"Hey, Bunny, can I ask you a question?" — Jack
"No." — E. Aster Bunnymund
"Why do you even paint those things, man? They're still just gonna be hard-boiled eggs no matter what they look like." — Jack
"No, see, you're missin' the point, mate. It's nevah been about theh iggs; it's about theh kids. As long as it moiks them enkle boitas heppy, then I'll keep on paintin' these things. Stupid, I know, but seen'em smile *sigh* they're worth it, ya feel me?" — Bunny
"Mmmhm okay... So you admit that what you do is, in fact, stupid?" — Jack
"Un-bloody-believable! You didn't hear a word I jist said, did ya? Ya know whot? Rack off ya bloody show pony!" — Bunny
They found out that the boats weren't going to be necessary, or better said: the boats weren't going to be very useful what with the fjord being, well, frozen and all.
When Gibbs sent out his request to the docs master for a couple of long boats, he (as did anyone really) didn't at all expect the fjord to be in the state it was. To say that he was baffled would have been putting it lightly; be that as it may, Gibbs was nothing if not quick witted.
Exiting the castle with the queen cradled gently in his arms, the king had little time to marvel at the bizarre phenomenon to have graced his kingdom. He had been shocked, of that there was no doubt, but only for a moment as there were far more important things that needed his tending to. "Gibbs!"
The faithful butler was immediately by the king's side as if he were there the whole time. "Your majesty," Gibbs cut to the chase at the same time carefully blanketing the queen with his coat, "I had the servants go get the sleigh — no way are the boats cutting through that ice." No sooner had the words left his mouth did they hear the thunderous hooves of Arendelle's mightiest steeds, "Threil and Boron are strong; they should get you to wherever it is you want to go."
The king did not miss the uncertainty in his friend's eyes at not being told where their destination was going to be exactly, and Henry was grateful that he, despite it, did not ask too many questions. Trust Gibbs to always keep things in perspective.
Henry carried his wife and gently placed her on the sleigh making sure that she was as comfortable as he could make her. Gingerly, he caressed her cheek to let her know that he was yet still with her before mounting the coachman's pew. "Thank you, Gibbs," his words were sincere with the slightest bit of exhaustion.
"Bring her back alive, and that's thanks enough, Henry. Now go while there is still time!" the butler ordered his king, brief laps in formality going unnoticed by everyone due to the shared urgency they all felt. Gibbs knew that Henry had no need for a servant at that moment, but rather a father to keep his path straight, and since the late Callahan was no longer around for the honor, he would just have to suffice, "Godspeed, my boy."
His lips set to a determined line, Henry only gave him a nod in reply before grabbing the leather harnesses, willing the great Clydesdales forward with a practiced crack of the reigns.
There was still hope, and as long as that was true, Henry would not give up.
Jack was still standing on the frozen fjord lost on what to do when he noticed a commotion going on near the castle gates, and not having a better lead on the person he was supposed to find, he went to investigate.
Jack flew closer to the source of all the activity and saw a well-dressed man talking to an elderly, balding fellow. The panic in their voices urged him to pay closer attention to their conversation, and though Jack couldn't really hear all that well from the distance he chose to float, here was what he got from the bits and pieces he was able to put together: these people were royalty, the king and queen to be exact; queen was pregnant; having trouble pushing the kid out; going out to get help.
Quite proud of his deductive skills, the winter spirit concluded (rather hastily he would admit) that these people were the ones his creator had told him about; then again, it's not like he had other choices present at the moment. "Alright! Found'em! ...I think. So now what?" His answer came in the form of a loud "crack!" as the sleigh suddenly took off into the fjord along with its two passengers. "I guess were doing that then." He flew after them.
Jack wasn't as sure as he made himself sound, not really. Though he had decided to help these people, Jack was not without his doubts. What if he were wrong? What if the person that really needed his help was out there dying or something? The thought filled him with a heavy feeling that cleaved his mind between moving forward or going back the way he came.
'Too late to turn back now, chief. We're doing this,' Imaginary-Jack stated.
