Elswyth

A long time ago, in the forgotten day and age of fairies, dragons, and other such myths that are only real to the childlike heart, there lived an elven princess. Now, this was not your ordinary princess, such as the typical myths and legends tell, one of long flowing, golden hair whose very tresses stole the hearts of every prince charming in the land, nor one of a beautiful, captivating voice whose very whisper of a song would melt the hearts of every wicked witch who threatened her existence. No, this was a very plain princess, who despite her common features was very uncommon indeed. This daughter of kings appeared as any normal elven child, one full of laughter and curiosity and simple adoring love. But there was always something that set her apart from the other children, something whimsical and aloof. At times, a faint sadness would tint her grey-green eyes, as a wisp of a wind would flow through the long strands of her earth-colored hair, though no hint of a breeze could be felt. It was as if she were miles away, though she stood in the midst of the crowd or ran through the playgrounds of the villages. For this was no ordinary elven maiden, this was the princess of the wood, a mystical dryad: daughter of the trees. At the time of her birth, her two very common elvish parents, who also happened to very uncommonly be king and queen, were overjoyed that an heir to the throne had arrived. The entire kingdom was invited to bless the princess with gifts on her name day, (including the not-so-good fairies of neighboring kingdoms, for this king was not so common as to ignore the mistakes of human kings and risk another vexed witch placing a curse on his beautiful daughter). However, long before any of the honored guests had arrived, one altogether uncommon looking personage appeared. It was the ancient elf-fairy, Etain. It was said the Etain had the blood of the ancient fairy-gods of legend, and could bestow magical gifts to those who were most pure and untouched by the evils of the world. How Etain had arrived before anyone else was a mystery, for her home lay in the forests of the northeastern most part of the kingdom; she would have had to start her journey long before even the queen knew an heir was to be born. And so it was, for before the little princess was a half hour old, a quiet knock was heard on the door of the queen's bedchamber. "Come in!" roared the elated father king, eager to tell anyone about his beautiful new daughter. The heavy oak door groaned open, and a tiny, grey head peeped out from below the door knob. "Is she here yet? Oh, of course she is; silly of me to ask. Where is the dear child?" With that, Etain hobbled into the room and approached the crib at the side of the queen's bed. Too stunned at the forwardness of the little elf-fairy to do anything, the king and queen silently watched Etain pick up the infant and cradle it in her arms. "Ooh, aren't you such a dear! Yes, you are the one. And it looks like I got to you just in time," Etain cooed as she brushed the curls of golden hair away from the babe’s blue eyes. “Yes, this little one will be a blessing to all who come to know her, but the road will be hard indeed. She has been chosen to walk the road of sorrow, for not only will her own tears pain the deepest part of her soul, but she will also carry the sorrows of others. This is not a curse, but a blessing; for though the way is paved in pain, she will have the strength of heart to bear these burdens. Her courage and strength will bring justice to her people and joy to her land. She herself will also feel happiness in greater depths than those around her, for as she allows the sorrow to well up in her heart, it will open it up further to allow more joy and love to come in as well. But she can not do it as she is now, a mere elf maiden. So my gift to you, dear princess, is the gift of the willow people. Your life will be one of weeping, so I will make you as the river willow, with a strong heart of wisdom and love, and a place of refuge and peace for those who take shelter under your branches." With that, Etain leaned over and kissed the princess, breathing into her the life of the forest. Still stunned at the prophecy of the elf fairy, the king and queen watched Etain place the baby in its cradle and silently leave, giving a tiny curtsy before closing the door. The king continued staring at the door, his face slowly turning pale with rage and horror, until he heard a sobbing gasp from his beloved queen. He turned to see the new mother holding a willow sapling over the princess’ cradle, as if to strike the child with it. Rushing to stop her and protect the babe, the king found himself staring into an empty cradle. The queen was by now cradling the willow twig and sobbing, repeating over and over again in crazed tones, “My baby, my child!” Before the king’s amazed eyes the sapling transformed into the shape