Ragnarok
A/N: Yes, I am depressed. No, this is probably not the best way of coping with it. Yes, I did it anyway. Hope you guys enjoy; some sadistic part of me certainly did.
This is a continuation of my fic Skadi. You don't have to read it to understand this, but it'll probably resonate more if you do. Also, this will contain spoilers for that, so be warned.
"Someday," said Jonas, plucking thoughtfully at his lute, "I intend to write a song about this. Our adventures make for a grand tale, methinks, and if ever there was a man to put it to a melody and craft an epic to last the ages, why, who better to do it than I?"
"Maybe someone who can think of more than four things that rhyme with 'ice'," suggested Marian, smirk visible even beneath the hood pulled low over her face to protect against the freezing winds. She shuffled closer to the campfire, twirling a finger to help stoke the flames. "I don't know about you lot, but there's only so many times I can hear about lice in a song before it begins to lose its 'epic' quality."
"I don't like songs," grunted Boris, sharpening his enormous, two-handed waraxe with a whetstone. "Not unless they're the bawdy type you find in taverns, with a saucy wench and tankard of ale to go with them."
"Ah, but you see, my dear Boris," Jonas said, smiling broadly as he leaned over to where the huge man sat hunched against the cold, "this is not a song as the type of which you might be familiar. This is not the drunken uproar that surges from the mouths of wine-soaked sailors. This is the type sung by bards and minstrels across the land, from the grandest king's feast to the lowliest farmer's table, a tale unlike that of any other. It will speak of the great heroes who saved this land, the brave five who toiled against all odds to rescue our people from the wicked sorceress, who has enslaved our land for generations. It will be a tale of action, adventure, great struggles, terrible suffering, grand heroics, unshaking courage, and, of course," and now he nudged Marian with a sly smirk, "knightly love."
Marian chuckled at that. "Hardly. Reclusive mages such as yours truly rarely if ever star in such grand epics. Mayhap I'll be found in a footnote of this majestic epic of yours, Jonas, but frankly all I want is to retire to my hut in the mountains and enjoy a bit of our hard-earned sun."
Jonas persisted, a childish mischievousness glowing in his eyes.
"But will you be retiring alone, I wonder? Or will a certain gallant fellow be accompanying you?"
"Speaking of gallant fellows," Boris interrupted in his low rumble, "here they come."
The duo turned around to see where Boris was staring at, and sure enough, there come two figures from the darkness, shoulders hunched against the biting cold. As they gratefully approached the warmth of the fire, the others rushed to bundle them up against the cold, sharing the hot broth that had been kept stewing over the flames.
"My thanks," said Arthur, as he accepted the bowl of broth. Although his nose was red from the cold, he was no less handsome, with his unmarred skin, golden hair, and sky-blue eyes. He took a sip of hot liquid, wincing as it scalded his tongue but grateful for the heat nonetheless. "It's just as we'd heard. Frost Peak sits at the top of a mountain, and can only be approached by the Stairs of Ice. I could see guards patrolling the outer battlements, though they moved stiffly and unnaturally. I can't help but think that the rumours of the Frozen Legion are true."
"What golden boy means to say is that there's a whole bloody army of living ice, and more like than not we'll be forced to fight our way through them," Lance said grimly, as blunt as Arthur was gentle. The two were unalike in many ways, yet similar all the same. Whereas Arthur was the perfect image of the gallant knight, the shining prince, Lance came from a darker, sadder world, and bore the marks with him. A scar stretched along the right side of his face, and his chestplate carried no insignia, the metal scarred and scratched, a sharp contrast to Arthur, who bore the sun of Corona proudly on his immaculate white steel. Even their choice of weapon could not have been more different: whereas Arthur was trained and raised in the way of sword and shield, Lance had taught himself his own unique fencing style, wielding a machete in one hand and a dagger in the other. Jonas could remember how this had oft been a source of contention in the early days: Lance had insisted that his manner of fighting was most efficient.
"Make them lock their blade with yours," he'd insisted, "and while they're busy staring you challengingly in the eyes, you stick them in the belly with your off-hand."
"It is not honourable," the young prince had said. "Show the man the arms you bear on your shield, and the blade with which you mean to slay him. If he is man enough to fight you, then you must at least honour him with a man's duel."
"Keep your honour, Your Majesty," Lance had replied, slurring the honorific into a taunt as he had done often. "When you're dead, and I'm standing by your grave, I'll make sure to remind everyone how honourably you died."