The guy had a point; he was here now, might as well see things through. But then again, why do anything at all? It wasn't like this was his problem to begin with. Whatever was going on with these people, Jack really couldn't care less. As long as it had nothing to do with ice, snow, or winter, Jack didn't really see why it was any of his business being there.
'Are you nuts? It's our business because boss man says it's our business,' his imaginary friend reminded him, 'not unless you want to wet your only pair of pants when it yells at you again for not helping.'
'Oh right.'
But then that left the big question as to how was he going to help exactly. It wasn't like his experience came off as overabundant when it came to... whatever this was. "I sure hope you have a plan there, buddy, 'cuz I'm gonna be honest with you, I got's nothin'."
Jack liked to pretend that the guy heard him when he'd asked, and that he hadn't been at all surprised when the king actually replied.
"This is absolutely unfounded, Henry! What are you even trying to accomplish?" The king was known for talking to himself when stressed, and, if it wasn't already obvious, Henry was plenty stressed just then, "Please, please, please, don't let the book be a gigantic steaming pile of horse—" his horses whinnied as if warning him to not even think of finishing that sentence. "Sorry, boys; ignore me."
Time was growing short, and Henry was afraid that they weren't moving as fast as they should be. Also now that they were off the fjord and in the forest leading towards North Mountain, the terrain didn't exactly lend them any hands either. He would have pushed his horses further had they not been at their limit already, to egg them anymore than that would only have been cruel.
Dodging clawed branches and gnarled tree roots, their path was a perilous one to be sure, and not only that, it was also grotesquely dark, in the sense that not even their oil lamp's valiant efforts of staving off the shadows had been enough to grant them any ounce of solace.
Fear ruled the way they chose to tread. It was in the trees; it was in the ground; it was in their hearts. It was everywhere, and it sought to choke them from all sides.
A blast of frigid air knocked Henry out of his terror taught reverie just in time for him to swerve out of the way of an oncoming pine tree. He reprimanded himself for being so distracted, and shook his head as if to banish his dark thoughts, "Focus, Henry!"
Jack wore an expression of frightened relief when he looked back at the tree that almost hit them. 'How is this guys supposed to save his wife if he can't even keep his eyes on the stinkin' road?!' he thought after slapping the king in the face with a cold breeze. "Hey! Yeah, you in the sleigh! What are you blind?! Eyes up, pal! You almost hit a tree back th—" *smack*, "Ah, mein shnoz!" ironically Jack was immediately hit in the nose by a tree branch.
'Eyes up, Jack.'
Face or no, Jack could practically feel the cocky grin in the Other-Jack's voice. "Ah, shaddup!" He quickly shot back, voice nasally with the way he gently massaged his poor "shnoz".
Just an hour in on their journey and his wards almost killed themselves! No wonder the moon asked him for help; these people were borderline suicidal! What were they even doing going up the mountain this time of night, for moon's sake.
It was another hour before Jack got his answer.
The forest broke and thankfully they could see past their noses again. Snow gave way to gravel, and trees were replaced by tall forms of stone when the convoy of king, queen, and spirit finally approached the place the book spoke of.
"Woah!" his majesty tugged at the reins sharply to halt the sleigh making it skid raucously across the loose soil, and when it had slowed enough, he skillfully leapt out of his seat onto the ground, with each step a crunching noise as the gravel complained under boot.
Henry strode with purpose towards the rocky outcropping to see what the stone had to offer, and his breath caught in his throat when he discovered that it was not at all what he pictured in his mind. Though he held no illusions of it ever being so simple, he at least thought it would be a little less... impossible.
Impossible was it was, however, and as the king gazed longer with wide eyes, the more the doubt began to trickle into his mind.
North Mountain stood before him in all its empirical glory, shadow so immense that it canvassed the whole of where they stood in ebony. Whatever light the moon had to offer, there was no seeing it there. And if that hadn't been enough, from the cracks in the ground, steam poured forth enshrouding their surroundings in a mist so thick that the very act of breathing became its own challenge.
