Changeling Fantasy Ch. 1: Know Your Place

You are Alvild Anders, and you did not belong. Oh, not in the "Oooh, I’m such a tortured teenager, nobody understands me," sense. You literally did not belong in the world known as Midgard. You are a changeling, a fairy child left in place of a kidnapped human, and the cold, mountainous, superstitious country of Bergskedja was not a kind place to raise someone like you.

That isn’t to say that Hans and Kerstin Anders were anything but good parents to you, since they didn’t see any reason to take their grief out on the abandoned infant who wailed in her new mother’s arms and would not be quieted. If anything, their hearts broke for the unwanted babe as much as they did for their own taken son. However, their neighbors were not as forgiving.

One thing must be kept in mind above all else when considering the fairies of Alfheimr, the rulers of the Other Folk. A fairy is not a sylph, a winged elemental spirit of alchemical air, nor is it a pixy, a firefly-like pollinator of gardens. In fact, aside from the dramatically pointed ears and seemingly eternal youth and beauty, many fairies are almost indistinguishable from humans in face and form. Despite this, they are as capricious and arrogant as they are beautiful and powerful, and the moods of the Other Folk, especially the Fair, change with the wind. Even a changeling raised by human standards, such as yourself, is met with suspicion as they grow up, often harassed by other children and ignored by adults.

There were exceptions, of course. Your neighbor Lauris had taken a sweet troll girl named Nanna for a bride. Old Mother Hulda, the fox-eared huldra, lived on the edge of the forest, making her living by selling hand-crafted charms and home-brewed potions. Even traveling packs of goblins, little men and women with the features of rabbits, raccoons, rats and other pests, could be seen regularly sneaking into the market from their warrens, hawking their almost invariably stolen goods- Not that their customers did more than look the other way.

It was Nanna and Lauris who were the kindest to you, having their own rumors to deal with, but Hulda had the most wisdom to impart. It was the old woman who taught you to craft whenever you stopped on your way to and from the forest on your trapping trips. There were some things Kerstin simply couldn’t teach you, mother or not. However, as for the subject of such visits...

The goblin merchants and occasional troll wanderer were not the only Other Folk to pass through the village. Early one spring, when the morning was still bitter and tinged with frost, the north wind blew especially cold as the herald of a dangerous event that soon came to pass; the Wild Hunt, a contest held once a century in celebration of the new fairy king and queen’s coronation. Fairy rings sprang up in the most unusual places, circles of mushrooms appearing out of seemingly thin air where villagers swore they had just passed and hoped to the Gods they hadn’t crossed for fear of treading over the border of Midgard into Alfheimr. To do so without invitation, even accidentally, was to intrude on fairy land and excite the petty rulers who were all too eager to dish out punishment. Despite this, the territorial fairies saw very little wrong with carrying out their Hunt in Midgard, often demanding that mortals house their hunting parties overnight.

Hulda alone was the one villager brave enough to actively refuse them food, drink and shelter for the night, while her neighbors merely shuttered their windows and locked their doors tight in fear. You had been visiting the old huldra earlier that day, talking late into the night with your mentor about the values of this herb over that root, or how such a poultice would help a certain wound heal faster. When the fairies finally came knocking, you were initially shocked by your first impression of what should have been your people. They were led by Oberon Erlkonig, the Lord of the Alder Court; fair of face, graceful of manner and condescending of voice. Any changeling girl like yourself would easily feel much smaller than usual, but it wasn’t shame that burned in your heart. It was resentment. How dare these beasts look down upon you in such a haughty way? What had you ever done to them to deserve the thinly-veiled sneer tossed your way by the manservant at Oberon’s right hand- Robin Goodfellow, similar to yourself in the sense that he was a changeling as well, but different in the sense that he was a Midgardian raised by fairies.

What right does he have to hold himself so much higher than I? you thought, seething internally. Robin may have been beautiful by Midgardian standards, but surely in his master’s eyes, he was just as plain as you were. His soft curls were no less brown than your own hand-shorn locks. His eyes were no less plain than your own muddy ones. His fair, pale, faintly freckled skin was nothing more than a sign that he’d never truly worked a day in his life, while you had proven your own worth time and time again by trapping, foraging, crafting, brewing, tending the vegetable patch with your parents, hauling goods to market… The list went on. Those delicate, uncalloused fingers clad in soft gloves were more suited to plucking the strings of a lute than the taut string of the yew bow that fit naturally into your own sturdy, rough hands.

Your internal judgement passed far more quickly than it took to describe, however, and it was Hulda who spoke to Oberon first.

“You of all people are unwelcome under this roof, Alder King,” the old crone nearly growled, her vulpine ears pressed flat against her skull while her bushy tail lashed aggressively, the same red that her hair used to be before it went grey.
“Surely, good Mother, you Hidden Folk are not truly such isolationists that you would turn your own kind awa-” Robin began in a languid tone, but was instantly cut off.
“You Fair Folk are not ‘our’ anything, lap dog,” you hissed through teeth clenched tighter than a steel trap. The beautiful young man was simply taken aback, but his master just smirked, his face oddly no less youthful than the servant.
“Speak when spoken to, child,” Oberon purred condescendingly, gripping you harshly by the chin. Your upper lip curled, and you snapped at his hand, nearly nicking the flesh as he drew it back on instinct. You’d never let anyone lay a hand on you without your permission, and you weren’t going to start with this prick. You were rewarded with a sharp slap across the face, only to turn your cheek, daring him to strike you with the palm rather than the back of his hand. The fairy king would be forced to acknowledge you as an equal if he wished to continue in his abuse.

He saw through the gesture, however, and did not make another move beyond turning on his heel and departing from Hulda’s home with a flourish of his rich green cloak. His attendants followed close behind, but the huldra fixed you with an uncharacteristically worried look.
“That was unwise, my girl. The Alder Court especially does not take kindly to those who step out of their place,” was all she said as she locked the door and drew the bolt shut.