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queerly_beloved(This post is cross-posted to capri0mni)
Preface:
Back in 2012, when I was first exploring the cultural link between concepts of the monstrous, and cultural attitudes toward disability (and queerness),spiralsheep (no longer online) pointed me to a Master's thesis: "When a Knight meets a Dragon Maiden:
Human Identity and the Monstrous Animal Other," by Lydia Zeldenrust, and published online at Academia.Edu. Quote:
And this was living in my head for several years before it clicked that all of the royal frog-man stories are basically gender-flipped versions of the Dragon Maiden tales.
The whole point of these encounters, according to Zeldenrust, was for the knight to recognize the human that is trapped inside the dragon form, and not to be confused into thinking its an actual dragon that needs to be killed. This is how they prove their right to the Divinely Ordained Social Privilege, somewhere between kings and angels.
(When I read that, all those encounters I'd had, where normate people said: "Oh, but I don't see you as Disabled, I see you as Human!" -- while I'm sitting in front of them in my wheelchair -- suddenly made sense: They're all white-knight wannabes, reassuring themselves that they've earned their normate privileges)
The problem with the Grimm Brothers' version of the story, though, is that the princess never recognizes the frog king as human until after he loses his frog-shaped body, and therefore (according to chivalric tradition) doesn't deserve her happy ending.
So I tweaked the spell, just a bit, so that it's reciprocity between human beings that breaks the spell, rather than simply sharing physical space with the most beautiful person ever.
Where we left off:
Under the Linden Tree
(Part 2/5)
At dinner, an extra golden chair was put to Galantha's right, and on it was placed a fine silk cushion. The princess set the frog on the cushion as graciously as she could, and then she took a portion of each food on her plate, put it in a fine china saucer, and set the saucer on the cushion beside her guest.
But the frog objected: "That well was very deep and cold," he said, "and that golden ball was so heavy. If it weren't for me, your treasure would be lost forever. I should sit beside you, and eat from your own plate."
The princess was about to object that this was more than she had promised him.
But before she could say anything, her father the king replied: "Quite right. Quite right. A princess must always be a generous hostess."
So Galantha lifted the frog from the chair to the table, while Zephyra and Aurora squirmed and made faces.
In between bites, the frog and the king discussed political matters, and the state of diplomacy between the various neighboring kingdoms.
Galantha's mind raced, trying to figure out who this might be. She tried to change the subject, but her father was thoroughly charmed. The queen, when she caught her daughter's eye, smiled and shook her head in the same disapproving manner that she had with the king, and Galantha found that, she, too, could not resist her mother's wishes.
As the evening's chatter melted into yawns, the king said that since it was now dark, and it was a long way to the forest, their guest should spend the night.
Galantha agreed. and picked the frog up into the crook of her arm, preparing to carry her guest to the fountain the center of the royal courtyard, where he would be comfortable in the cool and damp.
But instead, the king said: "Of course, as my daughter's honored guest, you are welcome to sleep in her chambers."
So she was obligated to carry the frog up to her rooms. With every step, the strange feeling in her body intensified. Still, she walked to her rooms with as much courtesy as she could muster, filled the basin on the washstand with fresh water for the frog, and set him down.
"Please look away," she said, "as I change for bed."
The frog dipped his head, and quietly crawled behind the mirror.
Just as she about to slip under her covers, the frog came out from behind the mirror, and called out to her. "Is this any way to treat an honored guest?" he demanded. "To give your guest a cold, hard place to sleep, and keep the feather bed for yourself? I should like to lie in your bed, and be as warm as you are."
And with that, the princess's last bit of patience finally snapped. "If you want my bed, Sir Frog," she said, "you shall have it!" She picked him up in both hands, and, giving in to every shiver of revulsion, hurled him against the wall.
What happened next was such a shock, she spun on her heel as though pulling her hand from a fire: a full-grown man in her bed, alive, perfect as an artist's ideal, and naked as a frog.
"You're a prince?"
"I was a king, once."
She hugged herself, willing her heart to slow. "And the spell is broken now?"
He did not answer 'Yes' right away.
"I must," he said at last, "receive recompense for service rendered to a human, pass between walls where a human has trod, share a meal off a human's dish, and--" he took a breath, "share a human's bed from midnight 'til first cock's crow."
