Transgendered Fairy Tales
by Kaleigh Way

In a small happy kingdom there was a prince named Conall. He was the youngest of three brothers, and if his mother spoiled him, well, his father let him run wild. After all, the oldest son would be the next king, and the second would marry a princess in a far-off kingdom. No one looked for Conall to do anything in particular, so he kept himself busy laughing, lazing, and getting into mischief.

Conall had a squire who was closer to him than either of his brothers. This squire was called Breck, because of his many freckles, and whenever Conall needed help with a prank, Breck always lent a willing hand. The king allowed Conall every liberty, and Conall gave the same freedom to Breck. Breck loved Conall, and he counted himself lucky to have such a generous and fun-loving master.

Time passed, and the three sons grew. The first son was brought into the king's council, and his future wife was chosen from the ladies of the court. The second son went off to find a bride, and soon sent back a messenger with happy news.

At first Conall didn't seem to care about these changes, but soon he began to wonder what he should do with his own life. "It's time I find a wife," he told his squire, and Breck agreed. But what sort of wife should he wed? She would have to be a princess, of course... or would she? And she'd have to have lands to rule... or did she? And certainly her hair would be black... or golden. In any case, she couldn't have red hair... or could she?

Conall and Breck discussed the matter at great length, but as you can well imagine, they concluded nothing and got nowhere.

More time passed, but nothing changed, until one day a carriage arrived at the castle. Inside the carriage was a princess, and not just any princess, but a black-haired beauty with pale white skin. Her lips were as red as blood, and her eyes were as dark as her hair. Her dress was of black silk trimmed with black lace, and she wore a black veil in her hair.

The carriage and its horses were also draped in black, and the coachman, who was her only companion, was dressed – as you might guess – all in black, from head to toe. And not only did the fellow seem as though he was coming from one funeral and heading to the next, but he also looked as though he'd never smiled in all his long, decrepit life.

Conall didn't lose any time wondering where the girl was from or where she was going. He didn't ask why she was all in black, and traveling alone. And why didn't he? Because he was as sure as sure could be, that this princess was the woman he would marry.

Her name was Moya, and her father ruled a land just over the mountains. Conall asked why and how he'd never heard of such a lovely creature before this day. Usually when a princess was old enough to marry, her portrait was sent far and wide. Why hadn't Moya's portrait come?

The princess sighed before she answered. "Long ago, before any of us were born, my father made a foolish promise to a troll. In exchange for his kingdom, his queen (my mother), and many other worthless things, he owes the life of his youngest child. The time has come to pay this debt, and I am on my way to the troll's castle. I don't know whether he will marry me, or cook me and eat me for dinner, but I must go to my fate, and there is nothing to be done about it."

Once it became clear that she was the last child the queen would bear, Moya was raised quite differently from her brothers and sisters. She was utterly spoiled from morning to night, and nothing was ever denied her. She never lost her temper, never raised her voice, never stamped her pretty little foot. And why? Because she always had her way.

One day Moya asked that all the men and ladies of the court go about on hands and knees, and so they did.

One day Moya asked that the castle moat be filled with caramel pudding, and so it was.

One day Moya asked that she be sent to the henwife, so she could learn her secrets, spells, and enchantments, and so it was done.

From that day forward, Moya studied diligently with the henwife, and soon she could turn a rooster into a hen, or an egg into a pearl. She knew how to make a donkey dance on its hind legs and how to wither a crop of corn. She could turn gray hair white or white hair black. In short, she learned how to do all sorts of other useful and amusing things.

Her family grew so frightened of what the girl might do, that they were only too glad when the troll sent word that Moya's time had come.

It may be that Conall loved her because he saw that she was spoiled, just as he was. And it may be that Moya didn't love him because she saw that he was spoiled, just as she was. And yet, she smiled and was pleased when he offered the hospitality of the castle, and when he offered his arm to lead her to dinner. He invited her to tarry as long as she could, or better still, as long as she liked, while Conall would deal with the troll's unreasonable demand. He asked Moya what he could do to make her stay more pleasant, or if she had any special requirements.

A thousand impossible things came to Moya's mind, but she was not in the mood to tease. She simply asked for a maid to wait upon her: one who would draw her bath, help her dress, and arrange her hair.

