Ingefær and the Faerie Prince

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Hello children, no matter how young or how old. I would love to tell you another tale in the tapestry that is the story of Klaus and Ingefær, otherwise known as my husband and myself, otherwise known as Santa and Mrs. Claus. Two years ago, when I told you how we had met and how I began my apothecary, I mentioned that Klaus is sometimes called a "jolly old elf." The reality may not be so, but I admit we do have strong ties to the Faerie Realm, beyond the presence of Runeolf the faerie reindeer each Christmas Eve. In fact, we must be forever grateful to the Faerie Realms for their aid in our mission. 

Perhaps it may seem as though all stories of our adventures should take place in a snow-drifted landscape, but this particular tale takes place in the Nordic summer. Midsummer, to be precise. Although winter here may be dark and cold and filled with candlelight, roaring fires, and long naps, (after the Christmas rush of course) the summer is marked by days that still glow with the strange light of twilight even at three or four in the morning and a sun that never quite sets. The world takes on a verdant glow in the day, and a strange liminal quality at night. And of course I spend the time hastily and methodically growing, harvesting, gathering, requesting, and obtaining ingredients and elements for potions and tinctures to last all winter through. Many of the ingredients for Christmas magic come from the warmest days of summer sun, you know. It's all about the exquisite contrast between the cold and the warm, the summer and winter, the feeling of a lazy summer picnic day in the midst of a snowstorm. In fact, it's a bit like our penchant for both ice-swims and sauna here in my home country. The opposition of extremes can, somehow, create harmony. And so it also was, and remains, with Klaus and I and the Faerie realm. 

But I am getting ahead of myself. Let me tell the actual story I am here to relay. As I said, it was midsummer day, and despite the fact that Klaus and I were advancing in years...I would guess that we were in our early sixties at the time perhaps?...we still each grasped ahold of a ribbon and bobbed and danced around the maypole that day. And Klaus gathered my favorite blossoms to tuck them into my braided crown of white hair streaked with just a few last threads of ginger. We had just settled into our bed far later than any grown ups should find themselves falling asleep (but it is so hard to tuck oneself away when it's still light out and there's dancing and merriment) when we heard a knock on our door. 

Both of us glanced at each other, and we rose out of bed in unison. It was best to both answer in case of trouble, and neither of us wanted to make the other one leave the comfortable bed and stay there alone. So it was we opened the door together and saw Yune standing at our doorstep. You will have met Yune before, though you did not know his name. He was Runeolf's guardian fey, and though it had only been three decades or so since we first met him, a brief glimmer of time for a fey, still we had created an amicable enough relationship that he had shared with us a "name" that we could use for him. It may not have been his full and true faerie name, but we were honored to know it nonetheless. We saw him occasionally each year, mostly as time crept closer to Yule and we might have need of Runeolf to measure him for a new sleigh harness, or to check if he could still pull the weight of this year's toys and gifts. But he had never come to our door in the midst of summer. Faerie had its own revels this night, and I was astonished to see him before us, showing rare emotion in his furrowed brow and clenched hands. 

"My lord has need of you," he said to us both in greeting. 

"Hello to you too, Yune," I replied in a slight huff. 

"My apologies, Ingefær, but I can explain on the way." He was already turning away from the door when I called after him. 

"Oh no you don't, Yune. You absolutely cannot expect us to follow you like a couple of lovestruck teenagers in a mushroom ring all the way into the Realm of Faerie without some reassurances. Will we be safely returned to our doorstep in the mortal world with at most a few mortal days having passed while we were away?"

Yune turned back and sighed. "I would not put you or Klaus in harm's way. But as you prefer. I vow you will return to your home here in the mortal realm in a matter of a few mortal days."

I nodded to him. "Let me get my bags." 

We both dressed quickly and I tucked away several days worth of provisions. (Despite Yune's assurances I knew better than to go to Faerie without alternative sustenance to fey food.)

Yune had brought Runeolf with him, and he pulled a stunningly beautiful open carriage (sleighs are impractical even for fey kind in the warm months of summer) carved of what appeared to be bone. Despite our amicable relationship, I felt a twinge of nervousness as I climbed in and sat down across from Klaus. As Runeolf leapt forward across the clearing and into the sky, Yune called behind him.

"Our prince has been stricken with a sickness that will not heal. He has been ill for half a fortnight, and none of the court healers or magicians can find a remedy."

