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Tales of Altheland: Wolf Queen

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Once upon a time, when the world was flat, when forests were more than trees, and when mountains were as tall as the sky, there was a prince. There were many princes, in fact, but one in particular has significance to our story. He was tall, and strong, and also intelligent and thoughtful. He was often asked by his father to give council on disputes between subjects of the kingdom, for he always had wise and creative solutions to problems.
One day, his father fell ill, and as the king lay dying, he decreed that his son would marry before he died. A ball was held, that he should find a wife amongst the guests, and every unwed girl and woman from miles around flocked to the castle to attend. They feasted and talked and danced all night, but as dawn approached, he began to despair. He did not want his father to die with his wish unfulfilled, but he found the high-born ladies stiff and foolish, and the low-born women were often vulgar and bawdy, or else too bashful to speak. As the moon set and dawn approached, he slipped out of the castle and, saddling his mare, rode out into the countryside to think.
When he reached the edge of the wood, so lost in thought was he about his plight that he didn’t notice that his horse was in distress until she bucked and reared, throwing him from the saddle and bolting off toward the castle. As he lay there, gasping for breath, a young woman with hair so fair it was almost white rushed to his side.
She helped him up, and apologized so profusely that he thought she might cry, but he assured her that his horse would find its way home and comforted her. They talked well into the night, and by and by became quite taken with one another. She found for him a stick to use as a crutch, for his ankle had taken quite a turn, and offered to help him home. As they walked, they found that they were both very much in love, speaking and laughing and smiling sheepishly in the early light of dawn. Before they even reached the castle, he proposed marriage, for things moved much more quickly in those days, when anxieties over relationships were largely muted by the necessity of having someone else in bed in order to avoid freezing to death. After considering, she agreed—on one condition: once a month, she should be allowed to go into the woods unaccompanied, returning in three days’ time, with no questions posed about her disappearance.
He thought gravely about this, for though he loved her, it was a very strange request. He asked for an explanation, but she sorrowfully told him that none was possible. He deliberated, torn by the decision, but looking into her eyes, he decided that, no matter what the consequences, he would trust her, and agreed to her condition.
The wedding was held, a splendid affair fit for the eldest son of a king, and she was crowned princess, and, when the aged king passed only a week later, queen.
The new king and queen reigned graciously, melancholy in the loss of the king’s father, but quite happy in each other, and greatly respected by their subjects. A few short weeks later, however, the first strain was put on their marriage when the queen announced that she would be going into the woods the next day.
The king acquiesced, thinking it better not to pry, for due to a lamentable lack of sexual education in those days, his understanding of the female body and its processes was vague at best and he thought that this odd exodus might have something to do with what in the privacy of his head he delicately referred to as “Woman things”. That afternoon, she dressed in a plain green dress and slipped out away from the castle.
For the next three days he slept almost not at all, worrying constantly about his missing wife. Several times, he got close to sending a scout out to find her, but refrained, remembering his promise.
On the third morning she returned, but offered no explanation for her absence.  For a few days, the king was  troubled, but he was so happy with his new bride, and so busy with his new kingdom, that he did not dwell on it.
A few days after the queen’s return, a farmer came to the king as he was holding court. He told of a wolf as white as snow that had killed one of his bulls. The king was perplexed, for wolves seldom hunted alone, and even a large pack would rarely be a match for a bull. The farmer insisted that it had indeed been a lone wolf, however,  and the king issued a warning to all the people of the kingdom to be wary, and to report any sightings of the beast to the palace guard. The rest of the month was uneventful. Winter was coming, and the king had much on his mind, seeing to it that there was enough food and wood stored to last until spring. His burden was eased somewhat by his wife, who was comforting and diligently looked after the household, sometimes advising him on the best course of action. Five and twenty days after her return, however, she came to him again, and told him that it was once more time for her to leave. He questioned her once more, but once more she was silent, saying only that it could not be helped. In an attempt to sway her, the king told her of the white wolf, which was yet to be captured.
The queen seemed genuinely troubled by this, but insisted nonetheless, only thanking him for telling her and saying that she would indeed be careful.
As his wife made ready to depart, the king went to his royal game warden, a man much learned in the ways of the forest, and asked him to follow her without being seen, and to protect her from any harm that might befall her in the woods. It was not yet midnight, however, when the warden came back. He apologized, saying that despite all his craft, she has escaped him in the forest.
The king was furious, asking how she had managed such a feat, the warden merely replied that she had eluded him, and could not say how. The king was unsatisfied, but knew that the warden was an honest man, and that none was better than he at what he did.  
