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Chapter Text

Alda drummed her fingers listlessly on the arm of her chair. Her chin rested in her other hand as she surveyed the grounds before her.

She was bored. Before her was an entire festival in her honor, with performers and acrobats and dueling knights and she was bored. Only a year prior, she would have been anything but.

But then, in years prior, she had been a child on the cusp of womanhood. The problem now was that all of her friends had grown up and left her behind: Johannes was busy being the duke's son, preparing to one day take their father's place; Huldbrand was a knight errant, living out childhood fantasies of being a hero in shining armor; Gerda was…

She and Gerda hadn't spoken more than a few strained words over the past year.

No, a few years prior, the four of them would have snuck away to steal pastries and watch the jousting from ground level until royal guards were sent to fetch them. Gone were the days of their adventures. No more skinned knees or stick fights or pilfered sweets.

They were all living their lives without her and she didn't know what she was supposed to be without them. She was just Alda, the duke's foster daughter. She was nobility by adoption, but she had no land, no titles of any significance, no destiny except to become someone's wife and then someone else's mother.

She leaned back in her seat with a sigh and looked across the booth at Gerda. Her sister-in-law was laughing, probably at one of her brother's jokes. Alda found herself smiling reflexively at that infectious tinkling laughter.

Gerda noticed her staring and for the briefest moment as their eyes met, Alda felt an echo of what had existed between them. Then Gerda's face shuttered and the laughter faded.

Alda looked away miserably. She wished she could go back and do everything over. Growing up, it was nearly certain that Gerda and Johannes would marry. It hadn't been arranged or foreordained, just accepted as inevitable… but Alda, curse her fool heart, had fallen in love. Growing up, they had been the closest of friends, and for one glorious summer, they had become something more.

It all came to a disastrous end when Johannes proposed. Alda pleaded with Gerda to stay with her, to run away together, but Gerda declined. It had been a mistake, Gerda told her, they had responsibilities, expectations. Whatever the reason, the fact was Gerda hadn't felt as Alda did and Alda's heart had been broken.

Now Gerda was nine months married and six months pregnant. Gerda and Johannes were the perfect royal couple, beloved throughout the duchy. Alda was cordial, but things could never go back to how they had been before.

The crowd suddenly roared as a new competitor entered the arena. Alda swept her gaze over the grounds and there was Huldbrand, the errant fourth member of their gang.

"Oh," her mother gasped. "I wasn't aware that he was in this part of the country."

It took every ounce of Alda's self restraint not to roll her eyes. Of course Huldbrand would make an appearance at a tournament held in her honor. Just as the union between Gerda and Johannes had been all but certain, Alda had been dogged by similar gossip about herself and Huldbrand throughout her teenage years.

In some ways, such rumors had been a shield, a convenient lie that distracted from the impropriety of her true romantic preferences. She was content enough to let the rumors persist for that reason alone.

He of course remained blissfully oblivious to her true nature and had made several subtle romantic overtures towards her that she bore with increasing guilt.

She watched him as he waved to the crowd. She supposed he was beautiful, in the same way a painting could be beautiful, something she could appreciate from a detached distance.

He greeted his jousting opponent with a grin and a handshake. That was Huldbrand, affable and honorable, a paragon of chivalry. There was part of her that resented him for that. He was too perfect. There was no legitimate reason for her to turn him down.

"He would make a fine husband," her mother said softly, giving voice to what had thus far been unsaid.

Alda swallowed and nodded, forcing a smile to hide the miserable twist in her stomach. She wished, not for the first time, that she were someone else, that she had lived some other life, that she could love as she pleased without concern for how she might be judged.

She wondered, also not for the first time, about her birth parents. What kind of life might she have lived if she hadn't been snatched from them in a storm only to be discovered by the duke? Who were they? Did they still think about her?

This of course led her down the path to one of her recurring fantasies. She daydreamed a beautiful and mysterious traveler arriving in the dead of night to reveal that she was the heir to a magical fairy kingdom and the time for her return was at hand. The two of them would embark on an epic adventure in distant lands. There would be trials that Alda, armed only with her wits, would need to overcome. And of course, she would find herself falling for her brave and alluring companion. At some point a disaster would befall them and only the power of true love would be enough to save the kingdom…

Expectant silence shook her out of her reverie. The joust was over and Huldbrand was trotting his horse towards the ducal booth. Alda realized too late that she had been absently staring in his direction with an expression that could be mistaken for wistfulness. To make matters worse, the attention of the entire crowd was now focused on the two of them.

"Oh gods…" she murmured as dread settled into her stomach. "Please don't do something foolish."

Huldbrand opened his mouth and did something foolish.

"Lady Bertalda!" he called. "This humble knight begs for the grace of your favor."

She felt her face redden. Luckily (or unluckily) the onlookers seemed to interpret her embarrassment and shyness. Tittering whispers spread across the stadium like wildfire and all eyes and ears were solely on her now.

She was panicking now. She needed something, anything to get out of this without making a scene.

Her mother cleared her throat softly and nudged Alda.

There was a half formed idea in her mind, some chivalric nonsenseb leftover from her daydreamed fantasy. She grasped at it like she was drowning.

"Um…" she began haltingly. "Sir Huldbrand, I am… flattered by your request… and I shall grant you my favor if you complete a noble quest"

The crowd erupted in hushed gossip. It took every ounce of self control for her not to cringe at her own brashness.

She glanced at her family, desperate for some assistance. Her father and brother were looking at her with something like awe. Her own grandfather had slain a dragon to win the favor of her grandmother, after all. Her mother looked composed as ever, but there was a thinness to her lips, a tightness to her eyes that spoke of shocked disapproval that she would certainly hear about later. And Gerda… Gerda arched a questioning eyebrow, but her expression was otherwise unreadable.

Alda looked back down at the knight who was watching her expectantly with something sickeningly close to adoration. Oh no... she had misjudged the depth of his feelings towards her. The fool would march into hell if she asked for the head of a demon on a platter.

She would never ask that of him. She shouldn't be asking anything of him of that nature, but she had blundered too far into her own trap to backtrack now.

"I… um… I bid there, go forth, into the darkwood. At its far edge near the sea, they say there are spirits that dwell in the swamps and jealously guard untold treasures. Return with a water spirit's treasure and you shall have my favor."

It seemed challenging enough to buy her time, not fantastical enough to be truly impossible, and most importantly, not so dangerous that he would get himself killed doing it.

He grinned at her and bowed deeply.

Chapter Text

Undine swam upward, finally breaking the shimmering curtain that separated the sea from the sky. For a moment she was content to simply tread water, relishing the feel of cool air in her burning lungs. She tilted her head back in the warm sunlight and smiled as her limbs circled lazily in the water.

Something tugged at her consciousness, some subtle shift in the wind or in the currents. The feeling was gone before she could even scan the horizon for anything out of place. She frowned briefly and made her way back to shore with a kick of her legs.

As always, the sea felt almost reluctant to let her go as she stepped out of the surf, but the warm yellow-white sand was simply too inviting. She sprawled out in the sun and opened her bag to examine her morning's haul. In moments, she had lustrous seashells and glittering bits of sea glass in perfect rows on the sand, neatly divided between when she would sell and what she would keep.

The prize though was the piece of vermillion coral that was larger than her hand. She idly watched the brilliant color fade as it dried. It was almost as if the water had imparted some essential vitality to it and removed from its element and exposed to the air and sunlight, it was deprived of that.

Still… a bit of cutting and polishing would restore its brilliance. The piece would fetch a decent amount of coin if she were to sell it to the bead maker… Or she could keep it for her own projects. The tedious, precise work of jewelry making suited her and the bead maker himself had made invitations for her to apprentice with him.

She set the coral in the group of treasures she would keep for herself and laid back on the sand to bask in the sun. Another soft smile spread on her lips, she had the entire stretch of beach in this particular cove to herself, with no company except for the shore birds circling high overhead.

