2. Wings of Her Own
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Original Story: "Thumbelina" by Hans Christian Andersen

Link to original: https://andersen.sdu.dk/vaerk/hersholt/Thumbelina_e.html

Adaptation Author: Queenfisher

Find the author here on Scribble Hub: https://www.scribblehub.com/profile/29665/queenfisher/

And here on Scribble Hub Forums: https://forum.scribblehub.com/members/queenfisher.29584/

Content Warnings:

Spoiler

Themes of confinement and loss of freedom. Attempted coersion into a forced marriage.

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The fieldmouse didn't notice many things about Thumbelina: that the girl didn't care about gossip, that she didn't grow animated at a mention of prestige or wealth, that she accepted all too easily any offer and suggestion others made.

And by this habit, the fieldmouse hadn't noticed when Thumbelina lingered in the farthest corner of the back tunnels of their home.

"...and when the spring comes, what else is there to do but to marry? To waste your spring, your summer, and bountiful autumn on being alone?" the fieldmouse prattled on while she checked her preserves under the piles of old leaves. Only a faint echo of her voice reached Thumbelina. "I did that and let me tell you, dear -- not worth it."

Thumbelina crouched before a dark shadow that lay crumpled on the ground. Only a trickle of the early evening moonlight came through the cracked surface on the ground above them, limning out a shape.

A fragile shape of the great wings of silky black, something pale and pitiful hidden underneath them.

Thumbelina tilted her head. Her slender gold-tinged fingers brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She leaned closer to the broken creature she'd found.

Pensive, her eyes followed the sinuous lines of the wings to the frail white hand that peeked from beneath the black feathers. Everything so lifeless and already blueing with cold. From the crack in the ground overhead, a tender flurry of snowflakes swirled down, landing on the dark feathers and white skin.

They didn't even melt upon the touch, so cold the fallen creature was.

"You're being quiet because you disagree, I know," the fieldmouse went on with a sigh. "But that's only because you're naive. With age, you'll learn the only thing that really matters: safety. Assurance. Comfort."

Thumbelina hummed. "What is this creature?"

"Tsk, not listening to me again. What an airhead," the fieldmouse grumbled, coming through. "Lemme see."

The fieldmouse looked like a very cute, plump old lady to Thumbelina's eyes, in her little apron and the fancy dress with blue polka dots. Especially when she held her fists on her hips as she did now.

Thumbelina always saw the creatures of the forest as she did herself -- as people. But the fieldmouse often told her that it was her naivety as well.

It had always been very clear to the fieldmouse that she was a different species from Lord Mole, or from Queen Toad, or from Baron Maybug. She could tell at a glance who was who in the wilds and taught this wisdom to Thumbelina as well.

Futilely, of course.

It took the fieldmouse only a few seconds to decide.

"It's a swallow. A bird. I wonder if she crashed here from that little leak in the cellar roof, hmm?" The fieldmouse gave the decrepit corner of the tunnel a glare but didn't go to check because the swallow blocked the way. "Leave it. Either dead or dying -- no need to disturb it."

"But the cellar is so cold," Thumbelina began, confused. "And if she's not dead yet, then we can take care of her. And then live all three of us here?"

The fieldmouse took her by the hand because Thumbelina's focus tended to scatter and one always had to remind her where the important things were and how they differed from the irrelevant chaff.

Like right now.

"Honey. One more mouth to feed? What luxury! And one we cannot afford. The winter is harsh and long and the gentle seasons are far away."

Thumbelina started arguing, but the fieldmouse already expected it.

"Winter is cruel if you don't take it seriously. This bird could have flown anywhere to a warmer place and be as free as she wanted. It's her choice and her fault she ended up here. For small wingless creatures like ourselves, what's most important? Do you remember?"

Thumbelina knew what she had to say.

"Keeping myself warm and safe because no one else will."

"Good. Good girl. Brrr, but it is so cold in here. Let's get some hot chocolate, and quickly! Come on, come on."

...

And yet, that image of the silky black feathers and of the pale, frigid skin in the moonlit snow. So sad... and so beautiful.

Thumbelina just couldn't get it out of her mind.