When the queen returned on the third morning, she had an anger that was not so easily appeased. She demanded to know why she had been followed, and reminded the king of his oath to allow her three days a month in the woods unaccompanied.  The king apologized, astonished that she had known of the skilled woodsman following her.  He protested that he had only done so because he had feared for her safety, and she relented somewhat.
The next day, a hunter was brought before the king who had seen the white wolf. Not in the farmlands, this time, but deep in the woods.  He reported that it had slain a great wild boar, a beast which the hunter himself had been stalking for days.  The king told his wife of this, begging her not to go into the woods again, but she said nothing.
Now the prince himself had been quite a hunter in his youth, stalking boar and rabbit and deer, and it was likely, in his opinion, that if anyone would be more capable of stalking his wife than the royal game warden, it would be him. So five and twenty days later, when his wife made ready to depart, so did he, taking every pain to move through the woods undetected—masking his scent with rotting leaves so that even a deer could not scent him, painting his skin with mud, so that even an owl would not see him in the light of the full moon, and dressing in russet and felt, so that even a hare would not be able to hear his footfalls. He followed her as she left the castle, and though she moved more swiftly and silently than he would’ve believed through the dense underbrush, he followed her doggedly, stepping between the leaves and twigs that littered the forest floor, staying downwind so that the evening breeze could not carry a hint of his smell, and avoiding the patches of moonlight that filtered down through the canopy.  At last, they came to the fallen carcass of a great tree, and the queen stopped.  As the king watched in surprise, she shed her dress, her shoes,  and al l other garments she was possessed of. Then as the king watched in growing horror, her body changed from that of a young woman to the form of a great white wolf. In spite of himself, he let out a cry, and the wolf’s head snapped around. They stared at each other, his brown eyes on her blue. He thought to draw his knife, but could not bring himself to move. Suddenly, the wolf turned and bolted off into the forest, far faster than any man could follow.
The king returned to the castle, stumbling through the forest, barely aware of what was going on around him.  For days, he sat alone in his room, staring at the wall.  Finally, however, the captain of the royal guard insisted on seeing him, and he relented. The soldier entered, eyeing the king cautiously.  He informed him, timidly that his wife had not returned from her  monthly  disappearance, and asked if they should send some men to search for her.
The king merely shook his head.
The guard captain then told him that the white wolf had been seen again, on several different occasions this time. It had killed many cattle, deer, and sheep, and the farmers said that if it was not killed soon, they would not have enough food to last the winter.
The king dismissed him.
That evening, the king emerged from his room, and informed the militia that they would ride into the woods and hunt the beast down.
The men made ready, donning chain, readying bow and sword. They rode out into the night, the king and the royal game warden in the lead, looking for any sign of the curséd queen.  A day and a night they rode, following the leads the farmers imparted to them., before one of their scouts, riding ahead, encountered the beast by mistake.
A grave mistake it was, too, for before he could even draw his bow, the wolf had torn his horse’s throat asunder. It fell heavily on his leg, crushing the bone like a dry twig. At the sound of the  commotion, the entire party charged forward, but the beast soon left all but the king on his faithful mare in the trees. Onward they charged, branches and brush flying asunder before them, deeper and deeper into the forest.  Finally, they broke into a clearing and the wolf spun to face her pursuers.
The sight of those blue eyes and white fangs was too much for the king’s steed, and she reared, throwing him from the saddle. The poor beast ran, charging back into the forest.  The king staggered to his feet, drawing the small knife on his belt.
The great wolf whimpered, her tail between her legs, her ears flat on her head.
The king, distraught, roared a challenge, but the animal merely slunk away into the woods.
The proud man collapsed to his knees, sobbing in anguish.
After a time, he looked up and realized that he was in a part of the forest unfamiliar to him.  Numbly, he began to build a fire, in preparation for the coming night.
Late that evening, he awoke, his clothing damp with sweat.  Hardly daring to breathe, he looked around. There by the campfire was his wife,  watching him sadly, her slender naked body glowing gold and silver in the fire and moonlight.
He called out to her, but she turned away, kicking dirt on the fire and plunging the clearing into darkness. When his eyes had adjusted to the sudden dark, she was gone.
The rest of the night he sat awake, hoping that she would return, but he was well and truly alone when dawn’s first light washed the sky in ash.