The same something from before snagged at her attention once more. She levered herself onto her elbows and squinted at the horizon.

A storm was coming.

There were no black clouds, no rising winds, just the warm sun and gentle lapping of the waves. But it was there, somewhere beyond sight. She felt it in her core. This storm would be fierce and terrible.

She scooped her treasures into respective pockets in her bag for keep or sell and threw on her dress over her swimming clothes. Urgency drove her and for once, she paid no mind to the grit of sand between the cloth and her skin. She hurriedly laced her boots and set off on a jog towards home.

At the edge of town, she rounded a corner and nearly careened into a wizened old fisherman making his way to the harbor. She skidded to a halt on the gravel path, stopping inches away from him. He raised his hands to catch her, but had the good grace not to when she flinched away from his grasp.

"Goodness, lass! Where're ye off to in such a big hurry?"

"There's a squall coming, a big one," she said breathlessly, forcing herself to look roughly in the direction of his face in an attempt to convey the seriousness of the matter.

He looked at the sky dubious and scratched his chin.

He finally shrugged and said,"Ye've never been wrong before. How big are we talking?"

"Big," she replied. "Bigger than I've ever seen. Remember four years ago, when that cargo ship ran aground? Worse than that. It'll be here tonight… I think. I don't know, there's something strange about this one…"

She trailed off, not entirely sure how to explain why this particular storm felt different than others. It was strange enough that she could predict the weather with such uncanny accuracy. It wasn't something she could ever hope to explain with words, it would be like describing a color that only she could see.

"Can you let the harbormaster know?" she asked. "Here, for your troubles."

She reached into one of the pockets of her bag and drew out a handful of berries which she shoved into his hands.

She bobbed a quick curtsey and hurried on her way as the fisherman watched in bewilderment. As she disappeared down the path, he shrugged and popped one of the berries into his mouth. His expression transformed into one of soft delight and wonder as the perfect sweetness of the berry burst in his tongue. He relished the flavor and felt himself momentarily lost in some nostalgic boyhood memory.

That was Undine's way.

Everyone in town agreed that there was something just a little off about her. Her whole life had been shadowed by whispered rumor of "changeling". Indeed, she had been discovered alone and squalling on the doorstep of a bereft couple who had lost their own baby daughter in a storm that very day. Her moods shifted suddenly with the weather, to the extent that rumor had it that it was her moods that controlled the weather and not the other way around.

But she found the best bits of coral and driftwood and sea glass from the shore and the best berries and mushrooms from the forest. She always knew where the most bountiful fishing shoals and mussel beds would be. Most uncannily, she could predict the weather with greater accuracy and more advance notice than any cloud reader.

At worst, the townsfolk tolerated the strangeness of her, and whispered gossip followed her constantly. For the most part though, they were grateful for her presence. As she hurried through town, people waved and smiled at her. She made a point to deliver small acknowledging waves, but the urgency of the phantom storm drove her on.

Her parents' house was at the far end of town, right near the edge of the forest. She had nearly made it when the harbormaster's bell began to ring. A sudden wind whipped at her dress and her hair and she paused to blink at dark clouds that were mysteriously appearing on the horizon. Even as she watched, they were advancing as if some unseen hand were goading them on.

She resumed her trek home, starting at a jog that quickly became a sprint. She slid to a halt at the gate that led to her house. She stood there, out of breath from the running as her brain tried to make sense of the creature before her.

The white horse that was idly munching on the grass was more well bred than any she had ever seen in town, built more for speed than strength as far as she could tell. And the saddle and bridle were finely crafted, she had only seen such fine gear in the horses that bore tax collectors and official couriers from the distant capital. What on earth was such a magnificent creature doing on her doorstep?

The horse flicked its ears in her direction and raised its head to regard her curiously.

"H-hello?" she stammered. "Where did you come from?"

The horse snorted and she briefly perceived a flicker of sensation in her mind. High towers and close buildings and all manner of strange noises and smells.

Before she could think too long about the strangeness of the experience, the door to the house opened and her father stepped out, looking more pensive than usual. He nodded to her in acknowledgement and moved to take the reins of the horse.

"We have company," he told her. "A knight on a quest. He's injured. Not bad, but he'll be staying here for a few nights. Would you please assist your mother in seeing to him?"

Undine stared after her father as he led the horse into the barn. The uneasy feeling in her chest became a vague sense of dread. Between the mysterious oncoming storm and this stranger arriving at their house, she suddenly felt as if she was on the precipice of something, as if the story of her life would be neatly divided between everything that came before and everything that came after this moment.

A shadow passed in front of the sun ominously and the first raindrops began to fall.

Chapter Text

Undine stepped into the dimness of the house to come face to face with her mother.

"Undine, dear," her mother bade. "Would you please light a few candles for our guest?"

"Mother, the storm-"

Her mother waved a hand in a dismissive hushing motion.

"Yes, it certainly came out of nowhere, didn't it? Hopefully it won't last long."

"It will," Undine said ugently. "It will blow longer and fiercer than any-"

Her mother placed a hand on Undine's shoulder and her face grew serious.

"Perhaps it is best if we don't speak of such things," she whispered softly. "This knight hails from the capital where they have less than charitable opinions on spirits and wild magic. He has a very pious air about him and may not take well to talk of such things as listening to the wind."

Undine opened her mouth to protest, but the worried look on her mother's face gave her pause. She hunched her shoulders and made a small nod.

"Very good," her mother said. "After the candles, would you please put on a pot of tea for our guest?"

Undine nodded again and followed her mother to the dining room.

She stopped short at the sight of the knight sitting in one of the chairs, his leg propped up as he removed a dented greave. In all the stories she had ever heard, the knight in shining armor was always some radiant, flawless. She supposed it was difficult to maintain resplendence while adventuring, but this particular individual seemed so ordinary, so human. His short blond hair was mussed and sweaty and dirt streaked his face amidst a few scratches. If not for the light armor, half of which lay on the floor next to him, she might have mistaken him for one of the travelers that occasionally passed through the town, although a little worse for wear then most.

He was staring at her.

She ducked her head and hurried to the fireplace to light a piece of kindling for the fires.

"Oh, this is my daughter, Undine," her mother said, noticing his attention on her. "Undine, don't be rude."

Undine wavered before bobbing a quick curtsy to the knight.

"Oh, I must apologize," he said with a bright resonant voice. "I was so taken by the vision of her beauty that I forgot my manners. I am Sir Huldbrand, knight errant in the service of the duke."

He moved to get up, but winced as he shifted his leg.

"You must pardon my lack of decorum," he said with a stiff half bow from the chair. "I'm afraid my injury prevents me a proper introduction."

She couldn't say exactly what, but something about him rankled Undine.

Her thoughts were put on pause as he removed the greave and rolled up his pant leg to reveal a black and red bruise on his shin.

"Oh!" Undine gasped.

"Oh, she speaks!" he said in delight. "Fear not, sweet maiden. It looks far worse than it truly is."

Undine felt her face heat from embarrassment that he apparently mistook for demurity.

Mercifully, her father entered the house at that moment, distracting Huldbrand from further commentary. 

"Gods above," her father exclaimed as he shook off his clothes. "This is no natural storm."

Undine felt a prickle of apprehension an glanced out the window to the pounding rain. The storm indeed defied expectation in its ferocity, as if the sea and sky themselves were intent on wiping them from the land.

"All the more reason to be grateful for your hospitality," Huldbrand replied. "I would hate to be trapped out in this with my leg as it is."

Undine perked up at that. As off-putting as this visitor was, she couldn't resist a good story. If his adventures were half as exciting as those of knights in fairy tales, she wanted to hear them.

"How did you come to be injured?" Undine demanded.

"Undine!" her mother chided. "I told you not to be rude."

"No, I would like to hear his tale as well," her father said as he poured a measure of liquor for himself and the knight.

Her mother threw up her hands in exasperation and busied herself once more with preparation of their supper.