 

#

 

It's been three days since Thumbelina met the little bird, and not an hour passed without Thumbelina thinking about her. The very first night after Thumbelina and the fieldmouse had drunk their hot chocolate and went to sleep, Thumbelina lay in her bed filled with goose down, under a fluffy fleece blanket.

The fire was smoldering in the main room, bringing sudden flights of embers in the air and puffing warmth through the rooms.

Thumbelina lay and all she could think of was that eerie blueing hue that spread over the swallow's pale skin. She burrowed her nose deeper in her blanket, wanting to cast her doubts aside and curl into cozy sleep.

But instead, she ripped the blanket off and sat up.

Her bare feet found her ill-fitting wooden clogs on the floor. Thumbelina got to her feet. She tiptoed through the rooms, her fleece blanket over her shoulders, then went down into the cellar.

She would only fluff out some dry leaves around the freezing little bird. Such a small kindness wouldn't take anything from Thumbelina or the fieldmouse. She wouldn't even need to do anything more than that.

Right?

Yet even when the leaf piles were tucked high around the pitiful bird, Thumbelina still didn't feel satisfied. Since she was already here, and the blanket was awfully warm and awfully big for just one of her -- why not share? After all, what did it matter to the fieldmouse where Thumbelina slept as long as she was safe, and warm, and comfortable?

And lying here alongside the strange cold girl with black wings was oddly comforting. In a mystified, wistful way.

Thumbelina hugged the swallow over her back and cuddled closer within their shared blanket. And though the bird did not wake up that first day, or the second, or even the third -- Thumbelina still made sure to share her warmth with her every night after the fieldmouse had gone to sleep.

During the day, she would amass leaf piles around the swallow to keep her warm and would carry the bigger half of her thick broth meal to try and share some with the swallow.

It rarely worked well because the bird was unconscious. But Thumbelina still managed, pinching the girl's nose so that she has to gulp down whatever was in her mouth.

Thus, the bird girl's body was healing without realizing it did.

On the third night, Thumbelina climbed out of her fluffy blanket cocoon to try and fix the leaky roof in the cellar once and for all. The hole in the ceiling was just too big. Tonight was dreary, and the blizzard's wind gusts cut through the cellar bringing flurries of sleet in.

The swallow girl shivered even in her sleep no matter how thick their blanket was and no matter how tightly Thumbelina held her to preserve the warmth.

Not good at all.

Thumbelina grabbed some old crates to stand on top of while she stuffed straw in the ceiling's gap. But just when she shut more than half of it, somebody's icy fingers tapped her lightly on her naked ankle.

It took all of her will to not shriek and wake up the fieldmouse.

Rigidly, Thumbelina turned to see a wan face peering up at her from the floor. Eyes huge and velvety-black, nose just a bit blue at the tip from the cold, but cheeks -- fever-red.

The girl's eyes swooped to the ceiling Thumbelina was fixing.

"Don't," the girl said hollowly. As though from dizziness, she closed her eyes and fumbled back inside the blanket. "Don't close it, please," she whispered.

"B-but the cold!"

Thumbelina still jumped off the crate and tugged at the blanket to see the girl's face again.

The girl squeezed open only one eye. Her whole frame shook as she cuddled deeper within the warmth, and her enormous black wings curled around her like just another layer of a blanket.

"We'll freeze if I leave it open," Thumbelina told her, gentler.

"I'll die if you close it entirely," the girl murmured. Just a sliver of her forehead and one eye peeked from within the blanket fluff, but there was so much graveness and resignation in her gaze, Thumbelina believed her completely.

But it still didn't stop her from asking why.

She ran up to the house and brought back the last of beets and potatoes baked in the hearth ash. She gave the small bowl to the woken-up girl and poured the leftover hot milk in a tin mug.

The swallow spent all the time in silence as she struggled to chew and gulp down the food that must have felt too big for her mouth and throat with how huge the chunks she bit off were. But she was ravenously hungry and couldn't restrain herself, and choked many times during her meal.

Thumbelina cocked her head to the side to observe the poor thing. But this subtle motion didn't escape the swallow girl's notice.

The girl paused in the middle of chewing and stared at Thumbelina with wide eyes.