He put out the fire and began to head east, hoping to find a river or some familiar landmark he could follow back to the palace. By noon he had sunk in spirits, tired, hungry, and sore—but most of all, heartbroken. It was a short time later that a bear cub ambled across him as he lay sleeping against a tree. The small animal, being curious, began to investigate the small bag of dried food that hung at his waist. The king awoke with a start, thinking that his wife was once again at his side, but when he found the animal instead, he flew into a great rage, jumping up and kicking the small brute. Fortune was against him, however, for it was at that moment that the bear cub’s mother appeared out of the trees. For a split second, neither moved, then both started at once, one taking flight and the other giving chase. The king knew that the small knife he carried would pose no threat to an animal so large, robust and healthy at the end of a long and bountiful summer. So he ran, weaving through the trees in an attempt to outrun the massive animal. He ran for longer than one would have expected, for the bear’s speed was far greater than his own, but he took advantage of every twist and convulsion in the trail to put his greater agility to use. At long last, though, the chase was over. A root caught his foot and he fell hard on the forest floor, knocking the wind out of him. He rolled onto his back, knife drawn, but to his surprise, instead of the brute bearing down to strike a killing blow, he saw a white wolf, jaws around the back of its neck, bearing it to the ground. The bear’s hide was thick, though, and it was not beaten. Their battle was terrifying, black and white fur seething and rolling through the forest, crushing the underbrush and splintering small trees. No lone wolf could possibly stand against a bear, he knew, but the queen was not like any wolf he had ever seen. She fought, not like a savage animal, but like a trained warrior, evading the fangs of claws of the she-bear when she could and sacrificing minor injuries for the sake of delivering mortal ones when she had to. At last, the larger animal became too weak to continue the fight, and without hesitation, the white wolf sank her fangs into its throat, killing it instantly.
The king stared, wild-eyed, at the creature as she panted over the corpse of her foe. As he watched, she lifted her head and raised her voice in a chilling howl. Despite such a show of defiance, however, she soon collapsed, exhausted and bleeding on the forest floor. The king climbed to his feet, staggered over, and fell to his knees by her side, weeping. As he buried his face in her fur, it melted away as she returned to the shape of a slender girl. Dark cuts marred her soft, pale skin, and her breathing was shallow.
When the party of militiamen found their king once more, he carried in his arms his wife, gravely injured and wrapped in his riding cloak. She was put on a spare horse and taken back to the palace as fast as it could carry her through the dense underbrush.
When they got back, the royal physician was summoned and stayed with her until morning, dressing her wounds with herbs and poultices and mixing draughts to bring down her fever. The king sat by her side, ignoring the questions of his courtiers and soldiers. When the light of dawn streamed through the window, the physician left, saying he could do no more.
For ten and seven days, she lay as if dead, and the king by her side, barely eating or sleeping a wink.
The physician returned once a day, to change the dressings on her wounds, but each day he felt as though hope was slipping away.
Then, after ten days and nine, something happened that could not be believed. The king lay half asleep in a chair by his wife’s side, his dinner picked over on the table near her bed. The full moon light flooded in the window, and where it fell on her skin, her cuts and bruises closed and faded, leaving pristine white skin in their wake.
The king sat up, now fully awake, though he fully believed he was dreaming. As he watched, the queen sat up and stared around.
Wordlessly, the king and queen walked out of the small infirmary room, into the courtyard, and out of the palace. The guards at the gate were startled, but one does not question the actions of the king, and so they passed without a word. The next evening, the king returned, took two horses from the stables, and disappeared once more into the woods. A day later, he and the queen returned with a large, healthy stag tied to each horse.
From that day forth, the king and queen disappeared into the woods three days of every month, returning always with a bounty of game. That winter, the people of the kingdom had enough food, in large part because of the meat brought back on such trips. Whispers could sometimes be heard in the halls of the palace (especially by the queen, who had remarkably keen ears) of some secret reason for these disappearances, but the monarchs were so well liked that such rumors never spread far.
The queen, in the fullness of time, grew pregnant, and had four children in the same birth, surprising for a human, but less so, if you knew a little more about her, and the children were always strong and healthy. On the eve that their daughter, the eldest by not five minutes, was married, it was declared that the crest of the kingdom should be changed to the image of a white wolf with blue eyes, a symbol which the more astute in the kingdom connected with the legendary bull-killer of old.
In the years that followed, the three princes and their older sister had many adventures and close shaves, and gained an almost legendary reputation for sustaining injuries that would kill another man and then making a miraculous recovery after days or even weeks on death’s door.
But even when they were old and gray and the ruling of the kingdom passed to their daughter, the old king and queen could still be seen, once a month, riding off into the woods the evening before the moon waxed full, its silver light shining on their silver hair.
And they all lived happily ever after, to the end of their days.
This is sort of a re-write of something I did my Junior year of high school--and much longer than the original (which, sadly, I can no longer find). More of an exercise than anything, really; just a short little story.
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