed every night since they had become engaged had angered her to no end.

In the middle of the night, the duchess and her ambassador fled the kingdom.

…

Several weeks later, Frieza declared war on the kingdom of Sadala. He was outraged that the new king would play around with his niece, only to break off the engagement and send her home like used tissue.

The king had a choice to make. Rally his army and lead them to victory, or stay with his heavily pregnant lover, and risk not being with his men.

He chose the former, thinking it would be wise to be with his men to boost their morale. Never had a battle been lost when the king fought side by side with his men. And this was no exception.

The war raged on at the French border for nearly seven months. The weather had gone from winter to spring, spring to summer, and summer to fall. It was nearing time for the arrival of his son.

…

Long ago, Vegeta had made the mistake of deciding to bring Bulma to the castle. It was a decision that would ultimately lead to her death, and that was true. While her king was away there were many complications with her pregnancy. For the last two weeks she bled near constantly. The physicians and midwives watched her round the clock. And then he decided to come early.

Trunks was born to his mother nearly three weeks too soon. He was small, and beautiful, with eyes just like his mother's. She fawned over him. Her very own baby, a perfect amalgam of herself and her lover. And the doctor had declared him healthy. His head was covered in light lavender hair, a feature that would be sure to please his father. His tiny premature hands grasped at her breast when she fed him. And he ate ravenously, just like hia father. She hoped one day, he could learn to be gentle and intelligent like her, but courageous and confident like his father. She hoped that he would learn and become a great scholar… and that he wouldn't have to bear the burden of taking the throne at such an early age… like his father. She sighed as she brushed her hand on his uniquely soft face. She had never seen anything more perfect.

In three short days, she was dead. The doctors declared it death due to childbirth. She looked like a porcelain doll, motionless and pale. She had faded in her sleep, due to significant blood loss. It was both a beautiful and horrific sight.

The first to know were her family. The message took much longer to get to King Vegeta.

…

Victory. They had pushed back the French and won the war. Vegeta had slain the emperor on an open battlefield, for all to see. The French soldiers submitted to him immediately.

It was over.

He could go home.

…

When he arrived home he wanted to see her, and their son. When he opened his chamber doors there was nothing. No Bulma in his bed, no son in the bassinet. His servants surrounded him, headed by the general Toma. Their somber faces said it all. She was gone.

She was gone.

Gone.

His pained and blood chilling scream echoed through the silent halls. Even in the furthest reaches of the castle, servants heard his anguished wails.

Gone.

She was gone.

…

It took a very long time for him to overcome his depression. Sometimes the sight of his beautiful son worsened the condition, sometimes he lessened it. But one thing was for sure. Trunks was all he had left of her. And King Vegeta would ensure he would protect the boy with everything he had. And when Trunks was old enough, Vegeta told him the story of his mother. A tragedy to be sure, with a bittersweet fairytale ending.

The end

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grimoireoffolkloreandfairytales · 8 years ago

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Cold comes and goes, love remains

It is summer but why not. Set after Snow Queen.

Magic always leaves trace. Magic of immortal things from before time doubly so. Gerda cannot forget and Kai can’t help but remember.

Together, they make it work.

They never tell you what happens after. After the tale. After the villain is defeated and you are back home. After the friend is saved.

Sometimes, Gerda wonders if that is her mistake. Should she have walked in while Snow Queen sat on her throne, engaged her in duel, killed her? Her stomach turns at thought of killing a living being, of taking another’s life.

But Snow Queen isn’t human. Gerda isn’t even sure she can be counted as alive. And what use is there for world of somebody that steals children and buries people under ice and snow?

‘’ No,’’ says Kai. ‘’ You did everything great. Without you, I’d never be free. And you wouldn’t kill her. You shouldn’t stain your hands with blood.’’