of the infant princess, whose eyes, now alive with an earthly grey-green tint, were slowly pouring forth rivers of tears that streamed down her straight, brown locks. “It’s because her mother’s sorrow that my daughter weeps,” thought the king, and he realized the gift of the elf fairy was not imagined. His precious elven daughter now had the blood of the willow coursing through her, and had become a dryad maiden. Through his own tears, the king proclaimed: “Her name shall be Elswyth, for she is an elf maiden from the willow. We will try to keep the truth of her blood a secret. She must be taken away to a safe place, where sorrow cannot reach her, and where she can be among the elves, her true people. May she find her identity as one of us, and forget this dreadful curse of the elf fairy.” For the king had already forgotten the words of Etain, proclaiming a blessing and not a curse for the elves of his kingdom through the passionate heart of the little princess. Elswyth was taken in by a blacksmith and his wife, who lived in the flat meadow land in the southwestern corner of the kingdom. It was a barren land, good only for grazing cattle and sheep. For miles upon endless miles not a tree could be seen, only the wisps of smoke coming from the underground hovels of the elves. However, every so often, if one was out in the wee hours before the morning, a young willow sapling could be seen at the back of the blacksmith’s forge, its branches shuttering silent in an absent breeze, as if the tree itself was crying. No one but the blacksmith and his wife knew of Elswyth’s true nature, so no one ever suspected it to be her. And no one but Elswyth herself knew that the weeping willow only appeared after hours to hide the tears that had threatened to pour down her face during the day. For though the king and queen had tried to send their beloved daughter to a place that was free from sorrow, the sadness still found it’s way into Elswyth’s heart. Sometimes it came with fear after a heated argument between the blacksmith and his wife. Other times it would arrive on the wings of loneliness as the other children in the village laughed at her tendency to listen to a non-existent wind rustling the leaves of an unseen forest. But the deepest sadness would come whenever the blacksmith’s wife would tell her to forget the forest and be a good little elf. For no matter how hard she tried, Elswyth could not deny her dryad heart. Oh, how she longed to feel the river flowing over her aching roots after a long hard day in the field, and how her heart sang when she would feel the rustling of the unseen breeze flow through her branch-like hair! She thought that because the blacksmith and his wife knew who she really was, there was more freedom to be a dryad in their home. But time and time again, the wife’s sharp reprimands would cut at Elswyth like an ax. Slowly, Elswyth walled in her true heart, fearing that the continual barrage of sorrow would eat away at her like a colony of termites. The strength prophesied by the elf fairy was now being used to bind up the dryad in a locked garden by will of the pretend elf princess, who only longed after the happiness of being whole. Elswyth could not be both dryad and elf, and in the suffocating blacksmith’s hovel below the earth where an elf was all that could be accepted, and elf is what Elswyth tried to be. The late night shutters of a river-less river willow was all Elswyth allowed her true heart to emerge, and then to be seen by no one but herself. How could she ever explain to her people that she was not truly an elf, but a lonely, sorrowful dryad? As it was, Elswyth the elf was misunderstood and in her mind already hated by her own people; how much more they would reject her if they found out the truth. So from the village she hid her heart, and from her adopted parents she hid her tears. Elswyth would become the perfect elf maiden all desired her to be, all except herself. And thus the years passed. As Elswyth grew older, she soon forgot the reasoning behind her need for elvish perfection. It was simply an unseen, unnamed force driving her every thought, word, and deed. The forest breezes still shook her branches, but she had forgotten what to call them. Her roots still ached for the cool river soil, but she could never identify the cause or reason for this longing. Elswyth simply knew both were considered very wrong, and that she needed to avoid those feelings at all costs. This only piled on more guilt and shame, for her heart still longed so deeply to be completely dryad. But her elvish mind ruled over her heart, and the condemnation of her adoptive parents ruled her mind. Daily the blacksmith’s wife reminded Elswyth of the evils of her wild heart, and constantly berated her for acting so dislike an elf. This only made Elswyth try harder at being perfect, but to no avail. For no one can deny their own heart for very