A/N: Hello! For anyone familiar with the musical, you might see a number of liberties I have taken to adapt the story. Please forgive me if they disturb you. This story is based off the Takarazuka Revue's version of this play, more specifically, the 2014 performance by Flower Troupe.
Please review/favorite if you have an interest in seeing this story continue!
Prologue
Cold. That was the first thought that sprang to mind as she slowly regained consciousness. It was absolutely freezing, colder than the unforgiving wind that shrieked over the tundra, colder than the depths of winter that turned eyelashes to ice and tore at the lungs.
Dark. It was so dark, she could hardly believe her eyes were open, as if she had been cast in the depths of a solitary prison-cave, deprived of all noise and light. Fear began to build up in her chest, frenzied and desperate, yet she could not even feel her own heartbeat.
What was going on?
"Welcome, to the depths of darkness."
A melodious voice sounded out from behind her, and she started so violently she fell over. Light clung to the figure like a cloak, fluttering in the faint breeze, leaving a stark outline against the clouds of mist curling at the person's feet.
"D-darkness?" She stuttered, surprised to find that her voice was still working. "What…"
Slowly, her brain caught up to her situation - this unnatural cold, this all-encompassing darkness, she had heard countless stories of it. It was a story all Freljordian children knew, that of the world of death, one that they pretended not to believe in but feared just the same.
Death, this was death. That meant that she was… she was dead.
"N-no!" She cried out suddenly, flinching back as the figure drew closer, "No!"
She couldn't be dead, why was she dead, how had she died? The last thing she remembered, before the darkness enveloped her, was riding across the snow with her four favorite dogs, unaccompanied by the guards that her parents saw fit to constantly surround her with. She was miles from the castle, from the suffocating walls of Auskilde, from the rules and demands of the Court of the Freljord and the Temple of Avarosa.
Reidun had been in the lead; the strongest of the dogs in the royal kennels, she was the most reliable and fearless of leaders, an absolute beauty and the Princess's best friend. She had so much trust in that dog, she had let the reins go slack, laughing as the wind danced in her long blonde hair.
What had happened after? She couldn't remember much, if anything - a sharp crack, a whine, and the sound of the wind whistling in her ears…
The cold grew abruptly sharper, bringing her back to the present. The figure was right in front of her now, and she recoiled in instinctive horror.
Death.
The god was beautiful, startlingly so, with pale skin like polished marble and long silver hair like the glinting edge of a blade. Her eyes were a deep blue, so dark it was nearly black, and her lips were inhumanly gray. Beautiful, yes, but deadly - just like the ice and snow that she lived on.
In a surge of foolish bravery, she cried out, "Send me back!"
For a moment, Death looked almost startled, lips curving slightly upward in displeased surprise. She was probably accustomed to mortals denying their deaths, screaming and demanding to be given life again. The Princess wanted to gulp, to dig her fingers into her palms in an attempt to ground herself, but her body did not seem to be reacting.
Death frowned, reaching out to trail an icy hand down her cheek, the cold so sharp she could feel it even without any flesh.
"What is your name?"
She choked out, "A-Ashe…"
Death's hand dipped lower, down to her shoulder, along her arm, lingering at her fingers. For some reason, she was hesitating, as if she were actually considering Ashe's sudden demand.
She leaned closer, and Ashe was acutely aware of how easily she could feel her, despite the lack of any actual nerves. Was it her soul that was reacting to this unnatural chill, trembling in instinctive fear as this… monster let out a breath against her neck?
"You will only forget me, but..." Death sounded almost sad, the words so faint she could barely hear them. "How I wish…"
Her words trailed off, and before Ashe could react, a sudden, painful warmth flooded through her body.
Death's fingers pulled away, and she let out a choked gasp as warm air abruptly filled her empty chest…
Three years later
"But, Mother…!"
"This is for the good of the Freljord, Ashe," her mother sighed, impatience creeping into her tone. "I have told you so many times, we have remained fractured for far too many years! Your marriage to the Emperor Tryndamere will, at least, bring about a sliver of peace!"
"But the bar-"
Slap.
Startled, Ashe stumbled back, clutching to her burning cheek with wide eyes. Her mother, usually so gentle and understanding, had never struck out at her before - Ashe could hardly even remember a raised voice in the sixteen years of her life.
Ever since the scare, where she had been fished out of the freezing water barely alive and spent days in deep unconsciousness, Ashe had been trapped within the walls of Auskilde, a prisoner within her own home. And now, abruptly, they were just going to marry her off to a man she had never met?
On top of that, he was the Emperor of Trelleby, and everyone in the Freljord knew they were not the kindest of people. They left the old and the sick to die, and the strong often bullied the weak with little to no consequence. They ran on the oldest and wildest of laws - the strong survive, and the weak perish.
Why would she want to go to that kind of place, to marry a man brought up on those kinds of rules? What would he even be like?
"Emperor Tryndamere has graciously invited us to Trelleborg to discuss the wedding," her mother continued fiercely, "I expect you to regard him and your new people with utmost respect. There will be no more complaining about the matter, have I been understood?"
Ashe felt her heart plummeting to her feet, a strange ice wrapping around her chest as she nodded mutely.
There was no escaping her fate; as the only Princess of the House of Avarosa, the only child of the royal family of Auskilde, she had long expected to be married off to one of the other kingdoms of the Freljord. However, she had never, not in her wildest dreams, imagined that it would be with a barbarian.
Why, she would even prefer the strange, shiny-eyed witches of Manafell, in the far North, over the barbarians. At least the witches cared for their sick and respected their elderly, instead of just abandoning them to die, even if they were incredibly creepy.
Unfortunately, she had no choice in the matter, never had and never would. She could not even dress herself for the occasion - a platoon of maids had pretty much stormed her room and forcibly stripped her, choosing every article of clothing from her underwear to her coat. Staring at herself in the mirror, Ashe could hardly recognize herself; the dress was heavy and a deep shade of blue, lined with snow-white fur, the crest of Avarosa emblazoned over her heart. Her long, blonde hair, usually left loose and free, had been carefully pulled back and away from her face, which had been powdered to a shade paler than it normally was.
She was no longer Ashe, but the Princess of Auskilde, heiress to the crown of Avarosa, nothing but a commodity to be traded away for the good of her family, her kingdom, her people.
As the royal procession made its way out of the walls, Ashe found herself unable to appreciate the outside world that she had missed so desperately over the last three years. Everything was crumbling around her, leaving behind nothing but dread swirling in the pit of her stomach.
Cold.
There was something she should remember, someone, but all she could bring to mind was a cold so sharp it burned.
Cold.
What was it? What was causing this unnatural chill, this icy cold that crept up her spine and took root in her heart? As the armored walls of Trelleby came into sight, Ashe wondered - was this cold going to be her salvation, or would it be her undoing?
Would this be the start of peace, as her parents so desperately wished, or would this be the beginning of misfortune?