For a few heartbeats, all they did was gawk at each other. Then, pleased to have finally interacted with the mysterious bird, Thumbelina smiled. Why shouldn't she?

The girl was very sweet, yet clearly scared. Maybe if Thumbelina smiled, the girl wouldn't be so scared anymore?

"Do you like cold?" Thumbelina asked, curious. "Will you die if you're not cold enough?"

The swallow girl was still watching Thumbelina with her enormous, frightened eyes. But at least she finished chewing her food now that she needed to reply.

"No. I just don't like it here," she rasped, giving the cellar a hesitant glance.

"Mmm?" Thumbelina also studied the cellar. "It's warm and cozy and safe. What do you mean, you don't like it?"

When she turned, the other girl's gaze already fluttered back to the ceiling and the thin sliver of whitish starlight that came in with the blizzard gusts.

"It's underground," was all the girl answered. She trailed her eyes back to Thumbelina, sweeping down Thumbelina's frail limbs and over her gold-freckled, sunny face. "What are you?"

"I'm Thumbelina! And you're a swallow bird, right?"

"Martine," the girl murmured blearily.

Ah! Got it! Thumbelina nodded with a profound hum. "So the fieldmouse was wrong. She thought you were a swallow and that you're not meant to survive in here. I think that's the first time she'd ever been wrong about something."

"I am a swallow bird, but my name is Martine," Martine said after a bout of confused silence. She studied Thumbelina in a more relaxed manner now. Amused rather than suspicious. "And the fieldmouse was actually right. Swallows are not supposed to survive under the ground in winter, yet I did..." Her eyelashes were so long, they cast somber shadows over her pale cheeks, only highlighting her grave tone. "Because of you."

"Well, yeah." Thumbelina snatched the empty bowl and mug out of Martine's hands and put them away. She stuck her freezing ankles under the blanket Martine was in, then slowly wormed the rest of her body there as well. If Martine minded that, she never showed it.

But she did look at Thumbelina askew with a very long and impressed mien on her face.

"Which only proves that the fieldmouse was wrong after all," Thumbelina ended once she was safe and warm beside Martine in their blanket. She spread her toes within the fluff and wiggled them. "Although I think that's only because I'm messing everything up like she says I always do. So if I stuff the straw into that ceiling gap and close it, will you really die? Or do you just say that because you want me to do like you say regardless of how it actually is?"

Martine did not respond. At first, Thumbelina decided that the girl did not like talking at all.

Ah, how wrong she was.

 

#

 

Thumbelina thought it was weird. Martine was such a somber and suspicious girl. How could this same girl speak so much that even Thumbelina's head went round?

Maybe it was because Martine had been horrified of her in those first few hours they had spent together? Either way, once the initial hesitation had worn off, Martine rarely stopped talking.

She did it differently from Thumbelina, though. Thumbelina spoke on random subjects, whenever the fancy struck her. Wonderings, sudden musings about life, observations about curiosities. Or the fieldmouse's wisdoms Thumbelina loved repeating.

But Martine spoke mainly in whispers and always while looking up at the ceiling, her eyes open wide as though yearning to see through the earthen obstacle above.

"In the land of the King of Elves," she would begin one time or another, "it is always summer and it's always warm. Nobody has to hide to keep themselves from the cold. Nobody has to trap themselves under the ground and nobody is afraid of the harsher times, so they share everything they have with others freely."

"Like I do with my blanket and you," Thumbelina would say suddenly, and Martine would nod.

"Because you are not from the underground," Martine told her one day. "You're from the above. Like me."

Mmm? Funny.

"I do not have these," Thumbelina said, nodding at Martine's wings that were growing healthier and silkier with each day. "So according to the fieldmouse, I am more like her and have to keep to the ground. After all, the world is a cruel place for small creatures of the forest. Even when it's warm outside and sunny, we'll still get trampled, or eaten, or abused if we're not careful."

Martine was now almost recovered. Her wounded wing still wouldn't straighten fully, but she could move on her own and could even stand up and peek her nose into the gap in the ceiling to see the outside.

She sat up, spreading her wings behind her like a beautiful, darkly-shimmering cape.