When she asked this, Conall's eye fell on Breck, with his round freckled cheeks, and an idea came to him. He could see that he was making no headway with the princess; certainly she smiled at him, but no more than courtesy demanded. Conall had decided that he would go and fight the troll, while the princess waited at the castle. This would surely be enough to win Moya's hand, but while Conall was away, he didn't want his family and the court telling the princess all sorts of stories. He didn't want her to know what a lazy, mischief-making fool he was. What he needed, what he wanted, was someone to speak on his behalf. Someone who could fill Moya's mind, day and night, with Conall's virtues and spirit, and hopefully coax her into loving the spoiled, silly prince.

Unfortunately, there was no one in the entire court who could do such a job – excepting Breck. Any other man or woman in or near the palace would tell Moya the simple truth: that Prince Conall was as nice a lad as any other, and as handsome as his brothers, but he was a lazy good-for-nothing and a mountain of trouble.

So Conall asked Breck to be the maid to Princess Moya. With some borrowed clothes, and his own curly hair, Breck made a pretty little picture. Conall roared with laughter and declared, "Breck, if you weren't beneath my station, I'd marry you myself!" and he gave a hearty pinch to poor Breck's cheeks (for color) and poor Breck's bottom (for luck).

You can imagine that the princess wasn't fooled – not even a little – when Conall presented the new maid. Even if Moya hadn't overheard the two knuckleheads planning, she would have known that this was not a girl at all, and she could see from the curls and the over-abundance of freckles that this "maid" was none other than Conall's squire.

Still, she went along with the masquerade, because it suited a plan of her own.

Now that his spy was in place, Conall declared that he was off to fight and kill the troll. Moya thanked him and welcomed her new maid by offering each of them a magical gift.

To Conall she gave a bag of brown powder that smelled fouler than anything you can imagine. It had such an deadly, unending stink that you'd imagine an army of skunks and a cartload of fish had fallen together in a massive latrine and been stirred with a will and a giant spoon. Before Conall took a soul-shuddering sniff, Moya carefully instructed him on how to use the powder, and cautioned him: "Keep this bag shut up tight until you come to the troll's castle, or you might end up as a troll's dinner!"

To Breck, her pretended maid, she gave a pretty charm to wear. "This will grant you one wish – any wish," she declared, "but only if you make the wish without thinking of me."

The two men were more than excited, since Moya's gifts seemed to guarantee all that Conall desired. "Listen, Breck," he said, "With this magic powder, I'll surely get the better of the troll! All you need do is wish that Moya loves and marries me, and everything will be perfect! We'll all live happily ever after!"

When Breck laughed and agreed, Conall gave him a strange look. "I have to tell you, Breck, that those clothes suit you. They suit you very well. Why, if I didn't know you're not a girl, well..." and he ended by giving Breck another pinch on the backside, and strode off laughing.

The next morning, he was gone.

Breck had no idea what was involved in being a lady's maid, but he quickly learned. He seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time brushing the princess' hair and putting it up. At first, he pulled too hard and made a mess of it, but Moya only smiled and patiently showed him how it was done. The boy was saved by a flash of insight: "Why it's no different from currying the horses and braiding their tails!" he exclaimed, and soon he was as handy with the lady's hair as any maid-in-waiting.

Next, he had to help the princess with her clothes, which were much more elaborate than the simple things we wear nowadays. In truth, he never saw any more of the princess than before, but there were buttons to hook and ribbons to tie, clasps to close and bodices to tighten. Once again, his idea that it was "no different than caring for horses!" came to the fore, and soon he was as able and quick with the princess' appearance as any maid in the kingdom.

The rest of the castle was scandalized by these doings, but no one dared to speak a word. After all, Conall had always had his way, and if the princess didn't see, well, who were they to tell her? After several days, Princess Moya declared that she was happier with Breck than any lady's maid before her. The king and queen were both pleased and relieved to hear this, although the king had a private word with Breck. He wanted to be sure that the lad wouldn't embarrass the court.

Breck promised on his life to be the very soul of propriety.

As the two men spoke in that darkened hallway, the king gave him a strange look. "Do you know, Breck, it's an odd thing to say, but in those clothes... Harrumph! Well, let's just say that they suit you. They honestly do. Why, if I were a younger man, and didn't know you're a boy, why... I hardly know what I'd do!" He covered his embarrassment by giving Breck a loud slap on the hindquarters. Then he laughed as if it were a capital joke, and hurried off.