He doesn’t lie, as Snow Queen didn’t ( couldn’t), but like her leaves piece of truth hidden. He doesn’t say that otherwise Gerda would have fallen, one more victim of frostbite. He doesn’t say that you can’t kill blizzard, can’t harm winter, can’t make cold of vast space bleed. You can only prepare shelters, wrap yourself in fur and wool, and wait for it to pass.

He doesn’t say that army of angels was needed to fight against horde of snowflakes, that even Michael, he who leads God’s armies, would have failed against Queen there, in heart of her power.

He doesn’t say that Queen deserves no punishment, that she did nothing wrong. Winter gale doesn’t choose which way it blows, doesn’t seek to end lives. How can something without conscience, without morality, be called evil?

At first, everything is same as before. They are at home, living with grandmothers, playing on roofs and planting roses. They forget for a while.

It is small things at first. Seeing herself in windows and mirrors, all tall and grown up. Meeting old friends and not recognizing them. Reminders of years missed that slip from grandmother’s mouth. Finding job.

Whispers of roses. Chatter of birds. Kai’s hair, long and white as freshly fallen snow. His dark skin, once warm and rich as fertile earth, now pale as frozen ground of taiga.

Gerda closes her eyes and pretends not to hear.

‘’ It is so hot.’’ Gerda’s granny says.

‘’ I don’t remember summer this dry and warm.’’ Answers Kai’s.

‘’ I don’t think I could stand a day more of this heat.’’ Lies Kai. It is easier to pretend then admit that neither heat or cold bother him anymore ( Gerda restored his memory and took him home, but Queen kissed him, and he isn’t sure if she made him immune or fire and ice don’t dare harm him, but since that day he could go nude in blizzard and wrap himself in furs and walk through desert and not feel anything).

‘’ Rain will soon fall.’’ It comes out of her mouth without thinking. They turn, blink, and grandmothers ask ( how do you know, why are you sure, did somebody tell you).

Words stop in her mouth. How does she explain, sparrows gossiping about faraway storm, soon to come. How does she explain about roses knowing, feeling it’s arrival, starving for water that shall descend from sky.

‘’ I just know.’’ It is enough for now.

She sets up flower shop. Of course she does. What else could she have done?

Many things. She could have opened bakery, or served in inn, or became a teacher. She could have become a nurse, or started selling clothes she made, or cared for children of not so rich families. And she is princess’s friend. She could have had anything. She really shouldn’t treat it as such mundane thing, even if it maybe is. Because even princesses have friends but who would have thought that she, Gerda, would be one to befriend the princess. She has spent years on journey, planning, hoping, fighting to survive. Childhood friends are nothing but blur in her mind. Princess is one of few people in world she can call friend anymore.

Princess in name only, she should add, for her friend has reigned over their land since she was fifteen, first aided by regent and advisers then alone, guided by her own wisdom. Year still needs to pass for her to ascend to mantle of monarch formally, which is stupid tradition in Gerda’s opinion, but Princess is content with waiting- rules are to be followed, and Gerda doesn’t begrudge her that, as long as none suffer under them.

But thing is, she could have had any job she wanted. Anything that didn’t involve flowers and plants and hearing voices nobody else does, understanding their songs and stories. She didn’t have to do that.

But she likes gardening. She has always loved it, since she can remember planting and tending seeds, nurturing and guiding young green things to their first bloom, caring for them through year until cruel frost steals their life, as winter always does.

And she will be damned if she lets magic or bad memories take that away from her

She is successful. Beyond that even. She nourishes her plants, like mother caring for children, and they drive. Years of experience and hard work and knowledge she gained make sure none can match her.

Her flowers don’t speak, which surprises and relaxes her (but doesn’t disappoint, of course not). Flowers of old woman who enchanted her could speak like men, though they knew only to tell one story and to argue. Her roses, red and white, could muster words, not sentences but still expressions that she could understand.

Flowers she grows just murmur, too low for her to understand, and sing their wordless tunes. Still, she feels, and can imagine what story they would tell, if nourished by old woman’s magic.