long, no matter how hard they try. In the village it was easier for Elswyth to be a perfect elven maiden. Because of the way the children of the village had misunderstood her dryad behavior when she was younger, Elswyth learned to avoid contact with the other elves. While her classmates and peers played and talked with each other, Elswyth remained in the background, often hiding in the corner to avoid detection and remain at peace with her own thoughts. True, her shyness left her heart aching with an intense loneliness others could not fathom, but in her mind the loneliness was far better than the humiliation of being misunderstood and ridiculed. For there was nothing worse to Elswyth’s mind than not only feeling a sorrow beyond her years but also having the whole world reject her for her true identity. If they wanted to reject the fake elven self Elswyth portrayed, there was no loss, for Elswyth herself hated and despised the perfect elf she was becoming. But if the elves rejected her true, dryad self, she would be to the core utterly despised and rejected, with nothing left worth loving. Hiding away the dryad gave Elswyth a small glimmer of hope that there was something still left to her that she at least could love, when no one else was looking. Her late night transformations into the weeping willow were still her constant comfort, an hour of the day where she could shed the lies that had been her covering through the day and let her true self grieve at being the only one of her kind. Or so she thought. In the fall of Elswyth’s twenty-first year, a young traveler appeared in the village. “An elf of some importance,” the villagers said, or so they naturally assumed. For he was none like they had ever seen before, with earthy grayish-green eyes instead of the otherworldly blue, and short brown hair instead of long blond tresses. In fact, the people of this remote village, to their recollection, had only seen one other elf that did not share their same features, and suddenly began to give more thought to that shy little elf maiden that lived in the blacksmith’s hovel. The day he arrived, Elswyth was walking down the crowded main street, running errands for the blacksmith’s wife, heeding little of the commotion around her in her frantic desire to get out of the path of others’ probing eyes. Keeping her own grey-green eyes fixed on the dust covered street, Elswyth could not see the traveler coming nearer until he was just about to pass her by. Suddenly, a group of laughing children raced through the street, almost knocking Elswyth’s groceries out of her arms. Looking up after them with a smile, Elswyth didn’t notice that the forest breezes were again blowing through her hidden branches, as they often did whenever she felt joy in her childlike dryad heart. The soft wind subtly blew her long hair into her face, and Elswyth quickly brushed it aside in sudden acknowledgment of the nonexistent breeze, glancing around the crowded street hoping no elf had noticed. Her frantic surveillance suddenly ceased at the sight of the weary traveler in front of her. He as well had stopped to avoid the rush of children, but had remained very still for a moment or two longer, closing his eyes as if in delight. Elswyth’s eyes rested on his the moment they reopened, and a puff of wind blew a short lock of his hair into his eyes. With a smile and a short bow to Elswyth, the traveler continued on his way. Elswyth stood in the middle of the street, frozen in shock, her wide eyes slowly staring at the traveler’s back as he walked into the hostel at the end of the street. It couldn’t have been a normal wind, for no winds blew in the meadowland of the southwest, and the elves walking the crowded street surely would have noticed. No, the wind passing over the stranger had been the same wind that stirred her own branches. Elswyth woodenly walked back to the blacksmith’s hovel, errands forgotten as her thoughts raced faster than a river rapid. The wife’s protests at the half-empty basket fell upon deaf ears as Elswyth threw its contents on the table and dashed out behind the forge to her safe place. She sat alone with her thoughts until the stars were shining forth their full brilliance before heading back into town, towards the hovel that housed the one being who could answer the deep questions of her heart. She had almost passed it before she realized that something foreign graced the barren landscape with its majestic presence. It was the soft rustling of branches not her own that roused her from her crowded thoughts. As the hushed noise slowly formed themselves into words, Elswyth stopped dead in her tracks, fighting the urge to panic and retreat into willow form. “I was hoping you would come tonight,” the soft voice said. Elswyth turned her head to gaze in amazement at the large oak tree that had appeared out of nowhere. As she stared wide-eyed, the tree changed before