Moya kept Breck busy. Still, whenever Breck wasn't drawing Moya's bath, or tying Moya's shoes, or brushing her hair, or laying out her clothes for dinner, he was busy trying to use his single wish. He'd clutch the charm and wish that Conall and Princess Moya would fall deeply in love and be happily married. But try as he might, he couldn't put the princess out of his mind, and this kept the wish from working.

The princess, in her turn, was well aware of Breck's efforts, for she could hear him muttering to himself in the corner. She had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing out loud, but she had no fear of being inconvenienced by anything the boy could possibly wish. As long as she was in his mind, the wish could not come true. And since she were part of his wish, well then! the charm would only come to nothing.

In the meantime, especially while he combed her hair, Breck tried to tell her of Conall's feats and virtues. But since these were in scarce supply, he always ended by telling her of some practical joke that Conall had played. If a practical joke didn't come to mind, he'd tell the princess about tomfoolery that the prince had gotten into, and the disorder that followed, usually ending with a bit of sheer dumb luck that kept it all from ending badly for all concerned.

To Breck's chagrin, the princess didn't seem either awed or entertained by Conall's exploits. He could see that things were going in the wrong direction, but he had no idea why and no idea how to set things right. Somehow he had to convince the princess that his master was the man to marry, but how?

In the meantime, Conall had arrived in the neighborhood of the troll. He'd almost turned back several times. Almost. But not from fear, mind you — but from sheer laziness. He wondered whether he could simply pretend to have killed the troll. Would anybody really know? If he married Moya, and they went to live in a far-off kingdom, would the troll ever find them?

Yet, Conall had kept on going. It seemed like the easiest thing, after all. He was tempted several times to stop in one place or another to sleep or play or do something silly, but he didn't.

The thing was, Conall had never done anything worthwhile in his life, and he saw and felt that this was his first chance at achievement. Even if it didn't win him the hand of the black-haired princess, it would still be a great accomplishment. The king and queen would be proud. His brothers would be proud. And Breck – Breck would be the happiest and proudest of all.

He pictured Breck in the pretty maid's dress, with his curly hair and freckles. "It's a look that suits him, I declare!" the prince laughed. "If I didn't know he's not a girl, well..." and he ended the thought by throwing a rock at a hornet's nest, and had to gallop hard until he left the angry stingers behind.

The prince rode up to the troll's "castle," which was, in reality, a huge, ugly, fortified house with an enormous, thick door. The door had spikes on the outside, and the wall was high with sharp edges everywhere, and plastered with broken glass and bits of pointed metal. The prince looked it over. He trotted here and there to look for a good place to challenge the troll. He needed to find a lot of big rocks, but unfortunately there were few to be found.

Prince Conall sighed. He wasn't afraid of the troll. Since he'd never tried to *do* anything in his life, he'd never failed at anything, and had no sense of how badly things end up. On the other hand, Conall was powerfully lazy, and the idea of having to bring rocks to the troll's house seemed the greatest imposition in the world.

He turned back to a nearby farm where there were rocks aplenty, and he hired the farmer, the farmer's boys, and the farm hands, to bring two dozen of their largest rocks and stones into the field outside the troll's castle. The smallest stone weighed as much as a large man.

That done, all the men together, the prince included, managed to roll a tremendous boulder onto the farmer's cart. They hauled it to the troll's front garden, with all the men pushing, and the poor little donkey ready to burst from the effort.

At last, when they were ready to unload the boulder, the cart gave way and broke to splinters beneath the weight of it. "Don't worry," Prince Conall cried. "I'll pay you for the cart, your labor, the rocks, and all."

But as he spoke a great roar came forth from the castle, and the farmer's men nearly died of fright.

Prince Conall, on the other hand, was as cool as you please. He cut the traces and freed the donkey. Then he tossed his purse full of gold to the farmer and bid the men go.

While the troll roared and swore, and crashed within his castle, Conall sprinkled the magic dust over the rocks he'd bought from the farmer, with a special heavy sprinkling over the biggest boulder of all. He took care to shake the powder downwind of himself, so none of it got in his clothes or on his person.

Then he placed himself, with hands on hips and legs spread wide, to wait for the troll's appearance. He didn't wait long before the massive door flew open and the troll, a vision of ugliness, stepped outside.

