Böses mit Gutem vergelten
Jun. 3rd, 2021 06:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
texasdreamer01Recipient: silveradept
Rating: Gen
Fandoms: Schneewittchen | Snow White (Fairy Tale)
Characters: Schneewittchen | Snow White, Königssohn | Prince (Schneewittchen | Snow White)
Additional Tags: Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Healthy Relationships, Magic-Users, Coping
Summary:
"It was not easy, being a prince's wife. It was less easy, to have a past."
She tested the meat against her knife, an exquisite silver gifted to her by the dwarves who had housed her so kindly. It tarnished not, nor released untoward smells or juices from the dish, and so she sighed, carefully cutting a piece of roast.
Despite this, she chewed carefully, counting along until the way the local kitchen witch had taught her. ...Thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty. At last, there seemed little reason but to swallow, the slow-roasted herbs carefully identified by that time. Onion, juniper berries, black pepper.
Onion, a witchbane. Juniper berries, from the tree that guards against evil. Black pepper, to ward against evil.
The dish was simple, the potatoes roasted in naught but butter and salt a fine accompaniment. She took no beer nor wine – not even water. For this, she had prepared her own drink, despite how long she had struggled to convince the kitchen that it was acceptable.
Chamomile flowers, steeped in sunshine and doused in honey from a trader the dwarves had accepted. Soothing, calming, and washing any illness that could creep up on her. Her husband ate amiably beside her, drinking the same drink prepared by her own hand with none of the squabbling that she, in the dark corners of her mind, had habitually come to expect.
He did not encourage her to eat a particular food, but rather took care to gently break them open with his spoon to display that they were, indeed and only, potatoes, and allow her to scoop what she desired onto his plate. The sight never failed to make a breathe rattle in her chest, lingering along with it old strikes of fear, but he waited in patience as he did every day since he learned of her troubles, and quietly clinked his homely mug against hers when her heart had calmed once more.
"How does the garden fare?" Her husband asked, between mouthfuls of roast and potato. She felt her lips turn up in a smile, echoed beamingly by him, "The dwarves tell me that they delight in constructing this new house for all of the plants you acquired."
She thought back to the iron wrought in protective shapes, sigils etched where no soul could perceive them – of how the glass was washed in vinegar to cleanse it of ill-intent, and how the ground was sanctified with priest's incense and sheep's blood alike.
"Well," She smiles, fond. The potatoes tasted less bitter with the freshly-positive thoughts, and more savoury, and she thought perhaps next time they could be fried. "I look forward to growing all the flowers and herbs."
"Many seeds have arrived," He noted, "I have faith they will grow well under your tender touch."
She flushed at her husband's words, taking special care drinking her chamomile drink as she paid heed to the compliment, "Dearest husband, should each kind word prove as strong as the sun's gentle rays, then they shall grow as strong and tall as you believe."
"And yet have I never been proved wrong, for your strength endeavours me to lead the kingdom with the same principles."
"I hope…" She murmurs, staring contemplatively at her half-finished meal. The silence is attentive – never oppressive, nor eager, and in that she draws comfort – while she ruminates on her thoughts.
The old queen was dead, and this a new kingdom. While her fears lingered in those dark places, willful in how they snapped at her heels on particularly dour days, her husband had stayed a golden ray of courage with kind words and kinder actions. That her friends the dwarves had hurried to her once the news of her awakening had reached them, lingering long enough to pass judgment on the prince, settled many worries.
And yet – the bountiful apples of the region could not be looked upon without a shiver, nor clothing laced behind her back, nor hair combed by another. Some days it felt like the old queen loomed over her life, waiting for one more opportunity. Every gracious offer was suspect to evil-doing, every beautiful thing glanced at from the side of her eye.
It has been many years since the prince found her, and many more since their wedding with the fateful death of the witch-queen. She hoped, quietly, that the shrieks of pain and blistered, scarred feet were proof of that hag's mortality – for some days it echoed louder than the crunch of an apple's flesh or the slide of metal through her hair, and that… satisfied her.
Yes, it satisfied her to know that the queen was dead, and that her death was more memorable than her life – as ugly as her inner self was, for everyone to see. Not a single occupant to that wedding could doubt the invectives flung at her by that horrid woman, nor deny the sight of boiling flesh and corruption seeping off of her.
It reminded her of the comfort the other guests brought, the gracious words that echoed louder and swears of fealty that bound to her spirit in a strengthening manner. To see but a single of her prince's people defend her, and to cast out of their hearts any pity for the woman who so tormented her as a child, was satisfying.
"I hope," She resumed, voice faint under the burden of love-swollen heart she had for this kingdom, "That our people will benefit from this, as well."
Her husband reached a hand out to her, waiting for her own snow-white hand to clasp his own, and rubbed a thumb gently across her skin. It still held the same magical wonder, the unbelieving delight that she had been found by someone who understood her heart so deeply, for his own echoed battles reminiscent of her own.
His hands beheld scars, silvery in the light, faded by healer's arts and the turning of age. The way he respected his sword, meant to protect him on the field of battle, was the same respect he handled her with – a force to be reckoned with, to work beside rather than to dictate. It matched his expression so well, always holding that gleam of reverence for her potential, no matter the nicks at the edges or scratches on the hilt.
"I think they will," He said, so assured she felt tears prick her eyes, "You are the kindest witch in all the land."
Notes:
English equivalent: If life gives you lemons, make lemonade.
Literally: Repay evil with good.
Strauss, Emanuel (1994). Dictionary of European proverbs (Volume 2 ed.). Routledge. p. 838. ISBN 0415096243.