The Ugliest Mermaid in Altenie

"Every good man a better mother bred."

Perhaps, Reader, you have heard this phrase before. It is a phrase which originated long before Theeran history books were written. It is a phrase which relays an entire story in very few words, as are most common phrases. But this story is unique to the sea. And today, I will disclose the story to you, that you may tell it to your children, and to your children's children, and if the Ruler bless you, to their children after that.

And now, my tale.

The ugliest mer-maid in all of the sea had been given the name of Chechily at her birth, but is now remembered best as Magnar. When mermaids are undesireable in terms of beauty, the mer-colony of their birth banishes them to the deeps, where they are forced to survive alone. This same fate should have befallen Magnar, save that she was the sole child of the king of Altenie, the only heir to the throne of that great kingdom. To banish her would mean the ruin of the entire kingdom, and ultimately, the extinction of the entire species of mer-men. At her birth, upon beholding his child, King Cherkin nearly wept for joy, along with the entire kingdom. Queen Libia had been unable to bear offspring since her marriage to the king, and the entire kingdom feared for their future. Now this miracle of a child had been conceived, born, and brought into the sea to rule the kingdom and produce many more heirs. However, as the mer-child grew, the mer-men and women began to see the horrible disfigurement that had, surely, been upon her from her birth, but had been hidden beneath their love and admiration for the dear mer-maid. A council was quickly assembled, and it lasted for many days, as the council members were uncertain as to what to do with the maid.

At last it was decided that as the child was the sole heir to the throne, she must not be banished, but rather, hidden in the castle until she came of age. The name of Chechily that had been bestowed upon her now seemed much too beautiful a name for such an ugly creature, so the council elected to alter it to Magnar, that it might ever be a reminder to all of Altenie that beauty is the core value of all mer-culture, and that, though they be royalty, all deformed or hideous mer-children must be despised.

And so it was that the kind, loved, and once spoiled, mer-child was hidden in her father’s castle to be suddenly and forever unloved and alone. Many years passed, and the poor Magnar was alone in the castle with nothing but her thoughts to accompany her. She began to think that she must indeed be extremely ugly if the council thought best to hide her rather than to see her. She often wept bitter tears at the thought of her father and mother, who had seen to it that no one visit or speak with her, and who had renamed her with such loathing and disgust. However ugly she may have been on the outside, however, she never gave thought to hate those which had subjected her to this cruel fate. Often she grieved that she had been born with her imperfections, and that she was forced to live in solitude, but she never once became angry with her mother and father. She believed that she must certainly be ugly if the council, and her parents, thought it best to hide her away. Instead of becoming angry with the kingdom, she became disgusted with herself. She came to loathe the brightening of each new day, and to despise the face she saw looking back at her in the glass. More and more each day, she grew angry and displeased and spiteful at the maid she saw in the mirror and the voice she heard echoing through the castle walls.

It came to pass that on the eighteenth birthday of the princess, two years after the death of her father the king, another council came together to decide what should be done to produce a future heir to the kingdom. It was decided that a young mer-man should be chosen to be the groom of the mer-princess, and the king of Altenie. A young mer-man by the name of Mildani was chosen, and the two mer-people were married the next week. Mildani and Magnar were married in the castle of Altenie, with only the family of the groom present. It was a limited, private affair. The bride wore a thick veil.

Two months later, it was discovered that the queen was with child. The kingdom rejoiced, but Magnar sorrowed for her child. Was this mer-child to be given the same defect as herself? Would there be no refuge for her heir? In fear and humility she approached the king, her husband, and pleaded with him that she should be allowed to raise the child herself. A council was called: the kingdom had not yet considered the rearing of the young one. Of course they knew the queen would desire to raise it, but in light of the defect of the mother, it had been decided that a nurse would be given charge of the heir and would raise it according to the dictates of its father. But as the womb of the queen enlarged to house the growing child living inside, it became more and more clear to the king and his council that the queen would be unable to live if her child was taken from her. Every night, the queen pleaded with the king, begging him to give her just this one joy. For she had not even the love of her husband, who merely married her as a duty to his kingdom.

One week before the birth of their child, King Mildani consented to give the queen full responsibility for the child, under one condition: That when the child, while under rigorous studies and training, be allowed to see his mother, she wear a thick veil to disguise from her son the hideous deformities which scarred her.

Magnar consented to this, overwhelmed with joy that even this small blessing should be given her amidst the trials of her miserable life. When the child was born, the queen bestowed upon him the name of Glavar, a distinct word used only by the mer-people of Altenie which in the Common Tongue can mean both Joy and Sorrow.

The boy Glavar grew strong and handsome, and was educated by the chiefest scholars and warriors. He lived in luxury and happiness, and never understood why his mother, who was so loving and kind to him, did not often experience the joy that he did.

Until he was ten years old. At this tender age, he discovered why his mother sat alone in the chamber, why she wore a veil, why she was universally despised.