"Nonsense," Martine said. "That you're small and wingless doesn't mean you're meant to be under the ground. It just means that you can be here, too. But there are other places. You could go to any of them as well and stay there instead. What if they fit you better?"

"Like where?"

Martine smiled. "Like Summerland. The King of the Elves there is the most magnificent person in the world. I really wish you met him just once. You'd love him immediately."

"I would?" Thumbelina did find the notion intriguing. "How do I meet him, then? Will you take me there?"

And most of the early days of their secret friendship, Martine smiled and nodded. "I will."

The idea that something so wondrous awaited her once Martine healed and could fly filled Thumbelina's days and nights with a giddy flutter in her chest, making her hum under her nose as she helped the fieldmouse with the chores or skipping when she wandered outside the house to pick up firewood and spy on the hares and deer mucking in the snow.

She even broke out in dance at times, to the fieldmouse's amusement -- and to Martine's shock.

"Did something nice happen?" Martine asked her one day when the two of them had ventured out of the hole in the cellar ceiling and crept out into the frail snow. "Some good news?"

Thumbelina had given Martine her blanket to wear as a coat while she pranced around the underbrush in her mere day dress. She wasn't very afraid of the cold, and besides, if she got cold -- she could snuggle up beside Martine and warm herself up in no time.

Their blanket was just big enough for the two of them.

The swirling snowflakes were more of a petal dance in the spring breeze than actual snowfall. Thumbelina cupped her hands above her head and twirled, catching the snowflakes only rarely, but grinning each time she did.

To Martine's question, she said, "Of course, silly! You're taking me to see the King of Elves come spring! How can I not dance?"

Twigs and dead leaves hidden under the snow crunched under Martine's boots as she neared. A huge chunk of the blanket covered her head like a hood, the rest of it bulky because of the wings on her back. That gave Martine a cute look of a disgruntled, fluffed-out bird on a branch, especially when Thumbelina looked down to where Martine's thin legs peeked from under the blanket.

The expression on Martine's face had lately been so proud and dreamy whenever they talked about escaping the ground and going somewhere else. They'd been doing that a lot -- Thumbelina saying all kinds of ridiculous, over-the-top nonsense about the foreign lands she imagined or mystical kingdoms she'd once read about.

Martine nodded along to them all.

And so she did to the dancing.

"I wish there was music like what the fairies and elves play," Martine drawled and closed her eyes. She didn't dare to twirl, but she swayed, raising her face to the skies, letting the snow kiss her cheeks.

The sight was so mesmerizing that Thumbelina leaned over to see how the snowflakes never melted on Martine's eyelashes. She smiled at the bird girl and even felt a subtle heat creep up her chest and face when Martine reciprocated her gaze.

"And I will teach you all the elvish dances," Martine said, taking both Thumbelina's hands in hers and drawing her into a very slow, solemn step-around. Thumbelina let herself be guided, dissolving into the subtle motion.

"Not if I teach you mouse dances first!" Thumbelina suddenly cried out, toppling Martine and cuddling with her on the cold, wet ground.

Her giggles chimed loudly, yet Martine's were quiet. More importantly, Martine didn't seem to be into wrestling. She accepted being toppled and simply lay beneath Thumbelina, slowly furling her inside their big, warm blanket.

"Just you wait. It's only a little bit longer, and you and I will fly away to live with the elves. Forever."

Thumbelina was trying to tickle Martine under the blanket. But she stopped, confused.

"Forever? But what about the fieldmouse or Lord Mole? I like them. They're nice to me. I wouldn't want to leave them forever."

Martine's eyelashes fluttered open. "What do you mean?" She frowned. "The fieldmouse trapped you under the ground and makes you marry Lord Mole. And you don't even know him or enjoy his company..."

Thumbelina cocked her head to the side. Huh.

She did blabber to Martine a lot about her life and the future plans the fieldmouse had prepared for her. But Martine had usually kept quiet about those things, so Thumbelina had assumed she didn't care.

Turned out, she cared... but in such a bizarre way.