Jonas couldn't help but smile at the memory. Those times, though looked upon fondly in hindsight, had been contentious and troublesome, with Lance chaffing under Arthur's command, and Arthur gritting his teeth at his dishonourable rival. It had only been during their travel through the dark mines of the Blightlands, and all had been lost and scattered, that the two had learnt to co-operate, and, perhaps more importantly, learnt to understand and empathise with the other. Contempt became respect, discord became agreement, and rivalry became friendship.
Now, you would be hard-pressed to find a man more loyal to the young prince incognito than the newly-knighted Sir Lance, who had been anointed by the aforementioned man, once bitter rival and now blood brother. Though, Jonas allowed, you'd be hard-pressed to find a man more willing to curse Prince Arthur as well.
Lance took another sip of broth before continuing.
"There are but five of us here, and though I'd say that there is likely no band more dangerous than ours, even with royal magic and mountain troll trickery we can't face an entire army. Not when its soldiers never tire, its archers never run short of arrows, its watchmen never sleep, its men never die. So unless pretty Marian knows a fire spell strong enough to melt the whole goddamn mountain, I can't see any way for us to win here."
"Sadly, while I'd happily set a coven of bandits on fire, I can't say that my spells are powerful enough to bring down the entirety of Frost Peak, no." Marian said dryly.
"I'll be editing that out of the song, if you don't mind. It's never a good idea to put limits on the powers of magic in epics, you know," Jonas said lightly, if only to offset the heaviness creeping into his heart.
Boris crossed his mammoth arms, a gesture which was prone to knocking Jonas in the back of the head if he sat to close to the gargantuan man.
"So what now, Fearless Leader?" rumbled the giant. Jonas had to smile whenever he heard that title. Boris hailed from the east, in cold northern plains not unlike their own, but had sworn to lend his axe to any who would end the reign of dark magic over any land. During their first meeting, Boris had wanted to attack Marian on sight when he learnt that she was a mage, one of them blessed (or cursed) with magic. Arthur, valiant fool that he was, had rushed to defend her. Though by no means short, even Arthur had seemed small when faced with Boris and his equally gigantic battleaxe. Despite this, Arthur had prevailed, though not without a dash of magical assistance to help. Boris had been inflamed upon defeat, but had accepted his loss with grace when he saw the nobility of Arthur's blood, the strength of his character, and the righteousness of his mission. Thus, Boris's strength and loyalty was his, and now Arthur was the Fearless Leader who could do no wrong in the Coldlander's eyes.
Arthur mulled over the question while sipping at his broth.
"There are far too many foes atop the mountain, and even if we could somehow fight through them, we'd still be forced to take the Stairs to ascend to Frost Peak. I dislike the idea of having to stand on a construct made by our enemy. It could very well vanish from underneath our feet, and the drop is most likely to be lethal."
"Or it could be like landing on a fluffy pillow," Jonas said at a weak attempt at a joke, though his eyes were troubled and his smile uneasy. Though none in their party had expected the battle to be easy, they had at least expected some likelihood of success. The current scenario, however, seemed to make their situation impossible. Even with the skill, talent, magic, and enchanted equipment on their side, they were still but five mortals going up against a demon on earth.
"You could be right, Jonas, even though you meant it as a jest. If Marian could lift us a tad, it might give us a light enough tread to pass unhindered."
"My levitation spells won't help us here, Arthur," Marian said in a quiet voice, obviously unwilling to disappoint the prince even more. "I've been testing the elements here, but to no avail. Everything is so strange. The earth is long dead, the wind refuses to answer me, and the water seems to have a heart of its own, a heart long since frozen over. Only fire responds to me, and then only just. The magic here is far stronger than anywhere else we've been. I've been training, but nothing my mother taught me could have prepared me for this."
"The wind is strange, definitely," Jonas admitted. "I practiced shooting a few arrows earlier, while you and Lance were away. The wind blows far harsher than I could believe, almost as though it is under the control of our foe and is determined to prevent any weapon made of mundane hands from flying."
"In my home in the East, we have had colds like this," Boris added, placing down his axe. "Our winters are hard and harsh, but never as cruel as like this. Here, I feel fear like I never have. The very air is malevolent, for even though our charms protect us from the enemy's sight, the enemy seems to lash out against its blindness. I feel…" and here he paused, as though ashamed to admit it. "I feel afraid, my Prince. I feel fear."