And at this discovery, Glavar became very angry. No amount of gentle words by his father or his nurses could appease this anger. It grew as he did, and it became older and stronger along with him. As a young mer-prince, he trained for battle under the greatest generals under the sea. This training helped to relieve the anger that he felt in his heart for his father and for his kingdom, but never for very long.

He would remember the long talks he had with his mother in her secluded room, remember the pain he heard in her voice. He would recall how she wept, or laughed, or hugged him tightly. He would feel her arms around him, feel the weight of the thick veil which represented to him her face. And the anger in his heart would burn bright, and would bubble over and show itself to others.

But mothers notice these things. When Glavar was eighteen years of age, Magnar addressed his fury and attempted to alert her son of the foolishness of his actions. It was then that Glavar realized that Magnar did not hate the kingdom as he did. She did not despise his father, or his grandfather. She had accepted her fate and was now attempting to guide Glavar to accept it as well. But he could not so easily be moved.

After this conversation, in which he observed the love and humility of his beloved mother, the prince stormed to his father and demanded that the arrangements which had long prevailed in the royal household be altered. But the king would not relent, and after much altercation, an agreement was reached. If Glavar returned, alive and victorious, from the Battle at Dead Man's Pass (which Theeran children read about in their history books), the queen, Magnar alta Chechily, would be given permission to uncover her face before her husband and her son.

Preparations were made, and before many days had passed, a troop of soldiers, led by the young warrior prince, Glavar, left Altenie to wage battle against the rival kingdom of the Northern Valley.

Magnar was not informed of these proceedings. Expectantly, she waited for her son in her chamber, but Glavar did not appear. Confused and anxious, Magnar tried to attribute his absence to the fact that their previous conversation had been overly emotional for the both of them, and that they both needed a bit of time to sort out their words. This did nothing to appease her anxiety, however. For six days she waited restlessly, until finally she could wait no longer. She left her quarters and sought out the king, begging him for news of her son. What she was told stunned her beyond belief: Glavar was at war, and no word had been heard from the battle for three days.

In deep despair, Magnar returned to her chamber. Her son, the only soul who had ever cared for her, who had ever truly loved her, was very likely dead. Her one joy, her only consolation, had been ripped from her in a swift and merciless act, and going on seemed an impossibility. Without Glavar, her world had turned upside-down, and living was no longer tempting to her starved soul. Crying unbearable, wrenching sobs for her child, she begged the Ruler to heal her soul, or else to take her life from her.

Late the next morning, a servant discovered her pale, stiff body floating in her private chamber. The king was informed of his wife’s death and received such a fatal shock from the news that he became as one who had been struck with a deadly blow. After two days of frenzied delirium and terrible dreams, the king died in his bed screaming the first name of his unknown wife. It is said of both of them to this day that they died of grief.

The funerals were held the next day, and before the mer-people had released the bodies of their king and queen, a disturbance came from the main street of the kingdom. Glavar and his troops had against all odds returned victorious. The kingdom of Altenie was now a richer, more powerful kingdom than it had ever been before. But Glavar desired only to see his mother’s face. But before he and his troops arrived at the castle, they were greeted mournfully by the funeral party, who informed the new king of his parent’s deaths.

Glavar remained silent. He looked in shock at the many mer-people around him who were mourning the death of a king that they did not love, and a queen that they did not know. He bowed in the direction of the coffins of his mother and father, as was the custom in those days, but he did not request to see his mother’s face, nor did he inquire as to how or when she died. He simply entered the castle, victorious and alone.

Many years later, we see Glavar as he is remembered today: strong, courageous, filled with love and respect for his kingdom and family. In a diary entry written by King Glavar of Altenie, he writes,

“Nearly thirty years ago now I arrived home to find my dear mother gone. Never in my life had I felt such immeasurable pain as I felt then. I remember everything that she told me about love, forgiveness, and so much more. Her teachings, even when I was too angry or foolish, or both, to heed them, have never left me. Her life changed mine. Her love made me who I am. The beauty I felt in her heart and saw in her life gave me the wisdom that I need to rule Altenie. I would not be the same king if it were not for my dear mother, Magnar alta Chechily. I never saw her face, but even so, I can say with all honesty that she is the most beautiful woman that I have ever known.”

Glavar never knew the cause of his mother’s death. He never knew how hopeless that her plight really was. He never knew, and never will know, what brought her to her desperate end. But he knew her. He knew that she loved him.

And he knew that he loved her.

This is the story from which the Theeran phrase, “Every good man a better mother bred,” originated. When a Theeran says this, perhaps all of the meaning and the history of the phrase is not known or acknowledged, but a Theeran understands that any good thing, or life, must have a good beginning in order to have a good end, even if it has a bad middle. King Glavar was given a good beginning and a good end, but the good end never would have come to pass if it had not been for the good beginning. But a good beginning does not always guarantee you a good end. There is a middle to every story. It is what you choose to do with the middle of your story that will determine the end.

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