Her father offered a glass to Huldbrand who smiled jovially as he took it. He took a sip and nodded appreciatively as he contemplated it.

"It is a fantastical tale," he said finally. "I would not believe it myself had I not beheld the sights with my own eyes."

Undine, now rapt, sank onto a stool and idly picked up one of her father's nets that required mending.

"Eight days ago, I set out from the capital, bound for the darkwood. I was set on a quest to seek out the swamps at its far edge and the treasures guarded by jealous spirits thence."

Undine's father grunted.

"You're many miles north of the swamplands, sir knight. Fortunate for you, maybe. The beasts and serpents there are nothing to sneeze at. They can swallow a man whole if he's not careful."

Huldbrand chuckled with an incandescent grin.

"My good host, I am a knight errant of the realm, I fear neither serpent nor beast. Anyway, I-"

"Why?" Undine interjected.

He turned his grin to her causing her to look away sharply.

"Pardon?"

Undine chewed her lip nervously for a moment before curiosity won out.

"Why were you sent on such a quest?"

"Ah, the fair maiden, Lady Bertalda, foster daughter of the duke bid me in exchange for her favor. We have known each other for many years, she is one of my oldest friends."

This did nothing to address the true meaning of Undine's question, it simply raised so many more as to the nature of his relationship with this girl who would send him on such a dangerous mission. She mentally cataloged those questions for follow up and pressed on with her original line inquiry.

"But, why should you want to steal the treasures of the spirits that dwell in the swamps?"

Huldbrand frowned in surprise.

"Well…" he said slowly, considering his response as if the question had never been posed to him in such straightforward terms. "As pious representatives of civilization, is it not our duty to bring order to the wild places? If wicked beasts and spirits are hoarding treasures, then surely it is our duty to liberate those riches so that those who dwell in the light may enjoy them."

"But why do you assume the spirits wicked?"

At that he laughed, full throated and full of amusement.

With a surge of annoyance, she realized that he had mistaken her genuine bafflement for childlike curiosity. Gods above and below, between her gender and her demeanor, he likely assumed she was just a simple girl from some backwater village on the coast.

He struck her as someone who had the absolute assurance that he was the hero of his own story. The girl who had sent him on his quest either shared that assuredness or found him as rankling as she did and had sent him away to be rid of him.

Undine fell into a sullen silence and set about her work. Whatever tale he had to tell would undoubtedly be colored by his own self-importance. She had heard such tales before, from boastful sailors and fishermen at the tavern. She had very little patience or interest for such tales.

She collected stories like her treasures, valuing them for the kernels of truths they contained within facets of the fantastical.

"Don't mind her," her father told Huldbrand. "She can be prone to moods. Has been ever since she washed up on our doorstep."

"Ah," Huldbrand replied. "So she is not yours then? I did not want to presume."

"Not by blood," her mother interjected. "But she's ours all the same."

She paused to press a kiss to the top of Undine's head, earning a small smile as Undine picked at the net.

"We had a daughter," her father explained. "Same age as Undine or nearabouts. When she was a babe, not even a year old, we were out on the water when a sudden squall whipped up out of nowhere. Never seen the sea so violent, though today might match it…"

He took a breath and wiped at his eyes.

"Our little girl was swept away by the sea that day."

His wife placed a hand on his shoulder, which he grasped.

"It was such terrible grief," he continued. "Still is, I suppose. But, the world works in strange ways and the very next morning, we were awoken by the scream of a babe. We rushed to the door daring to hope, but alas it wasn't our little girl. Someone, we know not who, left little Undine on our doorstep. She was swaddled in seal fur and borne in a basket woven from driftwood and seaweed. Oddest thing I've ever laid my eyes on. Well, we knew she couldn't fill the holes in our hearts, but we couldn't just leave the poor thing out on her own, so we raised her as our own."

Huldbrand raised his glass.

"My condolences on your loss," he said. "And you are to be commended for your charity towards little Undine."

"Ah," her father replied. "I asked for your tale and here I am telling ours. I suppose it must be this storm, so much like the one that took our child from us. Dredging up painful memories… please, if you would, indulge an old man with the tale of your adventure."

"Well," Huldbrand replied solemnly. "I can't guarantee that my tale will lift the mood, I beheld most frightful sights. I set out from the capital…"

The knight launched into his tale, which was admittedly almost too fantastical to be believed had he not related it with such earnestness. She paid half a mind as he spoke of a ghostly figure, sometimes a man, sometimes a great boar, sometimes a roiling and frothing brook that hounded him on his journey through the forest.

Truthfully, she wanted to listen, but in her lapse into sullen silence and her father's recounting of her discovery, she became aware of a new sensation. It was a low rumble that reverberated in the core of her. Neither her parents nor their guest seemed to notice, and it wasn't so much a noise as a feeling in her chest. It minded her of her ability to read the wind, but magnified a hundredfold, consuming her attention until she could barely perceive anything else. It seemed as if the storm itself were calling to her relentlessly, a howling furry that wanted to shake apart the fabric of her being.

This storm was alive and it was seeking her.

Chapter Text

The storm raged on through the night and into the next day. As it did, Undine found herself becoming more and more snappish and aloof, and less able to focus on her chores. The fury of the wind and rain sang to her bones and her bones sang back. Every nerve in her body was alive in the most unpleasant way. Finally she simply collapsed into a hunched seat in the corner of the room, clutching her knees to her chest.

She just wanted it to stop. She needed it to stop. She had weathered storms before, felt them resonate within her, but never like this.

Her parents knew to leave well enough alone, but despite their admonishments, the knight Huldbrand was a constant presence. He practically doted upon her, apparently believing her to be frightened of the storm. It grated on her distantly, but she couldn't conjure the words to tell him to go away.

On the second evening, while she sat clutching her head and rocking slowly back and forth, Huldbrand sat beside her and told some inane story about some exploit or another, something about overcoming adversity. Even if she had been receptive of it, she didn't know how exactly it was meant to be comforting. She barely paid him any mind, she could barely hear herself think over the endless cacophony of sensation that the storm invoked.

Something was coming. Something in the storm was alive and malignant and searching. She knew it in her bones, though she couldn't explain exactly how she knew any more than she could explain her ability to hear the storm in the first place.

There was a sudden violent gust of wind, a clap of thunder, a dropping in her stomach and then a pounding at the door. The sound of it pierced straight into her and she clapped her hands to her ears and gritted her teeth to suppress a scream.

All of the malevolence of the storm suddenly seemed to coalesce, crystalizing into a singular point. Something snapped into place and suddenly there was blessed relief. The storm still sang horribly in her head, but the resonance of it had faded to something tolerable and she could once again hear herself think.

She was clenching her teeth painfully and holding her breath while her heartbeat roared in her head.

Breathe. She needed to breathe.

Inhale. Count to five. Exhale. Count to five. Repeat.

It was a simple breathing exercise that get mother had coached her through in her youth when crowds and noises became overwhelming.

Gradually her heart slowed and she shakily climbed to her feet, shrugging off Huldbrand's offered hand grumpily. Rather than relief, the reprieve from the assault on her mind filled her with apprehension.

Someone had been at the door. Her parents were up and fussing with the newcomer and she blinked dazedly in their direction.

It was a man, perhaps the same age as her father, stooped and travel worn. Everything about him seemed perfectly ordinary, from his simple clothes to his weathered face to the scattering of grey in his hair and beard. He could have been anybody, completely unremarkable… uncannily so, as if someone had intentionally endeavored to craft the most generic person possible.

But his eyes…

Her breath caught in her throat as his gaze fell upon her.

His eyes flashed in a way that couldn't be explained by the lamplight in the room, as if the dark gray of them were actually storm clouds with their own internal lightning. For a horrible dizzying moment, Undine had the distinct impression that there was more to him than his pleasant ordinary facade. Her head began to throb painfully as she perceived the edges of him fuzzing, as if he was something far too vast to fit in a human body.

Something deep inside her began to panic.

She wasn't ready…

She didn't know what that thought meant. Ready for what?

