(Page 1 of 7) The Ice Queen by J. L. RothSUMMARY: Why would anyone give up their spirit? Surrender the capacity to feel and to love? Foresake tenderness, joy and happiness? And is it more than just a fairytale?The Ice Queen
"Grandmother," the small children flung themselves into the room, slippered feet flapping against the stone floor. She gathered them to her, hugging their flannel clad bodies tightly to her chest.
"Grandmother," the boy said pulling his small face even with hers. "Why do you always sit and watch the mountain? It isn't going to do anything. It can't move or change."
"Oh, but mountains can change," she assured him. "Do you see that peak, the very top of that mountain?" both children nodded. "Once it was a rich green garden, an oasis in the snow. Then one day it changed and became cold and frozen just like the rest of the mountain. But that is not why I watch the mountain."
"Then why?" asked the small girl, her damp curls tucked under the wrinkled old chin.
"I watch the mountain because it watches us."
The children's eyes widened. "It watches us?" the boy said, skepticism filtering into his voice.
"Oh yes. Mountains can change and mountains can watch."
"No they can't," he frowned at her. "Mountains don't have eyes."
"This mountain does. And those eyes belong to one who watches us, watches this family and has done so for generations." She stroked the soft cheek, even as it scowled its disbelief.
"Who is it?" the tiny girl asked fearfully, "who watches us?"
"The Ice Queen watches us," the grandmother said, turning to look at the bright eyes.
"The Ice Queen?" the boy gave her a sideways glance. "Why would she watch us?"
"Because we are the children of her spirit," the grandmother replied.
"So she loves us?" the small girl said hopefully.
"Oh no," the old woman shook her head. "The Ice Queen does not love us. She loves no one, she can love no one. But she watches."
"But why?" both younglings cried.
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Once upon a time, as these stories always begin, there was a wealthy Lord whose estate was vast and blessed. Those who lived upon his land called him hard and those of his own class who knew him called him proud. To this Lord and others of his kind, the continuation of his line was paramount. It was most important to have a son, a proper son who would marry a proper wife and have a proper child to extend the family into the next generation.
This Lord's estate sat at the foot of a great mountain. At the top of the mountain sat the humble cottage of an old woman. It irritated the Lord immensely that he had no power over the woman or the mountain upon which she lived. How grand it would be to boast of having one's own mountain. But the woman would not sell, nor would she be bullied or forced into relinquishing her claim on the peak that was her home.
The time came in our story when the Lord did have a son. A fine strong boy who was every inch as proud as his father. Each night of his young life he sat and listened to the aging man speak of the wonders of the mountain. Wonders that stirred the spirit of adventure in his child's heart. To see the whole of his lands, for one day they would be his lands, from the top.
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