"Who's making that racket?" He bellowed, and the ground trembled. "Who's troubling my sleep?"

Conall was about to answer, when the troll's eyes widened, and his fat flabby lips began to drool. The monster looked around him, and he sniffed the air like a dog. At last he caught the scent, and ran straight for the rocks. He lifted the smallest stone, and after licking his lips in anticipation, tossed it down his throat as if it were a peanut or tiny lump of sugar.

Oh! And then he clutched his stomach and cried out in pain, as if he'd swallowed a stone. It was hardly a surprise, because that's exactly what he had done.

Then the troll licked his lips again, and took up the next biggest stone. After sniffing it as if it were the greatest delicacy on earth, he dropped it neatly down his gullet as if it were a little boiled egg, or a tiny pastry.

And oh! he groaned and clutched himself again, and tears sprang to his eyes.

Such was Moya's magic that the monster couldn't stop himself. The powder had a smell no troll could possibly resist, so he kept at the rocks, sniffing and slobbering and swallowing with delight, then groaning and crying and swearing with pain.

At last, he worked his way to the very last boulder, the one that broke the farmer's cart, and when he sniffed that stone, ooh! he was in ecstasy. He lifted that boulder, and held it high. He licked his lips and drooled, and tried to crack his jaw open wide enough to take the boulder in. But it couldn't be done. The poor troll dropped the boulder to the ground. Prince Conall felt his feet leave the ground for a moment with the force of that blow, and he watched with amused interest as the troll fell sobbing to the ground, clutching his swollen belly. Then Conall stepped quickly forward, and without so much as a by-your-leave, drew his sword and cut the troll's head neatly off.

The farmer and his men, who had hidden nearby to witness the contest, came forth cheering and shouting. Conall welcomed them back with a modest smile.

While Prince Conall and the farmer's men explored the troll's castle and carried off its treasures, Breck was brushing out Princess Moya's lovely hair.

As usual, he was carrying on about what a wonderful man Prince Conall was, and didn't the princess admire him? Didn't she simply love him? Didn't she just wish she could marry him?

Moya had by now grown quite tired of hearing Breck's silly stories, and – a little crossly – said to the pretended maid, "If you think he's so wonderful, why don't you marry him yourself?"

"Oh, I wish I could!" Breck gushed without thinking.

The magical charm was hanging around his neck waiting for the chance to do its work. Finally (or, in other words, for the very first time), Breck had managed to make a wish without the princess in mind. His only thought was of Conall, his friend, his master, the kindest and best man he ever knew. And as he basked in the glory of his admiration, Breck began to glow. The charm was doing its work.

Meanwhile, back at the troll's castle, Conall and the farmer's men were feasting on the troll's cattle and mead. The women from the farm had come, and there was dancing and singing, and it was a fine time they had indeed.

After the dancing was done, the farm folk begged Conall to tell his story, for they saw him sitting, poking the fire with his foot, and dreaming. They asked him why he'd come to slay the troll, and how he came by the magic powder, and was there a lady waiting for him back at home?

"A lady...," he repeated and again he got that dreamy look. He tried to picture the lovely Moya, but instead his silly friend Breck came walking into the light of his mind's eye, smiling and giving a clumsy yet adorable curtsy. Conall laughed, and taking yet another drink he said aloud, "It suits you, I tell you! It suits you like a... it suits you like a... like a..."

I'm sorry to say that no one ever knew what it suited like, for Conall dropped into a deep, snoring slumber. He was tired from his travel, from hauling rocks, from the excitement of the day. The drink and the meat made him heavy, so he slept. The farm folk laughed kindly, rolled him in a blanket and set him gently on a pile of hay.

The sun was passing noon when Conall finally woke, and a few of the farm folk were still there, waiting on his pleasure. They cooked him breakfast, and they loaded a cart with the best of the troll's treasure along with the troll's awful head. They saddled his horse and gave him provisions for the journey.

As Conall rode off, the men cheered, the women threw flowers, and the children ran alongside him as far as they could.

He felt like a hero... a hero with a headache, but a hero nonetheless, and he said to himself, "It's a fine life, isn't it?"