As if to punctuate his point, the hall clock chimed the eleventh hour's last quarter.
"You were afraid I'd say no, I suppose," she said, "if you'd told me this, when first I asked."
"I asked for everything I wanted from you."
"And I must only 'share' the bed?"
"Only that."
"Even so, you understand: Because of my station, this will count as a betrothal between us?"
The bed creaked as he shifted his weight. "Yes," he said, finally.
"And if I gave you the bed outright, and slept on the floor?"
She heard a catch in his breath that sent a shiver down her spine. "Please," he said.
"All right, then. Keep your face to the wall and your hands to yourself, or we will find out what happens."
When she was certain that he was faced toward the wall, under the covers, she lay down over them. She could feel him at her back, that strange, horrid feeling still there, though fainter, now, like the heat from a single candle. At some point, she must have fallen asleep, because she had the distinct sensation of waking up before the sun.
When, at last, she was released by the sound of the cock's crow, she rose quietly, careful not to wake the man sleeping behind her, and washed her face and hands.
The cock crowed a second time.
There was a silent flash of light in the corner of her eye. Glancing up, she saw a full set of clothes laid out across the dowry chest at the foot of her bed. The coat was of red velvet, with gold buttons, and there was a broad purple sash, embroidered with heraldric designs she did not recognize.
The princess stepped into the foyer of her bedchamber to dress in private.
At least it looked like a king's outfit, she thought, even though the stranger in her bed seemed far too young. But some, she reminded herself, inherit their throne before they're old enough to pull up their own stockings.
The cock crowed a third time.
She heard him yawn, the bed creak as he rose, and the unfamiliar rhythm of his bare feet on the floor.
She brushed and braided her hair as she listened to the rustling of cloth as he dressed himself.
When she heard that his boots were on, she took a deep breath, counted slowly to five, and stepped back into the main apartment of her chambers.
She'd prepared herself, but seeing him was still a shock. She looked away almost as quickly as she had the night before, and dropped into a curtsy. "Good morning, Your Majesty," she said, feeling the blush spread across her cheeks. "Please forgive me, for--"
His chuckle cut her off, and she glanced up. A smile spread from the corner of his eye to his lips.
"Forgive thee?" The smile faded, but his expression remained soft. "I should thank thee, instead." He looked down at his hands and flexed his fingers. "Thou saved my life."
"I-- what?"
"Though it feels odd, having so much bone, again," he said, instead of answering her directly, running one hand down his side, over his ribs. "Did I hear correctly, last night," he asked, changing the subject, "that thy name is 'Galantha?'"
"Indeed, Your Majesty," she said.
His brows knitted for a split second. "'Milk Flower?' 'Snowdrop?' Princess Snowdrop?" He seemed on the verge of laughing, but managed to swallow it down.
"That would have been Sire's choice," she answered, "but my mother overruled him, Your Majesty."
He cocked his head to one side. "Please. Don't let me have the advantage of thee. I am named 'Cinnabar'."
She studied his face. There was nothing about him that suggested the fiery hues of that dangerous stone. His complexion was as pale as someone who had spent years in the shadows. His eyes were the dark brown of late summer honey. And his hair was so black, like a raven's feathers, that it glinted blue.
"Cinnabar?" she repeated.
He chuckled, and seemed to be about to say something more, when there was a light, familiar, rap on her chamber door.
"Come in, Margarete," she said, without thinking.
Her lady-in-waiting opened the door and poked her head around. "Good morning, Your Highness--" Her eyebrows rose barely a hair, and she (almost invisibly) mouthed: "frog?"
The princess bit her lip to keep from laughing at the absurdity. "Good morning, Margarete. Is breakfast ready?"
"Yes, Your Highness. His Majesty waits on you." She curtsied quickly and backed out the door.
The young king tugged at his sash, smoothing wrinkles that weren't there. "Well," he said, "they're expecting us, though probably not like this." He offered her his arm.
After a moment's hesitation, she took it.