"... and this is our daughter, Undine."

Her mother's mention of her name snapped her back to the present and reality came flooding back. Huldbrand was watching with some measure of concern. Her father had graciously taken the traveler's soaked cloak while her mother led him to sit by the fire. None of them found anything amiss about this stranger.

The newcomer grinned at her and paused to bow.

"My name is merely Kuhleborn," he said. "A humble traveling monk."

Undine doubted the man had ever set foot in a monastery. She also doubted his humility, there was a subtle air of authority about him. He spoke and was listened to. His pleasant demeanor, like his face, was a mask over his true nature. He seemed a man once more, plain and ordinary, and she almost could believe her earlier perception of him had been imagined... but there was something about him, something aside from his uncanny eyes. She could feel him, the same kind of resonance she felt with the storm.

She nearly jumped out of her skin as Huldbrand's hand came to rest on the small of her back. The gesture was too familiar, too invasive, but she was too shaken to rebuke him. She allowed him to lead her to the table where a supper of stew waited.

Her mother handed Kuhleborn a steaming cup of tea that he accepted gratefully. He inhaled the stream deeply, savoring the smell before taking a sip.

"Ah," he signed with an appreciative grin. "It's been a good long while since I've had proper tea. It's one of the few things I miss when I return to the wilds. You simply must let me repay you for your hospitality!"

"Oh no!" Undine's father protested. "You owe us no such thing, caught in that dreadful storm as you were."

"Oh, but I must insist!" he said. He raised a hand to forestall further protests before continuing. "I shan't insult your charity and indeed, I possess very little in terms of material possessions. What I do have though are stories. I've collected quite a few in my travels. You could say I'm a bit of a collector of tales. Perhaps I could tell one to pass the evening while we wait out this storm?"

Undine's mother clapped her hands.

"Oh, that sounds wonderful, doesn't it, Undine?"

Undine ducked her head and made a noncommittal shrug as she poked at her stew.

"Oh, don't mind her," her mother continued. "The storm has her on edge. She really does love her stories. She's a bit of a collector herself."

"Is she now?" he asked with bemused raised eyebrows. "Well, I have one that I'm certain she will want to hear."

Undine didn't want to hear any story he had to tell, but something inside her knew it would be the most important story she would ever hear.

Kuhleborn took another sip of his tea and leaned back with a sigh.

"Now," he began, "what you must understand… and I'm sure you gentlefolk must be aware, living here between the forest and the sea… is that the wild places of the world, far from the reach of man, dwell elemental beings, spirits of wood and stone, wind and water…"

There was one such water spirit, a daughter of the Ocean and the Moon, who dwelt in the sea. She was a curious little thing, always yearning to see and understand everything, always asking questions. She would accompany the whales and turtles on their long voyages to distant waters, listening to the songs and stories they sing. She would descend to the deepest depths and observe the things that dwell where the light never touches. She would follow the salmon on their doomed journeys and she would converse with her cousins who dwell in mountain streams.

One day, she encountered something she had never beheld in all her long years, a great vessel crafted from wood, crawling with strange creatures. She had certainly heard of humans from her cousins in the rivers and lakes of the world, but she had never given them a second thought until now. They were creatures of land and her domain was the sea after all...

But it seemed they had made themselves into creatures of the sea.

She was instantly entranced. She followed the ship and watched the humans. She listened to their songs and tales. She witnessed their need to explore and discover.

Perhaps she saw something of herself in them, for a great longing began to settle into her heart. In time, she was no longer content to watch from afar. She desired to go among them, to be as they were.

One day she went to her mother, the Ocean.

"Mother?" she asked. "I wish to become human."

"My child…" the Ocean replied with a sigh. "Why do you desire this? They are small and their lives are fleeting. The sea is eternal. Why can you not be content here as you are?"

The spirit withdrew, knowing that her mother would never grant her wish because she could never understand the longing in her heart.

More time passed and she tried to let go of the obsession that had taken root, but to no avail. She found herself once again drawn to the shores. She watched them build their cities and she followed their ships on their voyages.

When she could once again no longer bear it, she went to her uncle, the father of storms and earthquakes and great waves.

"Uncle," she pleaded. "I have observed humanity for many years and I wish to become human so that I may go among them."

He laughed at that, a deep rumble that shook the skies.

"Why on earth would you want such a thing?" he asked. "They are wicked little creatures. I have seen them witness such atrocities against each other. They defile everything they touch and they are never satisfied. They are a scourge upon this world. Perhaps I should grant your wish just so that you may experience their cruelty first hand."

Discouraged, she returned to the depths of the sea. She had witnessed their conflicts, terrified by the violence of it. She had also witnessed them work together to do incredible things. She had watched them craft their art and stories. She had watched them fall in love. She watched them raise children. She watched them grow old, surrounded by friends and family.

Yes their lives were brief, but those lives shown so bright.

She waited until the spring tide when the sea is closest to the heavens and she ascended to the surface. She called out to her other parent, the Moon, who is sometimes male and sometimes female, and who understands transformation better than most.

The Moon heard her call and descended to meet her.

She told the Moon everything - the longing in her heart, her wish, the responses her mother and uncle gave her. The Moon listened and was quiet for a long moment. She began to worry that her request would be denied a third time, but finally the Moon spoke.

"Your uncle speaks truthfully," the Moon replied. "There is a wickedness within their hearts. It is in their nature. But so also is kindness and compassion. If you ask it of me, I will grant your wish. I will craft you a body and send you to live among them, but I cannot craft your soul to be like theirs. When you die, you will return to the sea, where you will remain until the ends of the earth.

"However, if one of them pledges themself to you and grants you part of their soul, you can become as they are truly. You will die as they do and your soul will journey beyond this world."

The water spirit thought on this for a long time, finally understanding the full implications of her request. Finally she replied.

"I still wish to become human."

And so, the Moon crafted her a body and sent her out to live among humanity, to experience their cruelties and kindnesses first hand...

Kuhleborn trailed off and was silent as he contemplated her tea.

"Is that it?" Huldbrand asked after the silence stretched uncomfortably. "How does the story end?"

"I don't know, my dear knight," Kuhleborn replied. "There are many different versions, but I admit I have yet to hear the proper ending for it. Perhaps she meets a dashing knight and he falls in love. Perhaps he pledges himself to her. Perhaps he breaks her heart and she returns to the sea. You will tell me if you find out the ending won't you?"

Huldbrand and her parents laughed at that and the conversation moved on to other topics.

Undine let out a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding and was surprised to find her cheeks wet with tears.

Chapter Text

Thunder crashed and the storm continued to rage. Undine's parents and their guests had retired to bed hours ago, but she remained staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. She kept turning the story over in her mind. It was a puzzle and she would not be able to rest until she figured it out.

Changeling. The whispered word had haunted her childhood, the strange girl with the strange moods and even stranger abilities, the girl who was discovered on her parents' doorstep in exchange for a child taken from them.

Against all better judgment, she allowed herself to entertain the possibility that the story was real. She had imagined more fanciful things in her youth. But, if she was indeed a water spirit granted human form, what would that mean?

Would she have to choose between remaining and returning to the sea?

Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled and… she could perceive the storm in its entirely. It was a wicked, capricious thing, an ephemeral spirit of wind and rain and lightning that cavorted over the skies with wild unrestrained delight.

She sat bolt upright, her heart hammering in her chest. This was more than just a mere feeling of resonance in her bones. She could hear the storm and understand the words of the song it sang.

She stumbled to her feet and padded softly to the door.

"Undine!" a human voice whispered, but she paid it no mind.

She was consumed by a singular purpose.

She had to know. She had to know if it was real.

She flung open the door and stepped barefoot across the threshold.

The wind whipped her hair. Rain bit at her skin. Onward she walked, surrounded by the living violence of it.

"Undine!"

She glanced back at Huldbrand who was standing in the threshold watching her with a stricken expression.

