Title: Reindeer King
Rating: FRK
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or situations that are familiar to you.
Spoilers: Frozen
Summary: Oneshot. Throughout human history, people would gather round the fire to share, retell and debate the things they've seen and the stories they've heard. Arendelle's Reindeer King is such a tale. Kristoff centric.
Inspired in part by a) the Scandinavian folktale of Fanden, a man with goat horns and hooves that's said to be the devil; b) the German/Danish poem, The Erlking (Der Erlkönig) by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, about a boy lured by a forest spirit or 'king of fairies'; c) a little by Julie Fowlis' "Touch the Sky", and d) a smidge of LotR.
This is my first foray back into writing in years, so I'm feeling a bit rusty.
There's a saying among the people of Arendelle: that for all their beauty and majesty, the mountains still hold their secrets.
It is a saying, that for all the men claiming, in boast, to be at the forefront of conquering nature, is rightly true.
They can swagger to their tales of canopies thick with spruce and pine that they've paraded through with naught but a rucksack and ax; they can bluster about the far off seas of ice they swear were parted with a simple command; or gloat of the peaks they've scaled with eyelashes crusted with icicles and ropes a hair's breath from fraying.
They can and will, defend their control of nature and their heroic and lavish deeds in her depths, that they are its owner, its master, its King, but they will be shortsighted, and even smaller minded for in order to be a king, vested in finery of diamonds and gold, you must first be but a humble, dutiful servant at the will of those you attend.
His is such a tale.
Of the loner that became the leader.
The pauper that became the prince.
The mountains that became his court, the trees that became his castle, and the animals that became his to serve.
He is part myth, part history – some might say myth that became history – but mostly, accepted so, a mystery that has been nurtured in schools, hushed in halls, and celebrated in taverns over mead and smoked salmon.
No scholar can say when his story was born, and no philosopher can answer from whence it came, but runes engraved in ancient limestone tell of a boy who lived among the snow-capped pinnacles of the North Mountain and befriended a lone reindeer. The chiseled markings depicted a deep bond between the two – some say they could speak to each other – that grew as they did, to be more like one soul than two beings.
It's been said he's more monster than man, with sharp teeth and even more ferocious claws; others say he's largely human, with a solid torso and dextrous hands for which he nimbly picks nuts and ripened fruit and vegetables; while many more are of the common belief he is simply man, with unnatural gifts.
Some still vehemently deny he exists, altogether.
They close their eyes to the tracks in the powder snow of many hooves among one man, they turn their heads from the dark figure on bluffs of ice astride a reindeer, the sky his ceiling and the moon his lantern, and they cover their ears to the haunting but strong grunts of reindeer, their returns answering his solitary call.
The writings tell of no name, but centuries ago, the Arendellian people bestowed upon him a title befitting such a legend.
"Reinsdyr Konge," they whispered by a hearth, eyes darting passed speechless and spellbound faces up to the mountains, inky in a shroud of black.
Reindeer King, the words echo off the moon-soaked peaks he is rumoured to have called his kingdom for generations.
The archaic runes speak of abilities so inspiring and talents so rare that children and adults alike were scarce to even imagine them. He speaks to trolls, they say; he can climbs sheer cliffs and tall spruce with only the use of strong fingers and broad shoulders, they murmur; he doesn't feel the cold and can walk through a blizzard unaffected – and comforted – by the wind, they swear.
If any were to both conquer and venerate nature, it is he, they marvel.
And marvel they would if given the chance to see him.
Purported sightings of Arendelle's mountain king have attested that he wears a crown of interlacing antlers adorned with leaves and berries encased in frost, and at his back is a train made of the fur of nine wolves, but these witness accounts are rare, and the facts are even rarer.
Even scarcer still are unrefuted, yet highly debatable claims that many moons ago he fell in love - that he met a maiden in the foothills of the North Mountain and he took her for his queen. What this woman, fearless and capable, was doing in the hills has been rampantly speculated over many a pint or crowded hot spring for decades, but it is accepted that she skillfully and fairly shares the thrown he resides over.
Whether there is truth to this, one will never know.
Whether there is truth in any of his story, one can only believe what they wish.
He has dwelt in the mountains for hundreds, if not thousands of years and as history sometimes does, with every retelling his story becomes more varied, and fiction blurs into unquestionable validation: facts are skewed, sightings are elaborated, and small morsels of fabricated gossip turn into mammoth exposé of proof and confirmation.
His tale is so well known and so deeply rooted in the minds and history of the people that it is not a matter of where his bare footsteps were last tracked in the snow, or when he was last said to have been crossed, but that he does exist, entirely.
As long as the people of Arendelle continue to admire in awe and whisper in wonder, the mountains, beautiful and majestic will still hold their secrets.
Author's Note: Phew. For something so short, this sure was more effort than I was anticipating. I wasn't sure where I was wanting to go with this, but I hoped I managed to convey a sort-of fairytale vibe to it, as if someone were telling a folktale around a campfire. ~ To be honest, when Olaf said "valiant, pungent, reindeer king", Kristoff in a crown of antlers was the first thing I pictured. ~ Re: train made of nine wolves: nine is a popular number in Norse mythology, I'm told, and I believe the number of wolves running after Anna and Kristoff was nine... ~ I realize I gave him some of Elsa's abilities, but he's the king of the mountains so I wanted him to be a bit more awesome ;) Hope you enjoyed it.