(Back to Part One)
capri0mni)Preface:
Back in 2012, when I was first exploring the cultural link between concepts of the monstrous, and cultural attitudes toward disability (and queerness),
spiralsheep (no longer online) pointed me to a Master's thesis: "When a Knight meets a Dragon Maiden:Human Identity and the Monstrous Animal Other," by Lydia Zeldenrust, and published online at Academia.Edu. Quote:
In general, the dragon maidens can be divided into two groups: the first is a rather large group in which the dragon maiden is waiting to be freed from her spell by means of a Perilous Kiss and then turns back into a human, the second group deals with a woman who turns into a half-dragon or serpent at specific times and is not to be seen by her husband in this state, but when this does happen she eventually becomes the animal.
And this was living in my head for several years before it clicked that all of the royal frog-man stories are basically gender-flipped versions of the Dragon Maiden tales.
The whole point of these encounters, according to Zeldenrust, was for the knight to recognize the human that is trapped inside the dragon form, and not to be confused into thinking its an actual dragon that needs to be killed. This is how they prove their right to the Divinely Ordained Social Privilege, somewhere between kings and angels.
(When I read that, all those encounters I'd had, where normate people said: "Oh, but I don't see you as Disabled, I see you as Human!" -- while I'm sitting in front of them in my wheelchair -- suddenly made sense: They're all white-knight wannabes, reassuring themselves that they've earned their normate privileges)
The problem with the Grimm Brothers' version of the story, though, is that the princess never recognizes the frog king as human until after he loses his frog-shaped body, and therefore (according to chivalric tradition) doesn't deserve her happy ending.
So I tweaked the spell, just a bit, so that it's reciprocity between human beings that breaks the spell, rather than simply sharing physical space with the most beautiful person ever.
Where we left off:
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.
Under the Linden Tree
(Part 2/5)
At dinner, an extra golden chair was put to Galantha's right, and on it was placed a fine silk cushion. The princess set the frog on the cushion as graciously as she could, and then she took a portion of each food on her plate, put it in a fine china saucer, and set the saucer on the cushion beside her guest.
But the frog objected: "That well was very deep and cold," he said, "and that golden ball was so heavy. If it weren't for me, your treasure would be lost forever. I should sit beside you, and eat from your own plate."
The princess was about to object that this was more than she had promised him.
But before she could say anything, her father the king replied: "Quite right. Quite right. A princess must always be a generous hostess."
So Galantha lifted the frog from the chair to the table, while Zephyra and Aurora squirmed and made faces.
In between bites, the frog and the king discussed political matters, and the state of diplomacy between the various neighboring kingdoms.
Galantha's mind raced, trying to figure out who this might be. She tried to change the subject, but her father was thoroughly charmed. The queen, when she caught her daughter's eye, smiled and shook her head in the same disapproving manner that she had with the king, and Galantha found that, she, too, could not resist her mother's wishes.
As the evening's chatter melted into yawns, the king said that since it was now dark, and it was a long way to the forest, their guest should spend the night.
Galantha agreed. and picked the frog up into the crook of her arm, preparing to carry her guest to the fountain the center of the royal courtyard, where he would be comfortable in the cool and damp.
But instead, the king said: "Of course, as my daughter's honored guest, you are welcome to sleep in her chambers."
So she was obligated to carry the frog up to her rooms. With every step, the strange feeling in her body intensified. Still, she walked to her rooms with as much courtesy as she could muster, filled the basin on the washstand with fresh water for the frog, and set him down.
"Please look away," she said, "as I change for bed."
The frog dipped his head, and quietly crawled behind the mirror.
Just as she about to slip under her covers, the frog came out from behind the mirror, and called out to her. "Is this any way to treat an honored guest?" he demanded. "To give your guest a cold, hard place to sleep, and keep the feather bed for yourself? I should like to lie in your bed, and be as warm as you are."
And with that, the princess's last bit of patience finally snapped. "If you want my bed, Sir Frog," she said, "you shall have it!" She picked him up in both hands, and, giving in to every shiver of revulsion, hurled him against the wall.
What happened next was such a shock, she spun on her heel as though pulling her hand from a fire: a full-grown man in her bed, alive, perfect as an artist's ideal, and naked as a frog.
"You're a prince?"
"I was a king, once."
She hugged herself, willing her heart to slow. "And the spell is broken now?"