"The fieldmouse didn't trap me," Thumbelina said, lost. "I am a wingless creature. What else am I supposed to do with my life other than seek comfort and warmth? The fieldmouse isn't eternal. Lord Mole can keep me company and give me comfort and warmth as well. How is that different from the life I live now? At least they've told me how it should be. Baron Maybug and Queen Toad had just kidnapped me instead..."

Martine's frown deepened. "Yeah, but Lord Mole and the fieldmouse still didn't give you any choice!"

Thumbelina rose to her knees, a bit sad that she'd made Martine so upset. "They care about me. And I have many choices. I'm dancing and rolling in the snow with you. You and I will fly to see the King of the Elves one day soon, and we'll dance there, too. And then you will maybe take me back here to check on the fieldmouse and Lord Mole... See? Many choices."

But Martine now seemed frightened. "You would... return from the Summerland -- to here? You would want to go back?"

"Mmmm. I don't know," Thumbelina said honestly. "I haven't been there yet. And also -- Summerland seems nice, but you can only get there and back again if you are a winged creature. And I'm not." She beamed at Martine, wanting to take her by the hands and draw her back into dancing. "If I go with you, you will be just like the fieldmouse for me there! You'll tell me what to do and where we can go, and I don't mind that at all. But I also don't mind the fieldmouse. She is very wise. Why wouldn't I want to go back and hang out with her after we fly away?"

"I only want the best for you, and this hole in the ground doesn't seem like it," Martine said, a bit harshly.

Which baffled Thumbelina.

She smiled. "You sound exactly like the fieldmouse, too! Only she would say this about anything that's not the hole in the ground. So thank you. It's nice when others care about me and what's best for me so much."

"Stop it," Martine said suddenly, pulling her hands out of Thumbelina's grasp. "What are you doing? Are you mocking me? Or the fieldmouse?"

"Uh? I'm dancing..." Thumbelina blinked, miserable. "And why would I mock anyone so kind to me?"

But Martine already turned aside, her small pearly teeth biting hard into her lower lip.

It was an odd afternoon and evening. Martine kept very quiet through it and almost didn't eat. She threw long, worried glances at Thumbelina well into the snowy dusk. When Thumbelina wished her good night in their warm, dark cellar, Martine didn't reply at first.

When she did, it wasn't anything like a "night-night" back.

"Had anyone ever given you a valid choice in your life?" Martine's voice was hollow. "Or had people always decided for you and you just... accepted that?"

Thumbelina gaped, pouting. "Well, of course no!"

But it was clear Martine didn't believe her. "Do you even want to go with me to Summerland? Or do you just agree because I'm the one with wings and that's where I want to go?"

What an amusing question. Thumbelina pondered it through, unable to answer outright. But somehow, Martine took her thinking for an answer.

She dropped her gaze to where her and Thumbelina's hands lay almost touching on the blanket. Slowly, Martine drew her hand back and inside the blanket, then curled in deeper herself.

"Good night, Thumbelina."

 

#

 

Then one day, without any warning, Martine was leaving.

Thumbelina had prepared for another cozy evening of bead-stringing that she and the swallow bird did together to while away time. She and Martine had gotten inside their blanket as usual, the aroma of hot chocolate wafting through the cellar from their half-empty mugs, the flickering glow of their small lamp beside them, the thin trickle of snow and cold wind seeping in from the above.

Thumbelina was talking about something no-doubt dull and too random for Martine's preferences -- about sleeping butterflies she'd found in the cupboard, or about the fieldmouse's spilled milk today. Martine did not interrupt, but neither she looked like she even listened.

Thumbelina asked her about that and Martine answered.

"Of course I listen." Her voice sounded annoyed. "Why would you think otherwise?"

"Ah, the fieldmouse says everything that comes out of my mouth is nonsense," Thumbelina sighed, clinking her beads together. "And nobody would ever really listen. Not that I mind! It's just for fun, talking."

"It is nonsense," Martine agreed after a moment, then added much lower, "and I still listen to it."

"Aww."

As she was all too comfortable doing lately, Thumbelina leaned her head on Martine's shoulder and giggled when Martine's small feathers that began at the nape of her neck tickled Thumbelina's ear. Martine turned to glance at her and Thumbelina looked back, delighted to share such a nice, genuine moment with her.