She turned back to the storm and breathed it in. She swayed and staggered as it tore at her. In her current mental state and exposed directly to it, the power thrummed against the core of her, threatening to destroy her utterly.

The rational part of her mind screamed at her to stop, begged her not to open the locked doors within her. But she had to know, even if it destroyed her. What would she be if what she was about to attempt worked?

She wasn't ready.

She had to know.

She raised a hand and focused.

"Stop," she said, her voice lost in the wind.

The storm thrashed against her, barely noticing.

"Stop!"

This time the storm shuddered, a sort of ripple in the air. It noticed her now, and she felt its vast and malevolent presence. It pressed against her, smothering. It would snuff her out like nothing if it could.

It wouldn't. It was true that she wasn't ready. She liked being alive. This storm wasn't strong enough to take that from her.

"STOP!!" she poured all of her will into the word and there was a sound like thunder in her ears.

For a brief dizzying moment, it seemed as if the raindrops halted, suspended in air. Then, indignantly, the spirit of the storm broke apart into its constituent parts that retreated back to their distant home. The wind and rain abated and the thunder became a distant echo.

She sank to her knees, heedless of the mud that stained her already soaked nightdress.

The silence was deafening after the fury of the storm, but it was only a few minutes the calls of night insects and frogs began to echo in the night.

The clouds broke and a beam of pale moonlight played across her. She blinked up at the silvery orb of it.

Is it true? she asked wordlessly.

For a moment imagined she could hear a response, but her mind was exhausted and had grown numb.

Squelching steps behind her broke her reverie and she turned her head to face Huldbrand.

He had a dagger drawn and was staring at her warily.

"What are you?" he asked with a shaky voice. "A witch?"

She shook her head, unable to conjure any words.

He cocked his head and appraised her. Her eyes wandered to the dagger in his hand. It wasn't pointed at her, but it gleamed dangerously.

What cruel trick of fate brought them together? Two strangers, a storm, a story, a dagger.

Unless it wasn't a trick at all, unless someone had orchestrated everything.

For a moment she swore she could hear a deep, cruel laughter echoing with the distant thunder.

She must have looked terrified, for Huldbrand's face softened and he lowered his dagger.

"The priest's story," he said. "Was it true?"

I don't know.

She still could not bring herself to speak.

Do you mean to kill me?

He sighed, sheathed his dagger and knelt before her.

"I have grown fond of you, Undine," he continued. "Whether you are a maiden or a witch or a spirit made flesh, I wish that you come to no harm. I would pledge myself to you, guide you away from wickedness and remain by your side."

We have known each other for all of two days. You cannot possibly love me and I certainly do not love you. I do not need rescuing and I have no desire to be the maiden in your story.

But he had seen her use powers she didn't even understand herself. He had witnessed her break the storm. If she declined him, would he be content to walk away? Would he slay her here and now?

Everything she knew was unraveling, slipping through her fingers like water.

She should say no. She should send him on his way and forget this night ever happened.

How could she possibly forget?

She swallowed and nodded her assent.

Chapter Text

Alda stood at the window, gazing forlornly at the sunrise. The storm had broken the night before just as suddenly as it had come on, and the rising sun painted dissipating clouds in a riot of color. As always, the sight of it filled her heart with melancholy. Something about the sky at the edge of twilight reminded her of some ineffable loss, like a hole had been carved in her heart when she was just a baby.

Below the rose gold sky, the city was waking to assess the devastation wrought by the storm. Roof tiles and branches lay strewn across the streets and the river had swollen past it's edges to engulf several unfortunate waterside buildings.

Even at this hour, workers were working to clear the debris and she understood it would likely be several days before the damage would be fully assessed. The duchy hadn't seen a disaster such as this storm in a generation and the previous days had been an endless series of meetings, with counselors and advisors all clamoring for her father's and brother's attention.

She tried to keep pace in those meetings, tried to appear the dutiful daughter and princess, but as with most days, it was difficult to summon the will to remain focused. Her mind wandered listlessly and she lost track of the conversations.

She was half aware of the soft tap at her door and the rattle of a tray. She only turned when a hand fell to rest on her shoulder, and she was surprised to find Gerda, wearing a slightly pained expression, smoothed over with regal dignity. Her face hinted that perhaps coming here might not have been entirely her idea.

"Johannes sent you," Alda said as she turned back to the sunrise.

Gerda hesitated.

"He's worried about you," she admitted. "I'm worried about you."

Alda made a non-committal noise in her throat to which Gerda sighed. She settled heavily into one of the chairs and cradled her swollen belly.

"I am worried," Gerda repeated. "Despite everything, I am still your friend. I've heard the gossip of the staff. You take your meals alone more often than not, and then you barely touch them. You sleep late or not at all and you wander the palace at odd hours. I've… even heard that sometimes you leave the palace."

Alda's stomach clenched at that. Gerda knew perfectly well where Alda went when she snuck out of the palace, slipping coin to the guards for their silence. There were days when nothing seemed to matter at all and the only thing that made it bearable were the sojourns to the hidden places in the city where she might be free to be herself.

If someone had noticed she was becoming careless.

The look of concern on Gerda's face was so genuine. For a moment, her traitorous heart longed to be held and comforted in Gerda's arms, to feel their lips brush together once more.

Gerda broke the fantasy by casting a surreptitious glance at the door and leaning forward to whisper.

"Alda, people are talking. Not just the staff, but people with status and influence. You've spurned too many suitors. Hell, the entire court watched as you panicked and sent Huldbrand away on some idiotic quest. Some people saw it as a grand chivalric gesture fit for an epic tale, but not everyone was fooled. It got the wrong people asking questions."

A spike of panic sliced into her. Panic became guilt and guilt became anger, anger at Huldbrand, anger at Gerda, anger at the whole stupid court for not being content to ignore her and let her live her life, anger at herself for being the way she was, for having to live in fear.

"What do you want me to do?" she snapped. "I'm not like you, as you have made so abundantly clear. I can't settle down with a husband and bear his children. I would be miserable."

"You're miserable now," Gerda shot back, her face coloring. "Things could be worse, a lot worse, and you know it."

"You're just trying to cover your ass," Alda replied, dripping venom. "You're worried they're going to start asking questions about you too."

Gerda recoiled slightly and her lips tightened.

"I am trying," she said through gritted teeth, "to look out for you."

Gerda closed her eyes and took a breath before continuing.

"Alda, I've never been anything but candid with you, so believe me when I say I will be fine. I am married to the prince. I am carrying the Duke's grandchild. Some may wield my past indiscretions against your family, but at the end of the day, I am safe. Your position is much more tenuous and you know it."

The fire of Alda's anger quenched at her own thoughts echoed back at her from Gerda's mouth. She was the Duke's foster daughter, living comfortably by his grace alone.

Alda slumped into the chair across from Gerda.

"Alda," she continued softly, "you may not love him, but Huldbrand is a safe choice. There are many fates worse than marrying him. I'm telling you this as your friend, not your bother's wife."

That was it then… Huldbrand was a known quantity, the least of many evils, the safe option. He was paternalistic and pigheaded, but he would take care of her.

It was how her life was always meant to go. It was the road laid out since her father had found her as an infant. To be wed, to bear children, to grow old and miserable, to never know another woman's touch except in furtive encounters in shadowed corners.

"What does it matter now?" she muttered. "It's not like I can magic Huldbrand back from wherever he is… if he's even still alive."

Gerda scoffed.

"Our dear friend is far too scrappy to have been defeated by a storm," she said.

Alda wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted oblivion.

"Fine," she mumbled, defeated. "Tell me what to do?"

A week passed, seven days of endless meetings, sitting and watching impotently as others acted, seven days of pretending that everything was fine, seven days of playing over every possible scenario of the inevitable reunion.

Her brother was holding court when it finally happened.

A commotion started at the doors of the great hall, whispers echoing and spreading. More than a few of the courtiers cast glances in her direction, setting her heart racing. When she caught a whisper of his name, she braced herself.