Taking a deep ragged breath, Henry steeled himself.
Now came the tricky part. You see, there on that desolate heap of rock was where it ended, the book; its last verses speaking of "a door hidden in the shroud" — a riddle obviously, although, the matter of solving said riddle was another issue all together.
Henry, being not much of a riddle man, couldn't make heads or tails of what the words meant. "A door hidden in the shroud. A door hidden in the shroud. A door hidden in the shroud. A door hidden in the shroud. A door hidden in the shroud," he kept on repeating like he had it in his head that if he said the phrase plenty enough times, the answer would miraculously manifest itself. Henry stood scratching his cheek while pondering the rather ambiguous set of syllables. "So it's a door, and it's hidden, and at the same time... it's shrouded. Okay, I think I understand... So it's a door—"
"Man, we got it, okay? It's a door hidden in the shroud. Thank you for making sure we've memorized it," Jack tried to make the guy stop babbling even though he knew that the king wouldn't be able hear him — a shame really; his sarcastic quips were always such pleasant things to hear.
"—and its hidden—"
"Uhuh, you said that al—"
"—and at the same time—"
"—It's shrouded, yes. Okay, thank y—"
"—It's shrouded."
Jack massaged his temples feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on. "Oy vey, it's gonna be a long night," the white haired boy floated down towards the ground hoping that the feeling of solidity under his feet would alleviate some of the pain that stirred behind his brow— it didn't. Although a bit frustrated, Jack still tried to help, "Look, obviously, the shroud is this mist here, so, oh I don't know, maybe start looking for a door knob or something?"
Per chance Jack and the king looked like they had come to the same conclusion, because right after Jack had suggested it, Henry began to paw at the stone wall in front of him.
"There we go! Progress."
But looking at the size of it, finding that door would be a long road to hoe. Seconds ticked past and panic was quickly making its way into his system. His hands became a trembling mess, and his brows knitted themselves together into a concerned frown when still the fruits of his search was nowhere to be found. He didn't have time for this! Alone, it would take him ages to find that door; never mind the fact that he didn't even know what the door looked like! Henry was doing nothing but waste time and wasted time was time his wife could not afford.
He knew that he was missing something, something very crucial; Henry just couldn't place his finger on it. Long given up on trying to feel for an entrance, Henry leaned on his arms that were propped up against the mountain wall. Then it hit him — the riddle wasn't complete! It wasn't just the door, there was a key too!
It wasn't written in the ancient text, but he remembered his grandfather telling him that that was to protect the... the... something. How did that story go again? Blast it! It had been years, he just couldn't remember anymore. He couldn't remember! He—
Another cold breeze hit him, but on his back this time, and the cool sensation on the nape of his sweat drenched neck was a welcome reprieve from the heat his frustrations wrought. It helped him focus.
"Take it easy there, sir scowls-a-lot. Don't go having a heart attack on me now. Just chill; you got this." Jack encouraged actually feeling pity for the overtaxed fellow.
He tried to remember again, to remember all the stories his grandfather used to tell him back when he was but a boy. Thankfully this time, like looking through fogged glass, he was rewarded with wispy, churning images. If he intended to save his queen, however, he was going to need more than that.
It was to his horror that the memory started slipping away from him, like water through cupped fingers. 'No no no!' he tried to breath in order to stave off the panic that would surely hasten his memory's decent into nothingness. "Breath, just breath, Henry." He told himself, and sure enough the age old memory became clearer, more vigor to its graying colors, and more feeling to its dulled edge. Even the smells were present as if the hot chocolate of nights by the fire were right there in his hands.
The words of his grandfather rang clearly in his mind
Grandpa, trolls aren't real right? They're just stories like your book.
Is that what you think is in here, Henry? Stories?
But trolls are monsters, and papa says that monsters aren't real.
Well then, your father lied, because monsters do exist, and they are as real as you and me, boy! Real as you and me...
W-w-what?!