Martine had grown so healthy and strong already. She could fly any day now. Yet somehow, she also looked sadder than before. As though still sick even if nothing was wrong with her health or body -- and Thumbelina checked every day to make sure!

In an attempt to dispel the bird's sadness, Thumbelina drew her face in closer to Martine's and reached out with her lips to the girl's cool cheek. The kiss was tender, almost fleeting.

But Martine still stiffened underneath it, breath held.

Suddenly, Martine's eyes flicked aside. Her long lashes quivered. "I'm flying away, Thumbelina."

"Yes, I know. You seem very healthy, so we can probably leave very soon."

Martine shook her head. "Tonight. I'm leaving tonight. And I'm leaving alone."

And as though she only needed to have said this to finally make a decision, Martine dropped her half-strung beads, gently drew away from Thumbelina's hug, and rose to her feet.

Thumbelina watched, frozen. "...huh? But you and I decided to fly together... didn't we? To Summerland, to see the King of the Elves and then--"

Martine stepped over their blanket, head raised to the gap in the ceiling, covered up with straw like the flimsiest door in the world.

"decided. You never actually made the decision." She glanced back, and in the faint glow of the lamp on the floor, Martine's pale face and dark features looked almost alien to Thumbelina.

Alien and distant.

And cruel.

Thumbelina rose on her knees, clutching the blanket around herself. "I can make the decision now. I want to go! It sounds fun!"

"Just like living under the ground is fun? Or being married to Lord Mole? Or being trapped as long as you don't mind it?" Martine averted her eyes. "We are very different, Thumbelina. For me, the lack of freedom is death. For you -- it's just the way you are. A wingless creature."

Well, yeah. Hadn't Thumbelina told that to Martine many times over?

Did Martine realize it just now? How odd.

"Coming with me is a whim for you, but a great choice for me. After all, if I take you -- I'll keep you in the sky with me like the fieldmouse keeps you under the ground -- because without me, you won't survive there. For a wingless creature, the sky is just another trap."

Thumbelina listened, unable to comprehend.

"And I would never do that to you," Martine ended, shuddering.

Then, without so much as looking back, she stepped up to the ceiling gap and pushed all the straw aside like opening a door. The door breathed with cold and sleet at her, but Martine didn't care. She climbed up and slipped through the gap, slick and swift as only she could be.

Thumbelina heard a thunderous snap of her great wings spreading. Deep inside, Thumbelina's little heart was thumping so loudly, she at first mistook the flapping of wings for her hastened heartbeat... but then, that desperate heartbeat started fading away above the ground -- and Thumbelina knew.

This was it.

Martine had just flown away. Only Thumbelina's own pained pulse sounded now in her ears, so lonely and lost. And gradually -- so cold, too.

The hole in the ceiling gashed ajar, letting all the snow and the winds in, and Thumbelina's thick, warm blanket could no longer keep the cold away. Even though nothing about the blanket had really changed.

 

#

 

The day of the wedding was the first truly warm and sunny glimpse after the weary lingering chill. Thumbelina felt overjoyed to see the sun rays pooling on her lap as she let the fieldmouse braid ribbons and beads in her hair. She dangled her feet and played with the dapples that sprinkled her skin.

"Ah, you are so, so naive, my child," the fieldmouse told her later as she led Thumbelina down the small aisle of first lilies-of-the-valley and mouse hyacinths peeking in from the recently-thawed ground. The fieldmouse's warm hand patted Thumbelina's arm, the old lady's smile almost sad. "I hope you will be just as sweet and happy under the ground, never to come up again."

Mmm?

Thumbelina raised her eyebrows, thinking she misheard. "Never to come up...?"

"Moles aren't meant for the world above the ground," the fieldmouse explained. "Sunlight blinds and burns them. If you become Lady Mole, that's what you would have to do. Stay down below, safe and cozy and cared for. And happy because of that, I hope."

Thumbelina frowned just a little.

She did not mean to get upset at the idea, but... never to come up again?

"Can't I just stay with you instead?" she whispered into her flower bouquet. "You let me be under the ground and to go out as well... I like that much more."

