Of butterflies and barriers

[Sarah]

This story is, evidently, set during the Nigel's Opus arc, when our hero is understandably sceptical about having lived seven lives before this one, all with the same woman, and Xylia and Louise are bonding and commiserating about the fact that Nigel doesn't seem willing to be in on the take, etc.

***

Of butterflies and barriers

Would you like me to tell you a story, Miss Xylia?

Her friend looked around at her and away from the book she was reading, closing it. It was nice that she did that. It showed that she was prepared to actually listen to her instead of simply nodding and pretending to be interested. It was nice to have someone be interested in what she had to say, for a change.

What sort of story do you want to tell, Louise?

A story that my…A familiar ache at the back of her mouth started up, but she shut it away and locked it out with a blink. My papa used to tell me. It’s an old Irish tale, about transformations and tests and true love. And magic; lots of magic. Those had always been her favourite stories; maybe Xylia would like them too!

Xylia put the book down on the space that was left on the bench they both sat on, showing that her companion had her full attention. I would like to hear the story, Louise, very much so.

All right! Louise sat up straight and put her hands in her lap, making sure she was sitting properly before she began. Once upon a time there was a princess called Étaín, who lived in a faraway land at the edge of the world.

Was she beautiful?

Oh, yes! Xylia nodded in satisfaction, as if it was only to be expected that a princess in a story should be beautiful. She had lovely long hair like burnished red gold, and blue eyes the colour of hyacinths- something twisted in Xylia’s face as she heard this, though Louise could not say for sure what it was -and she was tall and stately in her walk and white and straight in her limbs, and she spoke and behaved as if she were a very queen. The people around her said that she was surely the most beautiful woman in the world.

Ah. Never a good thing to be.

Louise nodded. It was true, it wasn’t so nice to be beautiful in a fairytale. Everyone wanted to try and kill you, for various reasons. All who saw her lost their hearts to her at once, she went on, but no one loved her more than Midir, the prince of the Faeries.

Xylia smiled at that. Faeries?

Well, that wasn’t quite what Papa called them, he called them the…the Tuatha de Dannan, sometimes, but it was easier to just say faeries so we used that name instead. Anyway, Midir was the fairest and most comely of his entire race, one of the highest born among them, and he was deeply in love with Étaín and she with him. He asked her to be his bride, and she gladly accepted him, and they were married at once.

That was very quick, Xylia quipped, as she twisted a stray curl of her hair. In other tales I’ve heard, it takes far longer for the hero and heroine to get married.

Yes, but this tale is only beginning! The lovers were happy, and all the world was happy, except for one woman.

And who was that?

Fuamnach, Midir’s first wife. Xylia looked up at that with some surprise and parted lips, and Louise shook her head. Which meant that by marrying Étaín Midir did something very wrong, because if you’re already someone’s husband you’re not supposed to leave them and go off and marry someone else. She thought of the horrid things this particular character would do in the rest of the story, and conceded, But then again, Fuamnach wasn’t a very nice person at all, so I can’t really blame Midir for wanting to live with Étaín instead.

Was she really so very horrid? Xylia didn’t seem so happy now as she was before; all of the pleasure at this sunny day seemed to be leaving her. Louise hurried on to distract her.

Oh, yes! She was so angry and jealous of Étaín she decided she would do whatever she could to destroy her so she could have Midir back. She had magical powers, you know, and with those powers she cast a spell to turn Étaín into a pool of water so that she would dry out and disappear. But Étaín had magic of her own, and she turned herself into …

Here the story, for some reason and for the moment anyway, failed her, and she felt her forehead tighten as she frowned. What was it again, that Étaín turned into?

Into what, Louise? Xylia prompted.

…a winged insect. I can’t remember what sort of insect it was. I think it was a butterfly. It could have been a dragonfly, but butterflies are so much prettier, don’t you think, Miss Xylia? She looked at Xylia’s shadow on the grass, and it was a thrill to her to see those faint, faint lines that showed where the wonderful wings began and curved and reached up above and below.

Her friend smiled at her again, obviously able to tell what she was getting at; the shadow wings moved as if she were stretching them. They are very pretty indeed. Their wings are considered even prettier, where I come from, because there are relatively few who have them. I hate to say it, but dragonfly wings are seen as rather common there. She looked down now as if feeling guilty, but the curl of her mouth suggested some triumph as well.

