A/N: Hi! I wrote this and decided to share it with you guys, though I don't know how exactly I feel about it. This is my first fanfiction, so there may be some canon indiscrepancies or plot holes and inconsistencies, especially in later chapters. Thanks! Enjoy the story!
The chants of the ice-sellers carried over the gates of the Southern Isles, bringing the people out of their homes. The men came every summer, singing of winter air and mountain rain, their bulky clothes and tired faces making them stand out. As the long line of sleighs and people came trudging through the gates, the parade was lined by people, welcoming the tired men to their kingdom for another summer. They were often greeted with questions, something that the men were used to.
It was a phenomenon at first, the idea of an eternal winter and whipping winds and biting colds that never ceased. At first, people from all over would gather around a random sleigh, some tentative and others open and friendly. After many summers of ice and mountain men, most adults acknowledged their arrival with a nod and returned to their work. The children, however, gathered around the sleighs and begged the ice-sellers to tell stories. The rough mountain men, while intimidating at times, would smile and invite the children to sit down in their laps. They'd always clamor for a story.
Each ice-seller had a different tale to tell. Many told stories of dragons, knights, and princesses, their voices rising as they told of a knight's last stand against a fearful monster, and true love's kiss. Some told ghost stories, waiting until a fireplace was lit and grabbing children's arms just as the monster was to be revealed. The children shrieked and squirmed, but they laughed all the same.
This time, an ice-seller gave his hat to a little boy in the front of the crowd and sat down by his sleigh. "It's time for me to rest. I've been climbing mountains for a while." As always, there were shouts from the crowd. Ice-sellers often repeated tales, especially if they were requested.
"Tell us about the lost princess and the magic flower!"
"I want to hear about the evil witch who turned into a dragon!"
"No! What about the mermaid and the sea witch?"
"Please, can I..." The voices all blurred into one, slowly growing louder as the children realized they couldn't be heard.
"Shh!" a little boy whispered to his little brother, standing on tiptoes at the back of the crowd. "I can't hear!" The crowd quieted down as the man pulled out a lute and began tuning it. Soon, all that could be heard was the strumming of the man's instrument as the children looked on, eyes wide.
"I have a story for you." The children began cheering, until the man put his hand up for silence. "Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there was a wise king and his queen. They led a prosperous kingdom, located next to a tall snowy mountain. The fjord was always full of ships and people, whether it was winter or summer.
In this kingdom, there was a powerful sorcerer. The kingdom was scared of him, except for a young intrepid princess. Like you." He smiled at a little girl cowering behind her friends. She managed a small wave and the man continued.
"One warm summer day, this princess was by the sorcerer's house, a stone structure at the edge of the mountain. Being the little imp she was, she knocked on the door." The ice-seller knocked on his sleigh for emphasis, inviting the children to do the same. When they finally settled down again after rising in a frenzy, he leaned in.
"The sorcerer answered, robes flying around him and voice booming, 'What do you want?' The girl, though scared, wouldn't back down. 'Please, sir. I want to talk to you.' He refused and slammed the door in her face.
The princess ran away crying and told her father, who summoned the army to imprison the sorcerer. The king's men rushed in to the sorcerer's home, finding him stirring a potion and humming a tune. He looked up, and frowned.
'The little brat complained, didn't she? Hmmph. No matter.'
After muttering a few more words, the once still air began swirling around like a blizzard. The winds were relentless, sending the soldiers' swords flying out of their hands and leaving them pressed against the wall. The sorcerer shouted, robes billowing, 'Because of this attack, the family tree will forever be cursed! You will know how it feels to be scorned because of something you cannot control.' The wind and ice whirled and whirled around until the sorcerer was gone.
Running back to the king, the soldiers reported what had happened, and the strange threat. Confused, the king went to the trolls who lived at the base of the mountain, asking for an explanation. The trolls gave him a prophecy.
Your future is bleak,
Your kingdom will splinter,
Your land shall be cursed with unending winter.
With blasts of cold will come dark art,
and a ruler, with a frozen heart.
And all will perish in snow and ice,
unless you are freed with a sword sacrifice.
Later, the king went back to his castle and found his daughter making a snowman by the fireplace. Blinded by concern for the kingdom and the trolls' prophecy, he banished his own daughter, lest the prophecy come true. No one know what has happened since, except perhaps the trolls and the sorcerer."