"Perhaps," Lance said, his face grim, "we should just accept defeat and return back to our homes. Our tails will be between our legs, true, but at least we'll still be standing on our feet, not lying in a frozen grave."
"No," Arthur said sharply. He stood abruptly, knocking over his bowl of broth, and turned his glare on Lance, who avoided his gaze, before rounding around to gaze fiercely at them all. "I refuse to return to Corona like a beaten dog. My father is on his deathbed, his heart frozen by a chill which no medicine or mage can cure. A curse brought upon him for attempting to free our land from the tyranny of this icy witch. I will not let him die. I will not disappoint my people. I refuse to let yet another generation grow old, wondering what warmth feels like, what it must mean to have the sun kiss your face every morning, what it means to enjoy heat without paying a mystical tax for it. I will see this land free, all people released from this curse. If it must cost our lives, then so be it: it will be a price I will gladly pay if it means the world can be free as in the tales of old."
His impassioned speech was met with silence, a dulled depression induced by despair and cold alike. The fire crackled between the five, yet even it seemed to have dulled. The light-hearted humour of earlier seemed no more than a merry lark in the face of the task that awaited them, and even Prince Arthur, their leader and destined saviour, seemed more a fool than a hero, determined to risk all for a slim hope which may be little more than madness. Jonas plucked at his lute, and winced at the sharpness of the note. Even his music seemed to have lost its heart.
Arthur looked around at his companions, shocked at their despair. He had brought them far, and had hoped for much. They had overcome all the obstacles in their path, and it had led them here, to the final battle. And it seemed that now, of all times, their spirit had been broken.
Silence hung in the air for a while, before at last Marian spoke.
"I didn't know what my mother was thinking, when she found you in the wilds, cold and alone and lost," Marian said, her words addressed at Arthur but her gaze upon her hands. "When she brought you back in, I was amazed. For as long as we'd lived, we'd tried to live alone, separate, hiding from the world because of what we were. Magic is mistrusted the world over, but here in Arendelle it is ferociously feared and viciously hated because of the curse that grips this land. Bringing in an outsider, a prince nonetheless… it had seemed like madness. It shames me to admit it, Arthur, but I urged her to turn you over to the guard, so as to protect ourselves. But my mother insisted that we had to save you. 'He is sun-kissed' she told me in that wise mage tone of hers. 'He is blessed by fire'. At the time, I'd thought that she was talking about your heritage, about Corona. When you showed us Excalibur, I thought she was talking about your fancy flaming stone-sword. Now though… now, I think I understand what my mother was talking about. I think I now know why she sent me on your quest to aid you." And now, Marian looked up from her hands to meet Arthur's eyes, and the prince was somewhat stunned by the fierce determination in her gaze. "You are the rising sun, the dawn after the long night. Arthur, you are hope, you are peace, you are freedom. You are the righteous sword, the mighty shield, the just sceptre. You, Prince Arthur of Corona, are truly the Lightbringer, and I will stand by your side, regardless of your foe." Marian stood up and went to a knee before Arthur, who seemed stunned by her proclamation. Marian planted her staff upright in the snow before her. "You have my staff and my magic, to light the path and guide you through the darkness."
Arthur looked at her as though she'd lost her mind.
"Marian, you can't believe that. I'm not some hero of legend. I'm just a prince who wants to do right by his country-"
"No." Boris rumbled, and now the giant stood as well, a move far more intimidating than that of slight Marian's. He towered above the all, his face illuminated by the fire. "You are a son of royalty, a friend of maegi, and a user of magic. This alone should have earned you the wrath of me and my people. We have long suffered under the curse of both enchantments and royalty, and I would never have thought that I should ever serve alongside one such as you. And yet, over our travels, you have proven yourself a hundred times over as a man of righteous path and firm honour. You have brought a light in my life which I though long extinguished in the cold lands of the northern east, and a hope which conquers the fear instilled in me by this accursed snow. You cut down your foes with holy fury, yet help the lowliest peasant with the most menial of tasks. You are a man of the people, a Fearless Leader who inspires fearlessness in those who follow, and it honours me to bleed your enemies." Boris went to a knee, his enormous broadaxe presented in both hands. "You have my axe, to slay the wicked and protect the innocent."