But the fieldmouse was shaking her head, sighing. "I'm old, and I won't be able to bring us food very soon, dear. Without me, we both die. Now, at least you'll survive because Lord Mole has a lot of food saved up. You'll see."

Oh. So it was like that.

Thumbelina understood. She was no fieldmouse, of course. She could not scavenge for food in the fields or in the human houses without being caught or eaten. Unlike the fieldmouse, Thumbelina could not run as fast, could not dig into the ground, could not jump as high.

Exactly as Martine had told her. Someone always had to care for her and thus, to choose many, many things for her. Alone, Thumbelina was not meant for the life in the wilds.

Now this someone would be Lord Mole.

Big difference.

Yet somehow... it was a big difference.

Further away, where Lord Mole's grand underground house began, there pooled shadows under the hazelnut trees. In those shadows, he stood, himself. An imposing, royal-looking figure, subtly inclined toward Thumbelina and the fieldmouse as though to greet them. A perfect image of someone very dependable and very trustworthy.

But also of someone who Thumbelina would have to spend the rest of her life with. Simply because she had no other choice...

"What a lovely day to marry," Lord Mole said, both uncomfortable and nervous. He rubbed his hands, nodding at the stretch of sunlight in which Thumbelina stood. "Now, dear. Please come over. Let me take care of you."

Uninvited, tears prickled Thumbelina's eyes and the fieldmouse hugged her. "Hush, hush, child!" she whispered. "Do not cry, or I will start crying, too! Lord Mole is kind and is the best choice you can hope for."

A sudden gust of wind huffed at Thumbelina and the fieldmouse from the side. Like a small storm, unexpected yet so fresh, so exciting.

Where they stood, the grass and flowers bent, fluttering from the flapping of powerful wings.

A beautiful bird girl was descending amidst the sun rays, her silhouette so stark against the clear, blue sky.

...

Thumbelina glanced up, blurry-eyed.

"Lord Mole is not the only choice she has, though," Martine said, her voice tinged with unexpected turmoil.

The fieldmouse blinked in a stupor while Thumbelina could only gape at the wind-kissed beauty before her.

She had never seen Martine fully-recovered and in her element. Feathers as black and silky as her hair, her wings spread wide behind her. A white dress on her lithe body with just the thinnest bright splash of a red ribbon around her neck.

And those eyes. Huge and dark and scared.

But also smiling, somewhere deep down as if in hope. Last, Thumbelina saw Martine's outstretched hand toward her like an invitation.

Yet unlike Lord Mole, Martine did not speak a word. She only offered her hand.

Perhaps, hoping that Thumbelina would make a choice on her own, without being told.

"Who are you?" the fieldmouse blurted, fists on her hips. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Thumbelina," Lord Mole echoed, sounding worried. "Miss Fieldmouse, please hurry and lead Thumbelina to safety! Being outside in such brisk weather in her thin clothes is unhealthy, ah!"

Thumbelina did wear very thin clothes. Because she liked them like this. Spidersilky, almost sheer, very, very light like dandelion fluff. She always wanted to wear lovely things, but right this moment, she found herself so happy she did so today.

Because now Martine could see her in something so lovely, too.

"Do you like my dress?" Thumbelina asked her, beaming as she reached for Martine's hand.

Martine's eyes barely suppressed a roll. "Of course I do," she said.

Her fingers curled around Thumbelina's the moment their hands touched.

And just like that -- to the fieldmouse's dumbfounded cries, to Lord Mole's stricken gasp, to the sunlight's mad kaleidoscope of rays all around them -- Martine drew Thumbelina into her embrace. Her wings snapped far and wide, a powerful gust of air teasing her and Thumbelina's hair together. Then she sprang up -- with Thumbelina in her arms.

And they flew.

A dizzying, breath-stealing motion. Thumbelina was so awash with a strange awe, she squeezed her eyes shut and let Martine carry her on and on -- whether they would ever stop. Or not.

Nothing she cared about at the moment.

Martine's pulse quickened in her throat where Thumbelina's ear lay. Even the wind's mad whistling past them could not drown this hushed noise out of Thumbelina's hearing.