The man ended his story, taking his hat back from the boy and combing back his hair with his fingers. He prepared to reboard his sleigh when a short man dressed in the royal colors shoved his way though the children. "Sir, the king requires all of the ice-sellers to go to the castle."
"Of course. Tell him that I am at his service." The ice-seller bowed and began following the man, stopping when he felt a tug on his shirt.
"Was that a true story?" A little redheaded boy looked up earnestly, dressed in clothing too proper for any other boy his age.
"Maybe. In the North Mountains, winter seems to last forever. Perhaps the troll's prophecy has already come true." With a handshake, the man sprinted off to find the king's messenger.
The boy walked away, head hanging. His taller brother, joining him, laughed. "You ask really stupid questions. It's a fairy tale. Or do you still believe in dragons and griffins?"
With a set to his jaw, the younger boy replied, "There's a griffin on our family crest. Besides, you heard the man."
"Daddy says not to trust the mountain men. Look, Hans, it doesn't matter. Let's just get home in time for dinner."
"Alright, Abel."
And with that, the boys followed the procession of ice sleighs to the dark stone castle, where a royal dinner was waiting.
When Hans and Abel arrived at the table, quickly running their hands through their hair and brushing off any dust that might have been on their clothes, the table was already half full of tired looking Westergards. Their oldest brother Niels was engaged in a conversation with their father, about trade relationships and other things that nobody bothered teaching anyone born after Kresten. Therefore, no one born after Kresten meant anything to King Aksel.
"So, Fredrik's over in Bergen right now as our ambassador, and Albert should be sailing to Corona as we speak. Klaus is out, probably playing pranks on the townspeople." Niels seemed to be doing a roll call of all the brothers, though Hans was busy trying to see the map he was drawing. Unlike Klemens, who was ready-made to be the next king but prefered his job as womanizer, Hans was actually concerned with the inner workings of the monarchy. He squinted and could see the tiny kingdom in the corner.
"Are you planning to send someone to Arendelle? Kresten, maybe?" he suggested, leaning towards the map. Viktor held back a snicker, and Hans resisted the urge to punch him. Niels, while condescending at times, knew what he was talking about. Albert, Klemens, and Viktor were both stupid and intent on terrorizing Anders, Abel, and Hans, the three youngest, but they all seemed to specialize in Hans-torture. At least Anders was Niels's favorite brother and had a chance of getting a favorable position. Niels also made it a point to intimidate anyone who pushed Anders too far. Abel was bigger and stronger, so they didn't mess with him too much; the ice-sellers had once talked with him about recruitment, even at such a young age. Of course, it wasn't a feasible job for royalty, but it sent the right message.
Hans was the perfect target. He was closest to Josef, who was never at the castle anymore and who could only help him with the military. He had a fast mind and had an amazing charisma, but that meant nothing to his brothers. Their feelings ranged from Josef's kindness (but that didn't count because that was Josef's personality) to Niels and Fredrik's tolerance, then to Klaus and Mathias's dislike, and to the Hans-terrorizers absolute loathing. Physically, he was average height, but much slimmer than Abel or Klaus, which made him non-threatening. And, of course, he didn't have the royal education, which meant that any attempt he made to learn was met with disdain.
Niels frowned, which wasn't the worst reaction possible. "Kresten couldn't be trusted with trade relations. Besides, Arendelle makes it a point to only send ambassadors, never to receive."
"I heard that!" Kresten called from across the table. He seemed offended, but then again, he disliked Niels.
Niels, after narrowing his eyes at Kresten, shrugged in Hans' direction and returned to his conversation with the king.
"Weseltown's still trying to take advantage of us. They should be sending their ambassador after the ice-sellers leave. We shouldn't need to worry about them. What we do need to consider is…" His voice dropped until he was whispering. After saying his words, he furtively looked around and saw Hans watching. "You know, Dad, we need to talk about this after dinner. It's very personal to the Southern Isles." He gave an apologetic glance to Hans, and returned to his map.
Hans realized how not hungry he was, and excused himself. Heading down the hallway where all 13 rooms were located, he found Tarben's room open and the teenager reading a large book. Tarben was always too absorbed in a book to notice anything, and his ambivalence towards hans was clear. Looking up and seeing Hans at the door of his room, he picked up a sheet of paper and a pen from the huge stack on the floor. Scribbling some words, he walked toward the door, jumping over books and pencils, and handed him the note.
"Give this to Dad, will you? I'll be occupied for a while."
Before Hans could object, Tarben slammed the door in his face.