"Hold on now," I said, feeling a bit shocked. "We are going to examine the Prince of Faerie? And...there is a Prince of Faerie? I thought faerie births were exceedingly rare, let alone birth among the nobility. Let alone the birth of a prince?"

"You can see," Yune replied drolly, "why the situation was severe and desperate enough to merit my calling on the aid of anyone I could think of."

"Oh, we are so honored," I answered with more than a hint of sarcasm in my voice. I knew that faeries were exceedingly blunt but this was still a bit rude. 

"Ingefaer, this is extremely risky," Klaus whispered to me. "I don't want you to put yourself in harm's way by treating a prince who might die under your care."

"Not you questioning my skills too?" I half teased in a whispered reply. "I know, Klaus, I know. It's not an ideal situation to be sure. But I don't think my apothecarist vows will allow me to leave without at least trying to see if I can help."

The transition to the Faerie Realm was as wondrous as you might imagine. We flew straight through a shimmering wall of shifting light and into a world filled with fairy dust in every sunbeam. Explosions of flowers and thick dense forest surrounded us in every direction. I'm sure the palace was beautiful as well, but I buried my head in my bags sorting through vials and flasks, so I cannot give you an effusive description of our approach. I did, however, notice Klaus' abrupt intake of breath next to me as we came to rest in a courtyard filled with golden sculptures of vines and forest sprites. At least...I hoped it was merely sculptures of forest sprites and not hapless creatures turned gilt.

Apparently we were expected, because no guards or noblemen blocked our passing. We saw a few shapes in the shadows, curious eyes watching us, but we hurried along the smooth stone corridors after Yune. 

Soon we came to a vast double door intricately carved with fauns and sprites, two trolls carved from the stonework keeping guard to either side of the entrance (again, "carved," I did hope). Yune opened the doors as quietly as he could, and I grabbed two scarves from my bag, handing one to Klaus and tying the other one around my lower face. Yes, it was a faerie prince who was ill, but one cannot show too much caution. The room inside was dark and lit with what seemed to be thousands of candles. Despite the gloom I could tell it was vast, filled with an array of toys and delights to keep even the most spoiled of princes entertained.

Sitting in a chair by the massive four poster bed threaded with gossamer curtains was a man whose stature would, I could tell, normally be a sight to behold and strike fear into his enemies. Now, however, he sat crumpled into the chair, his barrel chest slumped over and his intricately carved crown askew on his head. He looked up as we approached, but did not stand. The king, of course, would not stand for two mortal visitors, no matter what hope they might or might not bring with them.

Klaus and I (and Yune) bowed before the king and I asked if I could approach and examine his child. He nodded, wearily, and I stepped up to the bed, peering in the dark light. I reached for a taper candle by the bed, careful not to get any dripping wax onto the coverlet that was rimmed with damp from the poor boy's sweat. And I startled to see a very familiar looking sight I had encountered many times before. Backing away slightly from the bed, I turned to the king.

"Your highness, if I may be so bold as to ask. Can I please know a bit more about your son? I don't mean to offend in any way, but might he have some mortal blood in his lineage?" The king startled, and I saw his face turn to anger. I quickly said "I only ask because the rash I see on your son's skin...it looks identical to a mortal human child illness that I've dealt with many a time before. I could absolutely be wrong, and I do apologize, but I need to know how to treat him." 

From the shadows beyond the bed I heard a rustling of fabric and startled. A beautiful woman approached, also looking exhausted and burdened with great worry. Her crown, however, was firmly held aloft atop her long ebony hair. "Dear husband, it is true," she whispered in a voice filled with shame. "I am of noble birthright, but my mother's mother's mother was a mortal woman." 

The king turned with shock to his queen, but after a moment or two of silence, I saw his eyes soften. "Then I must be grateful to your mother's mother's mother for giving me a wife who was able to bear me a son of noble faerie birth." He threaded his hand with hers and faced me. "It would appear you are correct, human woman. This boy may perhaps have a mortal ailment."

Nodding and rolling up my sleeves, I set to work. "I'll need you to warm a stone as hot as it can get, place it by his bedside, and begin pouring water over it to form a steam. And I will need to make a soup with green vegetables and summer squash. This boy has measles, and I have yet to lose a child in the village to its onerous grip. I don't intend to this time either."

I paused before I flung half of the covers off of the bed. "And can someone please open a window so I can see?"