This was one small aspect of her life upon which she could exert control, she reminded herself. For this one moment, she would control the narrative arc of her life. It wasn't the fate she wanted, but at least she had control.

An attendant appeared behind them as whispered something in Johannes's ear. Her bother leapt to his feet just as the crowd at the main doors parted.

And there he was. There was Huldbrand, somehow resplendent as ever, even road-worn as he was. His armor was scuffed and dented and his face bore a half healed bruise, but his smile was radiant.

He wasn't alone.

Standing next to him was the most beautiful woman Alda had ever seen. She was tall and willowy with sun kissed skin toned muscle. Dark hair, almost black shimmered in the afternoon light that filtered in through the windows. Her eyes were the bluest blue that Alda had ever seen, like sapphires or the sea.

Those eyes roved around the room restlessly and full of wonder, as if she wanted to gather in every detail and commit it to memory.

Those eyes found Alda and she forgot about Huldbrand entirely.

Her heart fluttered and her chest tightened.

The woman cocked her head and studied Alda curiously. The tiniest crease appeared on her forehead and the corner of her lip quirked as she chewed on it. A confused sort of almost recognition flashed on her face.

Who was this girl?

Johannes rushed across the room and fell into a laughing embrace with Huldbrand. The girl flinched in surprise and the spell was broken. Her eyes darted away from Alda's.

Alda sat frozen, gripping the arms of her chair, half poised to rise. She cast a stricken glance at Gerda who was studying Huldbrand's companion with pursed lips.

Who was she??

She and Gerda had discussed at length what she would need to do when Huldbrand returned. An exhaustive list of scenarios had played out in her head during restless nights. None of those scenarios had included an alluring stranger accompanying him.

The flutter in her chest turned to dread.

She felt the narrative slipping out of her control.

"...and this is Undine," Huldbrand was saying to Johannes with a wide grin, "my betrothed."

Alda forgot to breathe as any illusion of control unraveled completely.

Chapter Text

What followed after their arrival was a disorienting flurry of activity. Undine was passed around and introduced to a dizzying number of people, faces and names that blurred together in a horrible cacophony.

A headache built in her head, too much noise, too many people, until an unseasonably cold draft swept through the room.

Huldbrand pulled her close and graciously inquired about their rooms. They had after all, just arrived from a long journey and the lady's nerves were wearing thin. By the time they arrived, she was ready to collapse into the bed, curl up under the covers and dream of warm sand and cool ocean water.

But of course, there were formalities to attend to. Huldbrand somehow managed to talk the prince down from a feast in their honor to a simple dinner between childhood friends reunited.

It wasn't until they arrived at the appointed time that Undine realized that childhood friends consisted of half the ducal family.

The prince himself was affable and courteous, but all too eager to hear Huldbrand regale with tales of his adventures, of course with certain details omitted. What remained was greatly exaggerated, much to Undine’s annoyance. What was the point of a tale if the sole purpose was glorification of one individual?

The prince’s wife, the pregnant princess, was equally affable and attempted conversation with Undine, who found herself less and less verbal as the social interaction dragged out. Fortunately, the princess was practiced enough in social interaction to pick up on Undine’s state and instead filed the silence with banal nothings that left Undine both feeling included in the conversation but not obligated to participate, for which Undine was deeply grateful.

The fifth member of the dinner party, the prince’s sister, the sad princess, was an enigma that captured and held Undine’s attention. She found herself staring, twitching her eyes away the moment the girl looked her way. There was something strangely familiar about her with that red-gold hair, hazel green eyes and soft curving cheeks so unlike the prince’s. There was a rigid stiffness to her, a tightness in her eyes that belied some effort to appear as something she was not.

“You simply must come riding with me tomorrow!” the prince announced as the meal reached its conclusion, snapping Undine out of her musings. “Just the two of us, like we used to.”

Ar this Huldbrand cast a look towards Undine, a paternalistic mix of protectiveness and apprehension at what mischief she might cause of left to her own devices. Both thoughts brought a sour feeling to her stomach.

“Worry not for your betrothed,” the pregnant princess said, picking up on at least part of that glance. “We will take good care of her. We can take her into town, perhaps show her the market square. Wouldn't we, Alda?”

The sad princess made a soft startled noise as if she had been kicked and shot a glance at the other. Her eyes fell back on Undine and there was a moment of hesitation.

“Yeah… sure,” Alda muttered.

Alda threw open the doors of her bureau and picked through her dresses. It was a well practiced exercise by this point, she needed something simple enough to not attract attention as she snuck through the city. She needed something elegant enough to attract the right sort of attention at her destination. She needed to get out of the palace. She needed to forget about a girl.

She paused, surveying the arrayed garments. She briefly entertained the thought of simply running. She would gather a few of her plainest dresses, as much jewelry she could carry and… and the fantasy ended at the city gates.

What happens after that? Where would she go?

In that moment she realized that the borders of her fantasies of escape had grown closer and closer as she grew older. How long before they closed to the palace gates?

Would reality catch up? Would she be denied the fleeting solace of a stranger’s company in shadowed secret corners of the city?

There was a light tap at her door, and she turned to find Gerda frowning at the open bureau.

She scowled back at her sister-in-law.

“I'm going out,” she snapped.

“Yes, I can see that,” Gerda replied. “Alda, we need to talk.”

“What is there left to talk about?” Alda muttered. “Look how well our last talk panned out. Can't I just enjoy my freedom while I can?”

She plucked a dress of the rack and examined it.

“That girl, Undine, she's not your enemy.”

Alda went still, her back to Gerda. Undine was the very last person Alda wanted to think about in that moment.

Is that what Gerda thought? That Alda was jealous?

Was she?

The world had been spinning out of control since the moment Undine had stepped into the palace. The girl had single-handedly destroyed the plans she and Gerda had carefully laid out, eliminating the only easy, obvious option.

Unbidden, a thought flashed in her brain: A version of herself, jealous of Huldbrand of all people. She imagined herself scheming and tirelessly working to sabotage their relationship so that she could win him back.

The idea was so hideously absurd that a giggle erupted from her. Before she could stop herself, she was doubled over in hysterical laughter.

It was all she could do to keep herself from crying in frustration.

“This is all a gigantic mess, isn't it?” she asked, wiping her eyes after she had a chance to catch her breath.

Gerda was watching her uncomfortably with a concerned expression on her face.

“I'm fine,” Alda declared, perhaps a little too quickly. “I'll be fine. I just need to get out for a little bit.”

Then grumpily, she added, “I won't be too late. We've got a big day tomorrow, don't we?”

Chapter Text

Undine hadn’t realized how constraining the walls of the palace were until she found herself touring the city. There were still far too many people, far too many noises, the buildings too numerous and too large.

But at least out here, she could see the sky and feel the breeze on her skin.

It seemed to Undine that she wasn’t alone in such sentiments. The princess Alda seemed, if not completely at ease, then less tense. She even cracked a small smile at some of Gerda’s jokes as they rode through the city.

The central plaza was magnificent, lined with great stone buildings that reminded Undine of dazzling white cliffs. Stone masons were still busy at work tending to the storm damage. Alda and Gerda were drawn into a discussion with an important looking foreman, leaving Undine to stand awkwardly on her own.

The open space was not as terrible as the rest of the city, but she still felt herself longing for home, for the sea breeze and the sound of…

Her ears pricked. Over the bustle of crowds, she did hear running water like the low murmur of a stream. It tugged at her and she was inexorably drawn towards a fountain that stood before one of the marble edifices.

The water was clear and sparkling in the morning sunshine but the sight and sound was quickly forgotten as attention focused entirely upon a statue that occupied the center of the fountain. It was a woman, tall and generously curved, standing proudly as she rode crashing waves.

“The Spirit of the Ocean” a plaque read.

“They’ll never be able to capture her true splendor,” murmured a voice in Undine’s ear.

She flinched away from the intrusion, clapping a hand defensively over her ear. Spinning, she found a familiar figure next to her, also gazing at the statue.