"I'm not doing it because I choose this for you," Martine told her eventually. "In fact, I want you to be able to choose for yourself. But for now, you cannot. That... breaks my heart."

Thumbelina made a face, grinning. "Silly."

"You silly!" Martine exploded. "You think this is all good and grand and right that you now depend on me so completely? Exchanged a Mole for a Swallow and thinks that's somehow better. Pffff."

"No. You're silly because you think I've never made my free choices," Thumbelina murmured into Martine's frail collarbones. "You were one. When you were lying in that cellar, dying from the cold. And later, every day and night that I came back to you to warm you up even after you got better." Thumbelina smiled to herself. "The biggest and most important choices I've ever made. How can you not see that, silly?"

"Tsk."

Thumbelina didn't even notice when the two of them alighted somewhere. She also barely noted the fact that the air was no longer crispy around them, or that the sun had a burnished quality of summer to it, and that the fragrance of myriads of flowers wafted in the balmy breeze. All she cared for was Martine's face, and the displeasure written on it.

Martine pushed a finger into Thumbelina's chest, gently shoving her away.

"Go," Martine said, nodding behind Thumbelina.

Go?

Where?

Why?

Thumbelina glanced behind her to find a meadow full of shimmering lights and flowers assembling something like a palace in the air. Small creatures quite like Thumbelina herself shot to and fro in the distance, disrupting petal blossoms falling from the orchard nearby. Birds were singing in the hidden branches and the purl of water in the creek somewhere close added to the melody. All in all -- the atmosphere of an amazing, fairytale place.

The Summerland.

And those winged creatures zooming by and giggling when they saw Thumbelina and Martine -- must be the elves.

"Go," Martine repeated, lower. "The King is waiting for you in his Palace. Go and meet him. Like I promised you would."

Thumbelina wasn't hurrying, though.

She hadn't even let Martine's hand out of her fingers yet. Even though she saw -- Martine tried to free herself all this time.

"Why?" she asked. "Why would I care about the King of the Elves? Can't I just be with you... here... or anywhere else, for that matter?"

"No, you can't. I travel where only I want to go. Why would I take you with me everywhere? You might not like what I like. Should I force you, then? Or, I would hate to ever go back and bring you to see the fieldmouse like you want. You're free to make your own choices." Her tone grew milder, almost murmuring as she leaned to caress Thumbelina's stray hair and sweep it behind her ear for her. "I can't bear the idea that I would enforce mine on you as everyone else has done."

"And yet -- you force me to go to the King of the Elves as though... you wish to get rid of me!"

...

Martine's eyes opened wider.

Her lips cracked in a disbelieving smile. "The King of the Elves can give creatures like you wings, Thumbelina. Wings. Of your own. To be free and go wherever you want. For as long as you wish, as all winged creatures do."

Her hands were still nudging Thumbelina to go, but this time it didn't feel quite as harsh.

Because Martine was smiling. And because she didn't look at all like she would leave while Thumbelina wasn't looking.

In fact, she rather looked as though she would stay. Right here. And wait -- for all the time it would take Thumbelina to go and get her wings in the Flower Palace and come back to her.

And really... now Thumbelina didn't mind going.

Not at all.

Wicked, Martine gave Thumbelina one of her most pleased smirks and whispered,

"So who's the silly one now, huh?"

 

From Queenfisher:

Thank for you reading this story!

The idea for it came for me because I have always wondered if the "happy" ending of original Thumbelina story was not that drastically different from how all of Thumbelina's previous "romantic failures" went -- with the Toad, or the May Bug, or with the Mole. At the end of the story, like every single time before, Thumbelina simply gets taken away to her next potential bridesgroom. Unlike the others, he (the King of the Elves) is hot, of course, so she doesn't mind marrying him (yay, true love based on partner's hotness!). But it still irked me that her agency had always been taken away from her and given to other people and that nothing significantly changed about that at the end.

I wanted to explore that, and through the character in the story who is in love with freedom and would die without it -- the Swallow Bird. After all, it was the Swallow Bird who spent months with Thumbelina under the ground and then took Thumbelina away from her (another) failed wedding. Not the King of the Elves! Thus she should be featured much more in Thumbelina's "real" happy ending, as I see it ^^.

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