Then she turned herself into a butterfly, Louise thought firmly. Anyway, she went as a butterfly to Midir, and although he didn’t know who or what she truly was he let her perch upon his hand and walk upon his arm and be near him at all times of the day and night. Well, when Fuamnach found out what had happened and how badly her spell had gone wrong, she was furious! She gleefully stressed that last word. She used more of her magic to summon up a great gale that blew poor Étaín far, far away from her beloved! She was buffeted across the land for seven whole years without rest, until at last she came to the home of Angus, the Lord of Love.

The Lord of Love? Xylia looked upwards, thinking of something. You mean like…that little boy with the bird wings who never seems to be wearing anything, what was his name…Cupid?

Louise giggled with shock. No! No, Angus was the god of love and youth and poetry, and around his head flew four birds that had been formed from kisses.

Ah. Xylia shook her head at her own mistake. Definitely not Cupid, then.

She giggled. So, Angus pitied her and kept her with him and did his best to try and lift the enchantment from her so that she could return to her husband. But when Fuamnach heard of this, she sent another gale that blew poor, poor Étaín away once more; and she was buffeted and beaten for centuries, until she finally landed in a cup of wine held by a thirsty queen, and when the queen swallowed the wine she swallowed the butterfly too.

Xylia’s face wrinkled, though it was still pretty even with wrinkles in it. How lovely. I hope that is not the end of the tale, Louise?

No! She shook her head so fast one of her curls hit her on the nose. Nine months later the queen had a beautiful baby girl with red gold hair and hyacinth blue eyes; and what do you think she called her?

A smile was the beginning of the answer, but it wasn’t the full smile that she was so used to seeing. Let me guess. Would it be… Étaín?

Yes! Of course the queen didn’t know she’d accidentally swallowed a princess; Étaín the girl was only a legend by then. But she grew up to be just as lovely and gentle and stately as her name sake-

And she had no memories of her previous life, or of her husband, I suppose?

…No, she didn’t.

Louise couldn’t help but see her companion give a tiny sigh before she replied. I thought she would not. She shook her head again, and asked her to please continue.

Well, when Étaín was eighteen years old the High King came to visit her father, and when he saw Étaín he fell in love with her straight away and asked for her hand, and her father of course agreed. So the High King took her away to his palace and made her his wife; and the news spread through all the land of the young and beautiful new queen. And in time it reached the ears of a wandering harpist – and who do you think that harpist was?

Xylia put her finger to her chin and pretended to think, though winking at her to show that she knew, really. Was it Midir, by any chance?

Yes, it was! You see, when he learned what Fuamnach had done he banished her from his kingdom, and then he gave the care of his people into another and he took his harp and his cloak and his spear and set out in search of his beloved Étaín. He searched for centuries and found no trace of her, but he never gave up hope that one day he would find and be reunited with her.

For centuries? Her friend’s eyes didn’t seem to be looking at her any longer, but beyond her as if she were no longer there. She didn’t like that feeling at all, and made as loud a noise as she could in her reply.

M-hmm.

Xylia blinked and focused on her again, and she got a smile as an apology and so she felt she could continue once again.

And then he heard tell of the new bride of the High King, the queen as tall and golden and beautiful as her name sake, and a wild hope sprang up in him. He made his way to the court of the High King to see if his search was at an end, and when his eyes met her hyacinth blue ones for a heart beat as she passed by the crowd that he stood in, there was both great joy and great sorrow in his heart. There was joy because he knew that at last he had found his lost love after so many hard years, but there was also sorrow because he knew from the way she looked at him that she had no memory of all the days of her life before this one, or of him, or of the love that they had shared.

A hand came down upon her head and she started away from it, but she quickly realised who it was and whispered Sorry to Xylia, who said that it was all right.

It almost sounds like you have learned that part off by heart, Louise.

Papa told it well. And it always stayed in my mind, because it was so beautiful and so sad. She looked up at Xylia, and it finally occurred to her that perhaps this was not the best story she could have told. Why, Mr Nigel, who Xylia said was her husband, did not remember her, and it made Xylia so very sad! Miss Xylia? Do you want me to stop?

No, no, Louise. Please, do go on, it’s a lovely story. I hope that it gets happier, though?

Don’t worry, it does! Where was I - oh, yes; Midir knew that he would have to win Étaín’s heart once more if he could hope to bring her back to his home again, and to do that he would have to help her remember him. So in secret he told her of her former life, and of how she had been his wife and he her husband, and he asked her to come away with him.

And what did Étaín say to that?

She said that she would only go away with him if her husband, the High King, agreed to it.