Kuhleborn had traded his monk’s attire and any pretense of humility for fine cut clothes and an expression of open disdain.

He gestured towards the fountain.

“How could they?” he asked bemusedly. “They are tiny little things, desperate to understand things beyond their comprehension.”

Just as in her parents’ house, for a brief moment, the edges of him blurred. She had an impression in her mind of howling winds and snapping trees and raging thunder.

Her head began to throb and she tore her eyes away from him.

“What do you want?” she mumbled as she squeezed her eyes shut.

He scoffed.

“Now, now,” he said. “Your dear mother is worried sick about you. I’m simply checking in on you for her sake.”

Her eyes snapped open.

“My m-”

The question died in her throat as her eyes fell once more on the statue at the center of the fountain… a personification of the spirit of the ocean.

The pain in her head flared. The sights and sounds of the square built to an intense cacophony. The sound of the water in the fountain, the voices of the people milling about, the sunlight streaming between the clouds… it was all suddenly too much. Another horrible, dizzying moment and she imagined she could hear the wordless whispers of the earth and the trees and the wind.

She wasn’t ready. Stop.

She clenched her eyes shut once more.

“Breathe,” she told herself, “breathe…”

Slowly, mercifully, the world resolved itself back to something she could make sense of.

“I don't…” she managed. “I don’t know you. My mother lives in a house by the sea. I never met you before in my life.”

His laughter boomed.

“Oh we have met, little one. I’m certain you don’t remember yet, but we have met before even in this life. When you were just a babe, ever so fragile and helpless, it was I who delivered you to your home.”

Her heart skipped a beat.

She cracked open an eye and he was just a man once more. She could almost believe that.

“Wh-what did you say?”

He made a dismissive wave with his hand.

“It was nothing,” he said. “I merely acted on the behest of my sibling, to whom I owed a favor.”

She didn’t want to hear any more. She needed not to know.

He grinned wickedly and leaned in conspiratorially with a crooked finger.

“Would you like to know a secret?” he purred. “You weren’t the only child I carried away from worried parents that night.”

Her parents’ daughter, their real daughter, the one whose place are had taken.

“Is she alive? Where is she?”

His grin widened.

“I wouldn’t want to spoil that surprise. You’ve always been too clever for your own good. I’m sure you’ll solve the mystery sooner than later.”

She blinked and he was gone, the only sign he had ever been there an uncanny chill in the air.

A drop of rain splashed on her cheek and she was surprised to see the clear sky had grown grey with clouds.

“Undine?”

A hand gently touched her shoulder, seeming to send a jolt through her. Undine whirled to find Alda. The other girl pulled her hand back in shock at the suddenness of Undine’s movement.

“Are you alright?” the princess asked.

Undine raised her eyes briefly to meet Alda’s hazel green eyes. The color was lovely, reminding Undine of the soft grassy hills by the coast, reminding her of home. The princess’s face was filled with genuine concern, any prickly defenses momentarily forgotten.

Raindrops began to patter around them in the plaza.

“I… I don’t know.”

Chapter Text

Alda was in trouble.

It was an entirely different kind of trouble than what she brought upon herself when she sent Huldbrand off on his foolhardy quest.

No, this was a kind of trouble that was all too familiar to her.

It began the moment Alda turned around to see Undine standing there by that fountain, all alone with tears on her cheeks. Her face had born an expression of unfathomable grief and longing that stirred something inside Alda’s chest.

And then the touch.

Oh, the touch...

The moment Alda laid her hand on Undine's shoulder, something electric had passed between them. The thing that lay stirring inside of Alda came fully awake at it, filling her with an aching longing.

Gods above, she had barely said two words to the girl and she was smitten.

The change in the weather had driven them back to the palace and Alda watched, transfixed, as Undine settled into a brooding silence as she stared out the widow with a slight furrow to her brow. Something had shaken the girl, and Alda found herself longing to know what exactly.

Had Undine felt that same electric connection between them?

A horrible, selfish part of Alda hoped she did.

Thoughts of Undine hounded her all afternoon as she drifted through the palace. She kept telling herself to forget that moment in the square. It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t mean anything.

But then can the inevitable dinner invitation and she once again found herself in the company of her childhood companions.

Alda sat there, poking listlessly at her food, only half following the conversation. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t help but stare at Undine.

And Undine for her part, aware of Alda’s ceaseless attention, began glancing in her direction, their eyes meeting briefly then breaking apart in an instant.

That look puzzlement, the half recognition gave way to a quiet bright curiosity that set Alda’s heart racing.

“Oh, Alda is a foundling too,” Johannes announced, jolting Alda back into the present. “Father was on business near the coast and found a wailing babe in a basket on the shore.”

Alda forced a smile. Next he would mention that, were it not for the sworn statements of the entire retinue that accompanied her their father that day, all manner of rumor regarding their father's impropriety might have circulated. Nevermind that she didn't look a single thing like the Duke.

“I know who your parents are,” Undine announced instead, cutting Johannes off before he could even open his mouth.

The ensuing silence landed heavy on the room. All eyes fixed on Undine and she shrank softly under the attention, averting her gaze to the plate in front of her and her forgotten meal.

“Pardon?” Johannes asked.

Alda's hand was trembling and her knuckles began to ache under her own grip on her fork.

The pronouncement jerked her emotions hard in a direction she had not anticipated, and she found dread seeping into her, fighting against all of the other warring emotions inside of her.

She stared as those impossible blue eyes met hers and Undine forced herself to hold the eye contact.

“That is to say…” Undine continued tentatively. “Alda is a foundling, yes? I believe I know her birth parents are.”

Everyone's eyes now moved to Alda, who sat fully petrified now.

Who in seven hells was this girl who somehow managed to find all the ways to turn her life upside down?

She laid down the fork and clenched her hands under the table.

“Go on,” she croaked, her voice think with emotion.

“I…” Undine began. “Well… I was a foundling, yes, but my parents had their own daughter. They lost her in a storm the day before I found myself on their doorstep. I… well, something about you seemed familiar when I first saw you. You have my mother’s hair and my father’s eyes. I'm sure of it now, you must be that lost daughter.”

Blood roared in Alda's ears and she felt a flush creeping onto her face that she was powerless to stop.

The room seemed to lurch and begin to spin.

“Alda?”

Gerda laid a hand on her arm and she flinched. Everyone was staring at her even Undine, who’s brightness had dimmed somewhat upon seeing Alda’s reaction.

With her mind reeling, it was that slight disappointment in Undine’s face that finally undid her.

“I… I need some air,” she said, forcing the words out of her throat.

She shoved her chair back with more force than she meant, distantly aware of it tipping and clattering to the floor behind her, and fled. Someone might have said something after her in her hasty departure, but she was not in the frame of mind to parse any of the words.

She didn’t know where she was going, she just knew that she needed to get out of there. She needed to escape the suffocating atmosphere of that dinner.

She scoured her memory. Who had Undine said her parents were? A fisherman and his wife? Or a netmaker? Or was the wife a netmaker?

No… her… her mother. Her real mother.

Her parents.

As she made her way through the palace, servants and guards regarded her curiously, though they said nothing. They were used to her moods and wanderings, though perhaps they had not seen her quite so agitated in some time.

Then at last, she burst through a pair of doors and cool evening air greeted her. She continued on, driven by instinct until she found herself at the place that she sought. The secluded fountain, hidden in a palace courtyard amidst a grove of cherry blossom trees had once been a singular favorite spot of hers.

She hadn’t been back here since Gerda had broken her heart at this very spot.

Conflicting memories and confused thoughts clamored for her attention, as she settled heavily on the bench that bordered the fountain.

As she gazed into the water, clouds broke behind her, and the light of the rising moon caught in the water, painting the fountain in dancing, shimmering silver.

It was strange.