Lily who drowns with despair, rolling off it like dew would be about girl who lost too much and walked into lake on her own.

Wildflowers that chime like jingle bells would be about three girls running under summer sun in green meadow.

Carnation with anger and pride as bright as fire would be about woman who knows what she desires, and dance laughing at those who try to stop her, for sooner will world burn than she will bow.

That is what attracts her customers, she muses. Somehow, she coaxes out those stories from flowers into hearts, and people know that her boquets mean more than any else. They come to her with wishes, flowers for first date, flowers for marriage, flowers for separation, for funeral, for spite, for apology. She cares not for so called flower language or even colors clashing in some cases-she gives grieving mother sunflower that scream with rage and loss, violets that soothe and give strength to move on, pink roses that fondly sing of loved ones long gone by.

Her competition laughs at first, but then they smell her work, or walk in room containing her pots, and their hearts are overcome with emotion, and they know she is right.

Gerda laughs. Perhaps it isn’t so bad. People are happy and she brings many coin home.

Grandma is waiting for her home, with magnificent red dress. It is woolen, and bright, and beautifully embroidered. Grandma cannot stop talking about it.

‘‘-and then I said, of course I can’t take it Martha, it is too good for us, I cannot believe ho well you sew, and that color is so vibrant, but she said nonsense after all times she spent in my house she is like my own daughter, and she needs some reward for all her hard work, and she and Kai were always such good friends with Brigitta, she was one who embroidered those stars, said she can’t wait to reconnect, and I said oh really, thank you so much Martha, these new shops are run by idiots who refuse to make more than five dresses for girls that aren’t thin like sprigs, but don’t think you won’t be getting three new shawls and-’‘ Grandma stops, looking at Gerda’s lost, stricken face.

‘‘Gerda, sweetie, what happened? Are you sick? Was there problem at work? Do you-’‘

‘‘Grandma,’‘ Gerda says, voice shaking ‘’ those people-Martha, Brigitte, I...I don’t remember who they are.’‘

‘‘Oh.’‘ Grandma says, patting Gerda’s hair as woman collapses in her arms, sobbing.

She always goes to church now. She did before too, but she now refuses to miss a single gathering. When she comes down with flu, grandmothers have to restrain her from getting up.

They don’t understand. She saw God answer her prayer, saw her breath form in army of angels, bright guardians with wings of flame and bodies of jewels and too many eyes of thunder, saw them fight demonic forces that kept her from Kai.

God has shown her mercy. Answered her prayer out of so many. Absolute loyalty is least she owes Him. He created her, Kai, her world and everything she holds dear. He sent His son to die for their sins, and He gave Heaven to virtuous.

And she needs to pay her sins. She hears voices of beasts, can command them, birds and bugs and cat and dogs, and she knows that is magic, and she saw witches and demons, was bewitched herself and escaped, saved her enthralled friend with His aid.

Magic is work of devil, and devil tempts and tricks, clothed in bright golden light, and his gifts lie and beguil, masked as blessing, and like gambling and wine magic is addictive and ruins people and...

She doesn’t want to be witch. She doesn’t want to be evil. She doesn’t want to harm people. To go to Hell. To become wicked and cruel like Snow Queen. To betray Him.

She cries and prays.

‘‘I don’t think she was a demon. Or witch. Or anything like that.’‘ Kai admits once. It is beginning of autumn, but night cold and yet Kai isn’t.

(It is not quite the truth, but he doesn’t want Gerda to worry, not after everything she has done for him, not after what bastard he had been. Better to say, he is always cold, but it doesn’t grieve him. He’s got the winter in his bones, and he will live with that for rest of his days, and honestly, he likes it).

Gerda looks at him, shocked and alarmed and bundled in jackets, and she doesn’t know what to say because Kai never confided in her what his time at palace was like but now he says this and she fears he is tempted again and she wants them all to heal, and you must talk if you want to achieve that, but she wants to forget and leave everything behind.