Xylia laughed, though it wasn’t a very happy laugh at all. An impossible task, but at least it shows that Étaín was more moral than Midir. So what did he do then, Louise?

Then, he went to the High King and offered to play chess with him, and they suggested stakes on the outcome of the matches. The first match the High King won, so as a joke he asked for fifty fine horses, for he was sure that a simple harpist could never obtain such a tribute. But the next day Midir presented him with the horses, just as he had asked! So they went on playing, with higher and higher stakes, and Midir deliberately let the High King win and win, until finally he won a match. The High King thought that he would ask for riches or land or perhaps his whole kingdom, but all Midir asked for was a kiss from the lips of Étaín.

Xylia’s fingers went to her own lips, and Louise could see that they were trembling, just a little. So little, and yet so very much. What did the High King say to that?

He said that Midir could have his kiss in a month and a day. But all through that month and day he summoned every single soldier in his service, or in the service of those who were loyal to him. And a month and a day after the promise was made Étaín was seated in the great hall of the palace with her husband the High King at her side and was surrounded by what seemed like a whole forest of spears! No one had any chance of getting to her if the High King did not wish it.

How could our hero face such odds and survive? She suddenly felt Xylia’s hands upon her sides, lifting her up from being seated by her, and she looked up in surprise to see a little dampness in Xylia’s eyes.

Miss Xylia?

Come here, Louise, finish the story sitting with me, not just by me.

But, Miss Xylia, I can’t sit in your lap! Your dress will get all creased!

Never mind about my dress, Louise! Just sit here.

All at once she was plonked into Xylia’s lap, which she was a tiny bit too big for, but Xylia’s arms kept her from slipping off onto the ground again. Her cheek was pressed against Xylia’s jacket, and if she closed her eyes she could think that she was sitting in someone else’s lap, someone who hugged and held her and told her stories. She tried that, she even put her arms around Xylia as she closed them, but Xylia didn’t smell like her father had smelled. Not at all.

Please go on, Louise.

Well…well, when Midir arrived, he wasn’t disheartened by the soldiers at all. He just used magic, to disappear and then appear again inside the circle of warriors, next to Étaín and her husband. The High King was very angry, but there was nothing he could do; he’d given his word and he couldn’t go back on it. So he stood aside and let Midir take Étaín in his arms, and turned his eyes from the sight of his wife in the embrace of another man. And when Midir touched Étaín’s lips with his own the veil on her mind was lifted, and she remembered all the days of her life. Her nose felt wet; she wished she had thought to bring a handkerchief out with her. She sniffed and snuffed and pushed her cheek into the cloth of the jacket.

And then what, Louise? What happened then?

Then they both turned into swans and flew off back to Midir’s home, and lived happily ever after.

There was a pause, as Xylia seemed to consider this. That was rather brief. Are you sure that is it, little Louise?

Yes, that’s all that my papa would tell me. He said that there were other endings, but they were too sad or grownup for me to hear. And now he’ll…he’ll never tell them to me…

Xylia was so very nice and so very patient, letting her cry like this and getting her jacket all soggy, just making soothing noises and stroking her hair. When she could speak again without letting more tears out her friend lifted her chin so that they looked into each other’s eyes, and she said, That was a truly lovely story, Louise, and I thank you for telling it to me.

It wasn’t such a good story. Not really.

Louise, listen to me. I knew a storyteller, back in Azloe, who could create moving pictures of things just by speaking about them. She could bring stories to life and make them act out the plot before her audience – and I am certain that she could not have told the story half so well as you did.

She sniffed again. Did you really like it that much, Miss Xylia?

Yes, Louise, I did. It gave me hope. That last part was very quiet, but she still heard it and Xylia didn’t seem to mind that she had.

She liked that, though the story was over, Xylia didn’t let go of her. They stayed like that until it was time to go in.

***

The story of Midir and Étaín is recorded in the Tochmarc Étaíne, 'The Wooing of Étaín', preserved in the manuscript of the Lebor na hUidre, c.1106, and the Yellow Book of Lecan, c.1401, and is an important story in the Mythological Cycle of Ireland. The original story carried on a little further than the stock happy ending, with incest, infant abandonment and shepherd adoption; but for children, and particularly for Louise, it's best that it stops at the swans. :)

[Lana]

I love this story, I remember reading it back when the fan fiction and fan art contest was still going, long ago.

There's a very readable style to it, with well-placed thoughts into the storyline.

I think it was a great idea to put in traditional folklore and give it a twist to fit the more modern Xylia story. I really enjoy such a marriage between different genres. :D