Oh, but don't fret, little Henry; trolls aren't as bad as you may think. In fact, they're a lot less like monsters, and more like friends — My friends actually.
Your friends with a troll?!
Not just a troll, son. I'm friends with all the trolls!
Woah... Can... Can I be friends with them too, Grandpa?
Why indubitably, old boy! In fact, befriend one and that's a friend for life!
Really?
Yes, Henry.
Wooooah... So where can I find one?
Ah, the answer to that lies right here, that is if you can read *snigger* .
But I can't read, though.
Best start learning then. Go on, chop-chop.
Awww!
Haha, you rascal! I'll tell you a secret to make you feel better. Are you listening?
Yeah!
Just the book won't be enough, grandson.
It won't?
No, Henry. You have to believe... Believe...
"...Believe." He mouthed the word, unable to remember anymore past that point. Henry wasn't too sure if he got his effort's worth in that eye-flicker of a memory, but when he emerged from his trip down memory lane with more questions than answers, he was left feeling more than a bit cheated. "Believe?" his tone hinted that he was incredulous at best. "Believe in what, grandfather?"
Just believe.
He could see his grandfather shrugging in his mind, a grin that old men were known for making his mustache tilt just a bit higher.
"Crazy old coot," the king could almost smile if only he weren't so scared at the moment.
Taking a resigned step back from the giant of a mountain, Henry closed his eyes and did his best to do what his late grandfather told him to do. His chest rose as a breath filled his lungs, and with one long exhale, the king of Arendelle searched for things, anything he could believe in that moment of darkness and despair.
'I believe that... there are trolls in this mountain.'
Even just thinking the sentence, it already sounded idiotic to him, but still wishing, he took a tentative peek anyway in case there were any changes in the stone — there was none. Henry huffed before trying again, all the while his fingers tapped nervously on his pant leg.
'I believe that the trolls have magic that can help us.'
Still nothing. Maybe it would yield him better results if he didn't sound so damned sarcastic every time he said "I believe" in his head.
Nervous tapping became nervous feet-shuffling when it looked like no matter what he thought to try, no matter what he thought to do, it brought him nothing but failure. Henry was slowly losing hope, and though he did not mean to, his mind began to entertain darker thoughts. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe going there had been a mistake. All that time, all that effort, maybe it was all for nothing. Maybe...
...this was it.
'No no no!' His face contorted in horror, 'It just can't be!'
Every bit a man clinging onto his last shreds of hope, Henry fell to his knees and knelt as low as kingly possible, no longer caring how such an act was wholly unthinkable for a person of his stature to do. It wasn't that he wasn't humble in any sense of the word, but to a king, kneeling meant far more than merely going down on his knees; it's laying himself low in submission, and for him it was infinitely more spine numbing to perform because it wasn't just him who he was laying prostrate, his kingdom laid there alongside him, bare for fate to do as it wished.
But to save his wife, he would stoop low indeed — anything just for her.
"Please. Please. Please... I believe... I believe..." each whisper escaped his lips like the wisps of something sorry growing softer and softer as he poured every ounce of sincerity he had into his words. Why? Because he had to; because it was all he had left. This whole crusade had been a gamble, he knew this, and now that he was paying for the losing hand he dared to play, he found himself woefully unprepared for the price it cost. "I hope."
Slowly his gaze rose up from the ground... and still nothing. Nothing.
Henry heard a shaky wheeze escape from somewhere, not realizing that he had let it out; too wrought, too torn he was when the truth of it began to slowly sink in: he had hoped... and he had been wrong. Henry wanted to cry because everything: science, medicine, logic, reason, and now even hope, had failed him.
There was just nothing left.
Henry stood with what dignity remained in his bones and walked back towards the sleigh. Each step he took echoed with defeat, the sound reminding him how he had failed; how he had failed his wife.
All Henry wanted to do now was curl up next to his wife, and spend their last remaining moments together — to hold her one last time.