But Kai can’t. He wants to heal too, but he doesn’t know where to start, and sometimes he thinks healing requires thinking and accepting and letting what happened become part of their lives forever, and sometimes he isn’t sure if he wants to forget, but he knows that he can’t, for he went with Snow Queen and she kissed him and he lived in her realm growing without need to eat or sleep or drink and now there is winter in his bones, cold in his blood and frost under his skin, and he knows piece of her rests within him and he knows that wherever he goes he will carry snow within himself and he can’t pretend so long.

‘‘Kai...’‘ Gerda begins ‘‘She.... did something happen, Did you... Did she return?’‘‘

‘‘I saw nothing of her this day, or yesterday, or any other day since you saved me.’‘ He says gently. He doesn’t say that he didn’t need to see her-wherever there is cold she has reach, even at height of summer, and her power flows through universe itself, and she rests within him, bound together by winter as mother and son are by blood, or bond even stronger than that.

‘‘I just... I was thinking about what you said. I think angels came because of you, not her. Your prayer and your heart, that is your strength, like Bae said. he gave it to you, because you got it.’‘ Kai smiles, slow and sweet, and Gerda doesn’t look at his teeth, white and shining like fresh snow on morning sun ‘‘ I don’t make sense do I? I think... He helped you because you helped yourself first.’

But that doesn’t really have much to do with her, you know? I don’t think she serves God, but I don’t think she is against him. She is out of it all, like wind or snow. I asked her once, you know, how can you tell between good and evil.’’

‘‘And what did she say?’‘ Gerda doesn’t know what to expect. Demon would likely give some answer that seemed innocent but advised human to be selfish.

‘‘She looked at me, puzzled-I think that was only time I saw her confused, maybe first time she was ever confused- and asked me what those words mean. I don’t remember what I said, but she didn’t understand.

And once she talked to me about angels and demons, said that they are God’s servants, extensions of his will. But demons wanted to control world, to enslave other creatures and take what was not theirs and rebelled against him. She said that like all people and beings that are his they have soul. And...’‘

‘‘I know that Kai. Did she tell anything more.’‘ She didn’t want to believe that, but demon wouldn’t have admitted they were evil. But neither were humans demons and there were many evil ones.

‘‘She told me once that she doesn’t have one. Soul that is. And she doesn’t lie Gerda Believe me, I know she can’t, just as I know to calculate or to breathe. She isn’t human, but she isn’t demon either.’‘

‘‘But what could she be otherwise?’‘ Kai looks through window into deep blackness between stars, there where cold is strongest. he thinks he can imagine cold, sharp yet soft hand stroking his back, fondling his hair, can imagine laugh and wail in hush of wind.

‘‘She is... she is old, and cold and alone, and that is all.’‘

They say that women who talk with animals are witches, that beasts are demons in disguise and their familiars, and perhaps Gerda should stop feeding birds but every animal she encounters and unlike some cynics she isn’t quite so ready to believe that world is full of demons.

Kai’s words were strange, but she trusts him like brother, and chooses to believe. Because at end of day, faith is what she must have, and she is sure God would have given her sign otherwise.

Besides, most beasts are quite dumb, even pretty white doves she fattens, thinking only of food and mates. Not like Bae, or Mr. and Mrs. Raven.

And such thinking is insulting to them, she considers. If normal animals are demons because she can understand them, then what of ones that speak and think like humans? What of princess, whose dreams dance? Or of two wise women who helped her, kind leaders of their villages? Would somebody name her friends, who helped her so much demons or witches for that?

Perhaps it is not magic at all, but simply gift to understand others-she understood different tongues as if they were her own, now that she thinks of it. Perhaps she just listens better than most people. And she doubts that demons would give her such gift, or that angels would fight for sake of wicked creature (they were angels, she knows, true and through, she could feel their holiness, their goodness in depths of her soul, and it was greatest thing she ever felt, no demon could fake that).