"Boris, you can't really think that-"
"And why not?" Jonas interrupted. He put down his lute and snatched up his bow, though it was still unstrung. "We were all there with you when we met with the Oracle. We all heard the prophecy. We were there when we learnt of the tale of Excalibur, the origins of your sword, back in the Temple of Sol. 'The blade of the Lightbringer' the sages said. 'The messiah of the sun', those were the Oracle's very words. As a bard, I sing and tell of many stories, Arthur, and very few of them do I ever believe. But I believe in this one. You are the Lightbringer, and you are the hero destined to end this winter. Whatever cause you take, however you see fit for this story to end, I will be forever grateful that this is a song I live." Jonas went to a knee beside Marian and Boris, bow held before him. "You have my bow, to spread the song of the sun and to honour the promise."
Arthur seemed to be choking on his emotion, a silent splutter as he tried to make sense of what was happening. He turned to Lance in a last-ditch appeal to sanity.
Lance was turned away from the fire and the rest, his face shadowed, quiet. When he spoke, none could see his expression, only hear his carefully emotionless voice.
"When I was a boy in the streets of Arendelle," he said hesitantly, "there wasn't anything to believe in. It's hard to believe in some greater purpose when there's never enough food and you freeze in your sleep every night because you can't afford what precious firewood there is. It was a hard, bitter life, and it makes hard, bitter men. Even now, I still can't quite believe in this Lightbringer madness. It seems too good to be true, too great for a street rat like me. But," and now Lance turned, and there were tears in his eyes. He stood and pulled his machete out of its sheathe to hold between both hands. "I can believe in you, Arthur. Not as the Lightbringer, whether or not that is your true title. Not as a prince, from the high castle of Corona. But as my leader. As my brother. As my friend. I have never known a man like you, and it makes me despair all the more that I lived my whole life without one such as you in it. Because I have never known one who I can trust as much as I trust you. You are my brother, my friend, my leader. And if you're to be my messiah as well, fuck it, my messiah you'll be." Lance went to a knee, holding his machete aloft. "You have my blade, to avenge the blood of the fallen and bless the bonds between us."
Arthur was speechless. He looked from face to face, flabbergasted, and was met only with dead seriousness and utter devotion. These four had started as reluctant allies, before becoming hesitant partners, then trusted friends, and ultimately true companions. And now, they were elevating him to the status of saviour, and trusting him whole-heartedly with not only their fates, but the fates of everyone they'd ever known. It was insane. It was breath-taking. It was…
It was a display of trust unlike any other Arthur had ever known. His own father hadn't trusted him this much, forbidding him from attempting to follow in his King's footsteps and trying to end the eternal winter. And even if Arthur himself didn't believe that he was the Lightbringer, his friends did, and perhaps that was all the really mattered.
And so Arthur went to a knee as well, so that they were at the same height, so that he could look into their eyes as he spoke, so that they could see the same devotion that he saw in them.
"I don't think I'm the Lightbringer," Arthur admitted. "I don't think I'm some messiah. I don't even think I'm a hero. But I do know that I am a Prince of Corona, and that I have the greatest friends a man could ever ask for. And if you are willing to trust me to end this winter, then I swear that I will do all that I can to do so. I do not know if I will prove worthy of your faith, but I swear that if I have to, I will die trying.
"In the morning, we will all face the greatest challenge we have ever known. We will face the enemy at their own home, siege the fortress that has never fallen. We will face impossible odds, and I don't know if we will prevail. But we must try. For our family. For our friends. For everyone who has never known summer. We must bring an end to this winter."
"We will, Arthur." Marian said. "We have you. We will bring back summer."
"It will be as was foretold," Jonas said, smiling, not in his trademark snarky smirk, but a genuine, honest-to-god smile. "Just like the Oracle said."
"You will light the path and guide us through this darkness." Boris said, reciting the Oracle's words.
"You will slay the wicked and protect the innocent." Lance continued.
"You will spread the song of the sun and honour the promise of the sky." Marian spoke softly.
"You will avenge the blood of the fallen and bless the bonds between us." Jonas sang quietly, ending the chant.
"Thank you," Arthur said, choking slightly. He reached out to grip Marian and Lance by the shoulders, who in turn reached out to him as well as Boris and Jonas respectively, completing the circle. "With you four as my friends and allies, there is nothing we can't do. As a team, we will achieve miracles. We will end this winter. We will bring back summer. And we will bring an end to the tyranny of the goddess Elsa, the demonic Snow Queen. This, I promise. This, I swear."
To Be Continued
A/N: I realised that this was getting too long, so I decided to split this into two chapters. I'll try and release the second chapter by next week. I promise.
Hopefully this extended prologue wasn't too boring for anyone. I really wanted to get the typical story with the hero and his band of companions right. Oh well.