A tale told in happy days by Leothwise, scop of Shepstead, on a dark Yule evening when cheer and mead flowed well into the evening.
Listen!
I shall tell you a tale that was told to me by one who heard it from the Thane’s youngest son himself.
There once was a Thane who had no children, and his wife sorrowed with each passing Yuletide as her bright hair faded to winter frost.
In the locked chest of his innermost heart, the Thane, too, longed for children. Sons to carry on the care of the town, daughters to teach to ride. Yet he spoke not of that desire to his wife, for he loved her more than all the treasure in the whole land and would not heap up her sorrow higher or let her feel that she had disappointed him in not bearing children.
But the Thane’s wife grew despondent and when the days were shortest and darkest, she took the hardiest horse from the stable, and telling only a servant where she was bound, she left the town.
She rode a week's journey, all alone except for her faithful steed, and the weather grew chiller until the day came when she could barely see the road ahead of her for the wind and snow. Fell voices on the wind carried to her, warning her to go no further.
But she was proud and the blood of princes flowed in her veins.
“Withdraw thou willful wind for thou cannot dismay the dauntless daughter of the Riddermark!”
Thrice she called her rebuke to the relentless wind, until at last it fled her voice, and she found herself in a landscape wondrously changed.
No longer did the bitter cold harass her. Now, it seemed a lovely night of summer, and a brook rippled on the far edge of a fair glade filled with golden flowers.
The Thane’s wife dismounted. In the snow she waited, calling no challenge, for the air was thick with sorcery.
Time seemed thin, and she knew not how long she waited before a man, tall as a young tree, clad in grey with a wreath of golden flowers upon his coal-black hair stepped out from the stream. He laughed to see the Thane’s wife standing in such a perilous place, “What brings you here, mortal woman, to lose your way in treacherous woods?”
The Thane’s wife mustered her courage and told him of her inability to have children and told him also that for that reason she had braved the enchanted woods, to seek the aid of those who dwelt therein.
He laughed again, a cruel laugh. “You shall have what you seek and more besides. But your children shall be taken from you ere ever they come to take your husband’s place in the mead hall.”
She was troubled by his words, but he vanished before her eyes.
The very next yule the woman gave birth to a golden-haired son and the entire town rejoiced. The yule after, she gave birth to another, this one with hair as bright as the roaring fire, and then a third, with eyes as brilliant blue as the ensorcelled stream in the elven glade.
When her first son first began to grow into the strength of manhood, she took all three of her sons aside and told them of the curse that haunted them. But she was wise and cautioned them that seeking to avoid the twists and turns of fate rarely led any to a good end.
Yet the first son, with eager hands, took up his sword and swore an oath: “No elven magic shall deny me my right, nor my father the right to have his kith and kin take up his legacy.”
And he rode and sank into the horizons of the vast fields, and none saw him after.
The next year his brother raised his own sword: “My brother has been gone a year, and I am the heir of my father. Thus shall I find a way to remove the curse that lies on my family.” His mother begged him to stay, but he too departed and was not seen again.
The next year, the third brother grew grave and thoughtful. “If I leave, I shall certainly fulfill by my own hand the curse placed upon me. Yet if I stay, it shall come upon me all the same.” So the young man took up his spear and went to his parents, telling them of his desire to seek his brothers, to find out what had become of them and, if he could, to find one worthy of his father’s thaneship., “For the curse is upon my mother’s children, and does not preclude you from adopting an heir.” Though both parents sorrowed at their last son departing, at last the Thane gave his leave.
So he left, trotting his horse at a slow pace through the golden fields. At noon, he stopped to rest his horse, and two sparrows alighted on his shoulder, watching hungrily as he ate a small meal. He tore off a piece of bread and gave it to the birds and thereafter they followed him. A strange delight he took in their company, and so intelligent they seemed that he took to asking them to scout the area whenever he camped in the wilderness.
At last he came to the very edge of the Riddermark, where well the people knew the tales of the perils of the woods though never did they dare to venture into it. The thane there received him gladly, and for some weeks he enjoyed his hospitality. His daughter was well known for her wisdom and prudence, and she was loved by all her people. Little escaped her keen insight, and she saw the marks of love in his eyes when the youngest brother looked at her. Yet ever were his eyes drawn to the enchanted woods, and she perceived some doom lay between them.
So the good daughter was not greatly surprised when he left without warning, though she was slightly more surprised when she was awoken by two birds chirping by her bedside the day thereafter. Now, the young woman was better learned in the ways of the old tales than the Thane’s youngest son, so she saw immediately that the birds were men under some fell enchantment. She tarried for a day and a night, spinning and weaving, and singing songs, until she held with her hands a mantle, grey as the stormy sky.
So she followed the birds into the woods, for only there could she remove their enchantment and hope to find the Thane’s son.
The birds flew into the glade, but she held up her hand for them to halt, speaking softly to them. Yet, even so, the tall man caught sight of them and his face burned with cold anger.
He held aloft a spear as black as the night to halt their passage. But the horse-daughter threw her mantle around the spear and broke it in two. The man stumbled backwards and she rushed to the small stream, throwing water on the two birds. Immediately, they again became men.
She then turned to the stream and saw, laying floating, the Thane’s youngest son in an enchanted sleep. His brothers dragged him from the river, and the four ran with all haste back towards the town, though fell cries followed after them. She drew her sword now and shouted threats against any who dared to harm the Thane’s sons, and such was the fierceness of her countenance that she seemed almost fey herself and even the elves dared not hinder her.
When at last they returned, the youngest son asked leave to marry the young woman and she gladly accepted him. After a joyous wedding, they all returned to the Thane, who received them with joy, saying that no better heir could he have than his youngest son’s wife and made her the heir of all his land.
Still it is said that she alone escaped that sorcerous wood against the will of its inhabitants. And perhaps now, for it has been many years since I heard the tale, she sits as Thane and so the curse may rest.