So with smile, she resumes feeding her white doves.

There are many distasteful men in world, Gerda is aware. Men with no manners nor respect, who, utterly entitled, treat women and children as things. She would have to be raised under the rock, or in that land of Greek women warriors Kai told her about, not to know about them. Single reason why she is surprised when older customer gropes her is that shop is full of people.

He is surprised when she slaps him, so she can forgive herself for that. He shouts, more from surprise than pain-she didn’t smack him as hard as she could or should, have had- for he is too much used for this. Too many girls are afraid, knowing that few will help them, and those men take silence for yes.

‘‘Dear God, what has gotten in you, lass?’‘

‘‘What has gotten in me? How dare you?’‘ Grandma always said that Gerda had more bravery than self-preservation, but Gerda reckons if she could go over half world as child then she can shout at this man when she is a woman .’‘ You, sir, have honor of being most rude and shameful customer I had displeasure of serving. How dare you act so toward young woman, nay any woman at all! I hope you haven’t been bothering any other girl here other wise..’‘

He is angry, and red, and raises his hand. Several customers ran to Gerda’s side, fastest being sixty year old widow with steely hair buying flowers for cheap funeral and fourteen year old boy taking single flower for each of his eight siblings. man’s hand falls down.

But window is thrown open, and golden October sunlight pours inside as half dozen white doves descend, pecking at his bald head. Man lets her go as he tries to fend them off. Gerda stares in awe, then rises cross around her neck and whispers her thanks.

‘‘Miss Gerda, are you alright?’‘ The boy asks, having run to her side. Widow watches with stern, steely gaze, her angry eyes like embers as she shouts to two strong men standing near her to take ‘‘gentleman’‘ outside, using names and words that would make sailors red as strawberries. Two men comply, their necks as flushed as Gerda at widow’s words.

‘‘I am well, thank you.’‘ She says to everybody inside.’‘ Promise me you will never be like that man when you grow up.’‘ She whispers to him, and he nods, face determined and hard. She doesn’t doubt it. His mother is honest woman of strong hand, if little easy to set off, and his father is nice man who is always kind to all even if they don’t have much. And boy himself is, as far as she knows from seeing him around neighbor, just as kind and honest.

‘‘ I will keep flowers, mister, but you can have your money back once you learn to behave properly.’‘ She says and takes three coins off counter, giving them to boy and widow as shop laughs.

‘‘Thank you.’‘ She whispers to doves. they stare at her with their red eyes before cooing back.

‘‘Feed us. Nice girl. All people love you. Man bad, man harm. Cannot allow that.’‘ Gerda laughs and thanks again. Amount of birdseed increases, and so does amount of feathery flyers keeping watch over her.

She doesn’t have such incidents ever regain.

In November, they attend her friend’s coronation. She gets invitation, personally signed by future Queen herself. She is allowed to bring guests. Nobody from house says anything, but news spread and soon Gerda is given as much as attention as mayor himself. Still nobody is surprised when she brings grandmothers and Kai.

They are given great chambers, and coronation is magnificent, her wise friend ascending to her rightful throne, dressed in royal regalia. They dance (Gerda is astonished to see grandmas pick up fast, complicated dance with each other) and laugh and eat and everything is beautiful. And then Kai and prince meet.

There is no fight, no problem at all. Not even teasing or bantering. But once they meet Gerda realizes how much things have changed.

She once confused him for Kai. It was easy to mistake them in dark for each other while prince was sleeping-but once his face was revealed she saw her mistake immediately. Head was right size, neck long enough and forehead just as wide, with thin eyebrow and right jaw and pointy chin. But his eyes were bigger than Kai’s, his ears shorter and rounder, nose not as prominent and lips much plumper, teeth not as small and cheekbones not as sharp.