Even if he would be the last one to admit it, Jack had been torn when it looked like the guy, after all he had gone through, was giving up, and as his head swiveled between the poor king's retreating back and the mountain, an indignant flame roared to life from behind his rib cage. Cupping a hand over his mouth, "Yeah, you know what, you go on ahead and take five there, buddy. Let ole'Jack take a crack at this thing, okay? Don't you worry your red head — I got this!" he yelled. Turning to face the mountain once more with brows pitched low, Jack let his staff rest on the ground and against his chest before cracking his knuckles as if trying to intimidate the very mountain in the north itself.
"I'm not sure what's going on here, or what's supposed to happen," he flicked his head from side to side, looking for that oh so satisfying "click-click" of his neck joints popping, "but what I do know is that what's keeping that poor sod from saving his wife is you," he addressed the mountain by poking its hard exterior as one would when threatening a person much taller than themselves, "So I'm gonna give you one chance to do what you need to do — just one — before I get cranky."
But just as it was the moment they set foot in that place, the mountain remained ever resolute.
"Have it your way. Don't say I didn't warn you, you dang, dirty pile of pebbles." Jack had had enough of the quiet; some noise was in order, he believed. Grabbing his staff, Jack took a few measured steps back, all the while his eyes never leaving the spot on the mountain he was solely adamant on burning two holes in with his fiery gaze. When Jack finally halted in his retreat, he closed his eye, and for a moment, looked like he was simply standing there. But then the wind began to stir as if she too agreed that it had been far too quiet. What was once a murmur became load roaring, and like a conductor where Wind was his orchestra, Jack slowly raised his hands in front of him beckoning forth a crescendo without compare.
He could feel his power surge through his body like a current of cold lightning. From his stomach, to his lungs, and finally through his arm, the cold sensation condensed within the hand that held his trusty shepherd's crook. The wind reacted like a moth would to a flame when she surged forth, wrapping thrashing tendrils around the crest of his staff where his powers gathered itself. With an impressive amount of determination he not usually attributed to himself, Jack focused, and focused the wind's unbridled fury until the gale that had cloaked him coalesced into a condensed sphere of angry tempest no bigger than an apple on the tip of his staff.
His power peeked, and with a vengeance, the eyes of winter's Lord snapped open and stayed itself on the mountain. One practiced flick of his wrist, he tossed his staff into the air and caught its end in both hands.
He drew his arms as far back his left shoulder as he could, and with a mighty shout, swung.
Henry had been caught off guard when a vicious blast of bitingly cold air suddenly hit him square in the back. His arm went to shield his eyes from the growing squall before he turned towards the mountain to see what was going on. 'What is happening?!' he couldn't help but ask before he was greeted by a loud boom! hitting him squarely on his unsuspecting self; the resulting backlash was enough to knock him down on his backside. 'What in the— where did this wind come from?!' It swirled all around him like an angry flock of crows and twice as loud he could barely hear himself think!
For what felt like an eternity in the swirling whirlwind, it finally began to die down enough for the king to gather his bearings. "What in the world?!" he gasped... but it wasn't over.
To his utter surprise the earth began to emit a steady rumble growing in volume with each passing second. Soon enough the ground was resonating with a deep baritone before it split open in a glorious show of power! The cracks spread wide stopping mere inches before his feet that, if he were any closer, he would have fallen into the chasm bellow. Rock and stone fell from high above the cliffs as if the mountain itself were crying in pain, and the king scrambled shakily onto his feet to avoid being hit by them.
North mountain gave a few more quakes in its death throes, and just like that, it was all over.
Henry coughed a few times as he used one hand to clear away the dust in the air and the other to cover his mouth. It was a few moments before the fog of war finally settled, and whence it did, Henry's brows rose into his hairline while his eyes grew twofold. A maniacal grin split his face right down the middle, and gratefulness unlike anything he had ever felt filled his heart.
"T-thank you! ThankyouthankyouTHANKYOU!"
He had gambled — No. He had hoped, and that hope had been rewarded in the most unimaginable way. The door was open.
Hope — he was really starting to like that word!
Author's notes:
Chapter 2 updated.