It was like in her childhood fantasies, only it was all incomplete and wrong. Yes, there was a mysterious stranger come to reveal the identity of her parents, but the stranger was betrothed to the man she had resigned herself to marrying to gain some modicum of control in her life. And yes, her true parents did exist , but they were hardly regent of some distant magical land. They were just people, simple folk by the sea unless her assumptions were wildly off.

Should that have comforted her?

Was it wrong that she didn’t know what to feel?

She closed her eyes and listened to the quiet murmur of the fountain, submitting to the gentle sound in hopes that it would guide her raging emotions back to stillness.

Eventually, another sound joined the bubbling of the fountain, the soft crunch of feet on gravel with an unfamiliar tread.

She expected Gerda or perhaps Johannes to come see to her at some point after her flight from her meal.

The very last person she expected was the strange girl from the coast who had the uncanny habit of upending her life.

Clouds danced across the sky, painting the courtyard in it’s own shifting pattern of silvery light, and Undine moved through them, beautiful and graceful.

The aching in Alda’s chest was too much, and she soon found herself intently studying the water once more.

Undine stopped a few feet away and fretted with her hands.

"I think I owe you an apology," she announced.

Alda blinked up at her. The otherworldly grace had been replaced by an awkward anxiousness. Alda understood then that Undine was a creature of movement, always in motion, like waves and currents. Her gaze flitted everywhere, taking in all of the details of the courtyard, but never seeming to be able to quite settle on Alda.

The girl swallowed and continued, "I'm… I'm not very good with people. I didn't realize that telling you would upset you so and I am sorry that I embarrassed you."

“It’s fine,” Alda forced herself to say. She was anything but fine, but what else was she supposed to say? It was hardly Undine’s fault that Alda was the way she was. She looked back at the water. There were no answers in their depths, but even now, it offered her comfort.

Undine shifted her feet uncertainly.

Did Alda want her to stay?

She let out a soft sigh and gestured to the edge of the fountain across from her and after another moment of hesitation, Undine relaxed and joined her to watch the fountain.

"I used to wonder about them, when I was little," Alda said softly. "I guess at some point I gave up hope of ever knowing."

"They light candles for you," Undine said. "Every year, on your birthday."

"Oh…" Alda choked out. When had she started crying?

"I'm sorry!" Undine said in a rush. "I didn't mean-"

"It's okay," Alda said. "It's just… I guess it’s just a lot all at once.”

She let out another breath and steeled herself to make the request that had taken hold at some point in the events of the evening.

“Can you tell me about them?”

Alda listened as Undine began to describe them. She described two people who were kind and hard working and enjoyed the simple pleasures of life. She spoke at length about her life by the sea, and the tiny village she called home. And as Undine began to describe the sea and the forest, something new entered her voice, a soft sort reverence.

Alda let the words flow over her and take her somewhere far away. She imagined the world as Undine saw it, something wild and beautiful and magical. And at some point, she found herself staring at her once again. She stared as moonlight danced across her skin and hair. Undine paused and impossible blue eyes met Alda's and held.

The horrible longing inside her built and built. The gods were truly cruel to have made Undine so beautiful and Alda so desperate. The longing had built and built until she could no longer resist the impulse that drove her. Every rational thought fled her mind as she leaned forward, tilted her head back and kissed Undine.

Undine made a small noise of surprise. Alda was about to pull away when the other girl's lips parted and returned the kiss.

Alda had kissed before, in the secluded back rooms of certain taverns and in shadowed alleyways. She'd kissed Gerda under the cherry blossom trees in the very garden where she now sat. But none of that had prepared her for this.

Undine tasted of the ocean.

Stop. The thought thundered in her head. Stop stop stop.

She broke the kiss and gently pushed Undine away. What on earth was had she been thinking?

Undine's eyes were wide with wonder and she touched her lips absently with her hand.

"I'm sorry," Alda said in a rush, "I shouldn't have done that. We should…"

She trailed off as Undine's eyes shifted from wonder to shock to terror. Her eyes fixed on something beyond Alda’s shoulder.

Someone had seen them.

Fearing the worst, she whipped her head around to see what Undine had seen. But there was only the fountain. For the briefest moment, Alda could swear she had seen a face, something grinning and predatory. A trick of the moonlight.

A sudden chill breeze swept through the garden, cutting through the sheer fabric of Alda's sleeves. She shivered at the unseasonable cold, but Undine didn't seem to notice. Her gaze was fixed on the fountain.

"We should go back inside," Alda said finally.

Undine nodded mutely.

Chapter Text

"I saw his face in the palace fountain!"

Huldbrand looked up from the book on his lap, a look of bafflement on his face. She had come straight to him after parting ways with Alda.

A quick, awkward goodnight. No mention of what had transpired between them.

I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that.

By all accounts, Undine should not have let Alda kiss her. She should have pulled away. But surprise had frozen her in place. And when her mind had caught up, she found that she did not want the kiss to end. And then Alda had pulled away and…

"Undine?"

She was back in the palace library. High backed chairs sat before a modest fire, flanked by shelves and shelves of books that would have captivated her under any other situation.

Huldbrand had fixed her with a concerned expression and she found herself flinching away. The terror of the face she had seen in the water was momentarily eclipsed by an entirely different terror.

He was a knight, noble and virtuous according to his own strict definitions. She had found that he possessed odd notions of propriety and chastity.

The kiss had certainly not been chaste.

What would he do if he knew she had kissed someone else? What would he do if he knew it was another woman?

She shoved the rising guilt and fear down.

"Kuhleborn," she said. "I saw his face-"

"Who?" he interrupted. "The priest?"

Her thoughts stumbled.

Of course.

Of course he did not understand. He had not felt the fundamental wrongness.

Was it because he was human and she was not?

The question sent a new coil of terror through her that twisted her stomach. For a moment, she felt a twinge in her head, a sort of double image of reality, between what her body perceived and what truly was.

"Huldbrand," she said, forcing the words past the physical disquiet of her body. This was important. "That story he told. The water spirit's uncle. The father of storms. Kuhleborn… I mean. I think that was him-"

Huldbrand exploded out of his seat with such violence and speed that for a moment she feared he would strike her. But he strode right past her as she cowered to cast a furtive glance down the hallway before pulling the door closed as softly as he could manage.

He turned to her, agitated, his face a mask of admonishment.

"Undine," he said, a slight edge to his voice, "Don't. Don't talk of such things here. I know you're far from home, but the people here, in civilization, don't always have patience for such provincial superstitions."

Her mouth fell open.

What…?

"You… you saw what happened," she stammered, "in the storm. You saw what I did. I broke the storm."

He sighed and rubbed his forehead.

"I don't know what I saw," he said, taking on the affect that he always seemed to with her, like he was explaining to a child.

"But-"

"Undine, please," he said, placing his hands on Undine's shoulders. "I'm trying to protect you."

Her skin crawled under the unwanted touch. She was suddenly aware of how much bigger he was than her.

Again she felt a moment of the double reality. She could see him. But she could also perceive the blood flowing through his veins. She could perceive the water and salt that coursed through him.

It was over in a moment, but it left her trembling.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, misunderstanding the source of her trembling. He took her in an embrace. "I should not have frightened you like that. But you must be careful. I promise you, we will figure this out together."

She leaned into him, unsure of what else to do. The embrace was magnitudes worse than his hands upon her shoulders.

We will figure this out…As if there was something wrong with her that he could fix. How many times in her life has she heard that exact sentiment?

She thought of the story, of the water spirit who could become human if another pledged their soul to her. Would that fix her? Was that the thing that had been broken for her entire life?

She pulled back to look up into his face. Or rather, his lips.

"Kiss me?" she said, voice trembling.

"What? Undine, we are unwed-"

"But we are betrothed," she insisted. "Is that not enough?"

He hesitated a moment, weighing her request against his rigid sense of chivalry.

When the kiss did come, it did not take her breath away. It was rough and uncertain, utterly devoid of any of the passion or desire that Alda had expressed.

When he pulled away, she did not feel any different. She felt even less than she had with Alda.