Still, they could have been cousins. Or even brothers. Both knew nothing of their parents, and were right age to maybe be fraternal twins- prince grew up in orphanage and Kai was found abandoned on street by his grandmother (in the snow, but this she never told anybody). Only problem was that they grew up in towns on opposite sides of country. Still she joked about confusing them again once they met each other.

And they did, and Gerda could no longer deny how much Kai changed. Both were tall and strong and slim, but Kai seemed tall and robust and thin like frozen mountain, or frost covered pine tree.

Their skin was dark as earth, but Kai’s was harsh and frigid like dead, frozen taiga where nothing could grow. Prince’s hair was just as long and fair as her friend’s once was, but now it was pale and white like pure snow and bleached bones.

Their teeth were healthy and clean, but Kai’s were blinding white and seemed pointy at times. Prince’s hands were warm, while Kai’s felt like sticking hand in mountain river. Prince’s eyes were sparkling, so were Kai’s, but whereas eyes of prince shone with joy and mischief, Kai’s reflected still light of aurora.

And only there, in room full of people, hundreds of them, instead of apartment filled with four, did she notice how off Kai felt. How hairs on her neck rose, as something deep in her bones remembered and said:old, inhuman,wrong,eldritch,other, run,beware, don’t trust,hide, too powerful.

But she ignored it. Kai was her friend, and some stupid voice in her head didn’t know him better than she.

Only when they went to coronation, did he truly notice how small and weak and not right everything looks.

He sees castle, gold and marble and brilliant, and thinks of palace rising from ground unto sky, made of snow that will never melt and with doors of wind that will never stop. And he knows how fast and how easily this so called castle will crumble.

He walks halls, small finite halls in which people are pushing and hitting each other and having problem keeping distance and thinks of endless labyrinths that could contain whole world and still not lose one percent of space yet were always empty.

Decorations are wrought, and ugly, imperfect things not wrought by will. They cannot change shape or rise to defend castle and he knows that if he compared candles and statues he would find that they aren’t perfectly same. He sees candles and thinks of pale northern lights adorning walls and roof, part of castle, contained in floor and pillars and freely travelling through air.

He sees throne, ugly, red and gold thing, and thinks of pale mirror, frozen bottomless lake of reason containing world and answers to all questions and then some, watches tables and portraits and thinks of ice pieces that made such perfect puzzles.

And he sees Gerda’s friend the queen, and his very mind screams and recoils upon thinking of calling her so. He almost cries when he says ‘’glory to queen’’, his bones breaking.

For in place of this mortal creature, being of flesh and blood and bone, being that can be killed and thorn apart and shattered and rebelled against by any he sees a goddess, gigantic and beyond measure and of power deep beyond comprehension, woman with body of glaciers and restless soulless eyes of stars and hair of northern light and clothes of snow and voice of sharp winter wind, being that stands against vulcanoes and turns magma to stone, who can take away life with touch and turn land harsh and barren, woman older than very time, who rules vast expanses of empty space and brought winter in existence and who will one day bury entire universe in cold and ice when time is right for her to do so (she doesn’t hate other elements and seasons, no matter what anybody says. World has time and place for all, and when it is time for fire and heat to devour all she will accept and burn and wait for flames to die out just as they will wait for her hold to shatter, and so on and on).

He doesn’t hate Gerda’s friend-could never hate her, nor her husband, she is so wise and smart and ambitious and cunning and caring and will make great leader, but part of his very soul shivers and shrivels and dies whenever he thinks of her as a queen- none of them humans realize, he understands, what true monarch says.

‘‘Isn’t she true queen?’‘ Gerda asks, smile as bright as Sun, and for her sake he will lie even as his tongue blackens and rots.

‘‘Yes, she is.’‘ He says and quickly coughs up blood that spills from his mouth.

Fate snatched them, and changed what they were in something else, but just because they are something else now doesn’t they will stop being friends.

They will endure, that is what they do.

#snow queen #kai #gerda #SQ Princess

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