It was a very different Conall who rode back home. He was pleased that everything had gone so well. He was tired in a way that he'd never felt before: the tiredness that comes with honest effort and physical work, and it was good. And even to himself he *did* seem heroic and accomplished... at least, a little. Yet, as foolish as he was, he couldn't fool himself that far: he couldn't pretend that he'd killed the troll himself. After all, the monster was lying on the ground, scarcely able to move, when he cut off its head. It wasn't as though they fought.

And so, he quietly entered his father's castle. After he'd bathed and dressed himself, he went to join the king and queen at dinner.

Before the company went in to dine, Conall greeted Moya courteously. She asked him, "Did you slay the troll, sir? Have you set me free?"

"You are certainly free, my lady," he replied. "I cut the thing's head off..."

He was interrupted by murmurs of surprise and approval, and the king began harrumphing, but Conall quieted them all.

"Princess Moya," he continued, "I was about to say, I could hardly have accomplished it without the great help you gave me."

"No one can say that," she said with a smile. "I most certainly will not. What counts is that you are the man who did the deed."

There was great excitement at the table, and everyone wanted to hear how it was done. Conall told it briefly, since it was not a long tale to tell. Many questions were asked and answered, over and over. Even Princess Moya was more excited and pleased than she expected to be, and she wondered for a moment whether she might like to marry the prince... but no. As gallant as he had been, he was not the man for her.

In any case, it was plain to see that *his* heart was elsewhere. Except when she spoke, and sometimes not even then, Conall didn't look at the dark-haired princess. He kept drifting into a daydream, and his table companions kept calling him back.

His mother the queen asked him which lady he was dreaming of, and Conall blushed.

At that, his father the king chortled and said, "Ah, Conall! In all the excitement I nearly forgot! You'll see a great change in your friend Breck! A great change indeed!"

There was general hilarity at this, but no one would explain it.

At last the meal was ended, and Moya put her hand on his arm. "I'm sincerely in your debt," she told him, "and I owe you more than thanks." Then she smiled. "And thank you for the maid that you provided. Breck was the best and most entertaining lady's maid I've ever encountered." She smiled again, that bewitching smile, but Conall was all alarm. Had Breck betrayed himself? What foolishness had he gotten to while Conall was away?

"Go," the princess urged, and Conall left.

He didn't find Breck in any of the usual places: the stable, the squire's room, Conall's room, the kitchen. He searched without finding, but did not give up. At last, in a dark, disused tower he found a pretty maid sitting on a stair, crying softly with her face in her hands.

Conall was a kind man, and wondered what was wrong. Before he spoke to the girl, he noticed how the moonlight fell on her soft white neck and shoulder, and marveled at the way the silver light played on her golden curls. She was several steps above him, and he admired her pretty little feet in their blue slippers, and the smooth curve of her breasts – at least, what showed above her bodice. If she was only a maid, still she was as lovely as any lady of the court.

"Maiden?" he said in a gentle voice. "Has someone done you wrong? Are you in need of help?"

The girl looked up, startled, then cried out, "Conall! Master!"

Although Breck's pale skin was liberally sprinkled with freckles, her face was as lovely as the rest of her. And even if that face had changed from round to petite, and even if her lashes were long, and her eyes luminous, her nose (once as big as a turnip!) was now small and delicate, and her mouth soft and kissable — still, it was Breck, as sure as ever!

Conall sat down next to her, and heard her tale. The good prince listened and laughed, and somewhere along the way he took her hands into his own. As she talked, he examined her face to see how changed it was. He held out her arm to see how slim and soft and white it had become. He looked at her hands, and her ankles, and marveled. He touched her face and was amazed at how smooth and fresh her skin felt.

At last, the girl came to the part of her story when she'd made her wish. Blushing furiously, she claimed she couldn't quite remember how it had happened.

Conall wheedled and teased, and gave her waist a few playful squeezes to jog her memory, but it did no good. After a while, he managed to get Princess Moya's words out of her: If you think he's so wonderful, why don't you marry him yourself?

Conall clicked his tongue. "Ah," said he. "*That* was the wish, then."

The poor little maid, mortified with embarrassment, looked down and dared not say a word.

Conall put his hand under her chin and lifted her lovely face. Looking into her large brown eyes, he said, "It's my wish as well, my dear. Shall we make our wish come true?"

And the two of them kissed, long and well, in the moonlight, on the stair.

© 2007 by Kaleigh Way