He did not answer 'Yes' right away.
"I must," he said at last, "receive recompense for service rendered to a human, pass between walls where a human has trod, share a meal off a human's dish, and--" he took a breath, "share a human's bed from midnight 'til first cock's crow."
As if to punctuate his point, the hall clock chimed the eleventh hour's last quarter.
"You were afraid I'd say no, I suppose," she said, "if you'd told me this, when first I asked."
"I asked for everything I wanted from you."
"And I must only 'share' the bed?"
"Only that."
"Even so, you understand: Because of my station, this will count as a betrothal between us?"
The bed creaked as he shifted his weight. "Yes," he said, finally.
"And if I gave you the bed outright, and slept on the floor?"
She heard a catch in his breath that sent a shiver down her spine. "Please," he said.
"All right, then. Keep your face to the wall and your hands to yourself, or we will find out what happens."
When she was certain that he was faced toward the wall, under the covers, she lay down over them. She could feel him at her back, that strange, horrid feeling still there, though fainter, now, like the heat from a single candle. At some point, she must have fallen asleep, because she had the distinct sensation of waking up before the sun.
When, at last, she was released by the sound of the cock's crow, she rose quietly, careful not to wake the man sleeping behind her, and washed her face and hands.
The cock crowed a second time.
There was a silent flash of light in the corner of her eye. Glancing up, she saw a full set of clothes laid out across the dowry chest at the foot of her bed. The coat was of red velvet, with gold buttons, and there was a broad purple sash, embroidered with heraldric designs she did not recognize.
The princess stepped into the foyer of her bedchamber to dress in private.
At least it looked like a king's outfit, she thought, even though the stranger in her bed seemed far too young. But some, she reminded herself, inherit their throne before they're old enough to pull up their own stockings.
The cock crowed a third time.
She heard him yawn, the bed creak as he rose, and the unfamiliar rhythm of his bare feet on the floor.
She brushed and braided her hair as she listened to the rustling of cloth as he dressed himself.
When she heard that his boots were on, she took a deep breath, counted slowly to five, and stepped back into the main apartment of her chambers.
She'd prepared herself, but seeing him was still a shock. She looked away almost as quickly as she had the night before, and dropped into a curtsy. "Good morning, Your Majesty," she said, feeling the blush spread across her cheeks. "Please forgive me, for--"
His chuckle cut her off, and she glanced up. A smile spread from the corner of his eye to his lips.
"Forgive thee?" The smile faded, but his expression remained soft. "I should thank thee, instead." He looked down at his hands and flexed his fingers. "Thou saved my life."
"I-- what?"
"Though it feels odd, having so much bone, again," he said, instead of answering her directly, running one hand down his side, over his ribs. "Did I hear correctly, last night," he asked, changing the subject, "that thy name is 'Galantha?'"
"Indeed, Your Majesty," she said.
His brows knitted for a split second. "'Milk Flower?' 'Snowdrop?' Princess Snowdrop?" He seemed on the verge of laughing, but managed to swallow it down.
"That would have been Sire's choice," she answered, "but my mother overruled him, Your Majesty."
He cocked his head to one side. "Please. Don't let me have the advantage of thee. I am named 'Cinnabar'."
She studied his face. There was nothing about him that suggested the fiery hues of that dangerous stone. His complexion was as pale as someone who had spent years in the shadows. His eyes were the dark brown of late summer honey. And his hair was so black, like a raven's feathers, that it glinted blue.
"Cinnabar?" she repeated.
He chuckled, and seemed to be about to say something more, when there was a light, familiar, rap on her chamber door.
"Come in, Margarete," she said, without thinking.
Her lady-in-waiting opened the door and poked her head around. "Good morning, Your Highness--" Her eyebrows rose barely a hair, and she (almost invisibly) mouthed: "frog?"
The princess bit her lip to keep from laughing at the absurdity. "Good morning, Margarete. Is breakfast ready?"
"Yes, Your Highness. His Majesty waits on you." She curtsied quickly and backed out the door.
The young king tugged at his sash, smoothing wrinkles that weren't there. "Well," he said, "they're expecting us, though probably not like this." He offered her his arm.
After a moment's hesitation, she took it.
(Back to Part One)