~*~

After a day or so of hearty vegetable soup (laced with healing potion), steam by his bedside, and lukewarm sponge baths, the prince was able to open his eyes and interact with his father, whose eyes brimmed with unshed tears. The rash started to fade after another day, and Yune came to our humble chambers in the palace to usher us home. 

"First, however, the king has asked to see you. I suspect a reward of some sort is due."

"Oh, pish and tosh," I muttered, but I dressed in the finest faerie gown that had been left for me in the closet, buttoning the top button on Klaus' very handsome oxblood red tunic embroidered with rampant reindeer, also fey-made. 

The king stood this time when we entered the throne room. 

"Igefaer and Klaus," he intoned. I saw the room was filled with courtiers and curious onlookers. Oh dear. I wasn't fond of a lot of attention. 

"You have healed our son and the heir to our kingdom and all its magic," he continued. "And in addition, you have given us much to ponder. The mortal blood, thin as it might run through our wife's veins, was what enabled her to give us a son. And though it was also what made him ill, it was two humans who came and made him well again. We owe you a debt, and refuse to leave it unpaid."

I opened my mouth to object, but he continued. "Yune has told us of your humbleness and lack of desire for recompense. But he has also told us about your noble quest to bring joy to children each Christmas morning. We believe you already know the fondness our court has for children..."

I knew too well. Sometimes they even stole them away, leaving faerie changelings in their place to bring sorrow to human families. But I chewed my lip and stayed silent.

"Your mission is one we greatly support, and the depth of our gratitude is vast. Therefore the immensity of the gift we will bestow on you is commensurate. We wish to grant you the immortality of the Faerie Realm."

The court exploded in gasps, and I admit mine was among them. It was, as he said, an immense thing to offer. And the idea of it set my mind reeling.

"In addition," he continued, and the court mostly quieted again. "We wish to aid you in the crusade for childhood joy and happiness and wonder. If by freely crossing into the Realm of Faerie your task may be completed with more haste in human measure, then it is granted. And though Runeolf belongs to Yune, you may have your choice of eight more of our faerie steeds to aid your flight."

"Our people may perhaps have to have more awareness of the link between human and feykind. I feel there is much we can learn from each other in the future." 

I glanced around the room and saw a few faces glaring at me or at the king. I knew his sentiment was not shared by all, and wondered at the complications this might cause in the future. But for now, I had a reply to make. 

"Your majesty, may I confer with my husband for a moment?" I asked, and he nodded, a smile curling the side of his lips.

Klaus and I turned to each other with wide eyes. Neither of us were sure what to think of the immensity of the decision we had placed before us. But after a few minutes of whispered conversation, I turned back to the king.

"Your highness, you have indeed bestowed upon us a vast gift. But I am also sure you may understand that we mortals have engaged in agreements with Faerie in the past that ended up with a few...ah...shall we say, unrealized side-effects?" A few offended mutters came from the crowd, but the king chuckled and nodded.

"I would humbly request that the exact terms of this agreement be written in a contract between us, to be read and understood by all involved. And..." here I took a deep breath, as I knew I was taking a great risk with my next few words. 

"As part of the contract, I want no more stolen mortal children from you or any member of your court." The king's affable expression darkened as I said this, and I quickly continued. "The pain you felt upon almost losing your son is the same pain felt by human parents when they lose their own children." He closed his eyes, and nodded. 

The court erupted into mixed shouts of outrage and shock, and I decided this was a good time for us to make a hasty exit. With a low and respectful bow, we backed out of the throne room, heaving a deep sigh to each other as the doors closed behind us.

Well. 

I guess now we were in for it. 

~*~

And that, dear children of all ages, is how Klaus and I became immortal. It is also the biggest part of the secret behind how your beloved Santa Claus is able to reach the homes of good little kinder all over the world in one night. Over the next few weeks, we worked through the contract with the King of Faerie (He explained that he was the lord of the Seelie fey only, and could make no agreement for the Unseelie fey, so sadly some changeling sorrows still occurred after our negotiation). And over the next few centuries, we found both friend and foe among faerie kind, and our home and our magic became ever more intertwined in the Faerie Realm. But those are other stories. So you see, even though your Santa may not actually be a jolly old elf, he finds the comparison quite a delightful compliment. 

The moral of the story for you all? Help those in need whenever you can. Have courage. And speak up for what is right. 

Even to a King of Faerie.