her very eyes, so seamlessly that she wasn’t sure exactly what was happening until the elvish figure of the traveler stood before her. “Who are you?” The question pulled itself from the depth of Elswyth’s being before she could stop it. “One who has searched long and hard for you. Your elvish parents hid you well by sending you father away than most of our kind could travel. Most dryads cannot live far from water, you know. I’m surprised that you’re still able to feel the forest breezes, as I assume you did this afternoon.” “Our kind?” gasped Elswyth. “Well of course. You are the dryad princess, Elswyth, are you not?” “You are mistaken, sir. It is true that I am known as Elswyth, but I am an elf, not a dryad. There are no such things as dryads.” “My lady, your name states otherwise. If you are truly Elswyth, then you are the willow elf, princess of two peoples. I have been looking for you ever since the lady Etain returned to our home in the north after your name day. The dryads have long awaited the day when one of our kind would wear the crown of this kingdom. It has long been foretold of the dryad elf who would unite the peoples of this country and bring healing to the land. And now at last I have found you, to bring you home and teach you that which you need to step into your calling.” “Our kind?” repeated the bewildered Elswyth. A sad smile passed over the traveler’s face as he gazed down at the confused maiden. “Forgive me, I fear I have begun at the wrong part of the tale. Let me start over. I am Elon, prince of the dryads, who dwell in the lands to the north of your father’s kingdom. I have come to bring you home to your people.” “Home? My people? This is my home, and these are my people. I’m sorry sir, but you are gravely mistaken. I am an elf, and there are no such things as dryads. They are a myth, a childhood fantasy.” “My lady, I am not sure what you have been told by those who raised you, but this one thing I know: you are a dryad, the princess of a people who embody the wild beauty of nature. Search your heart, my lady. The truth that you find there is truth indeed. Your heart is good, and it is needed. You are needed, my lady, to bring peace to both the people of your mind and the people of your heart. You are a dryad. And to be a dryad is a thing of great honor and worth.” With that, the prince bowed gracefully and turned toward the village. Elswyth again found herself staring at the back of this mythical prince, feeling overwhelmed at all that had just been revealed to her. None of the words regarding her royalty surprised her; the blacksmith and his wife made sure to teach Elswyth all the things a good elven princess needs to know before taking the throne. It was the words he said about dryads. No one to her recollection had ever said anything good about dryads. They were a misunderstood and forgotten people who had been reduced to mere legend by those who were afraid of what they could not understand. Those in Elswyth’s life who knew of her identity had only enforced the negative lies of the forest people. Even the king and queen, by their noticeable absence in Elswyth’s life, largely imprinted this negative conception in Elswyth’s mind. Suddenly, a real dryad, and a prince at that, had appeared explaining and portraying the opposite. “It is a good thing to be a dryad?” The thought lingered in Elswyth’s mind as she walked back to the comfort of the blacksmith’s forge. It was inconceivable to her mind, and twenty-one years of believing the opposite could not be rewritten in a day. But that night, had anyone been awake to see, a willow tree rustled its branches, quivering not with suppressed sorrow but with an indefinable joy that sprang from a heart suddenly strengthened by hope. The days passed by, and every time Elswyth ventured into the village, her eyes would slowly begin to raise from their usual fixation to the path to glance around for the Prince Elon. At first, the sight of his knowing eyes staring into hers brought an unexplainable terror to Elswyth’s mind, as she imagined the dryad betraying her long-held secret, exposing her to humiliation unimaginable. But yet her eyes were drawn to his, every time they passed. There was something else in the grey-green eyes that haunted her, a look of reassurance and hope that tugged at her heart. The dryad prince never approached Elswyth, and never betrayed her secreted heart as she feared, and though no words were spoken between them, Elswyth began to long for the safety of his reassuring presence. Instead of the guarded fear she felt around the village elves, something within her longed for the friendship of one who already knew her secret and still accepted her. More than that, the prince almost expected her to be who she most desired to be, and his graceful bow at her every passing somehow showed Elswyth that he would never see her as anything less than a dryad princess.