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Chapter Twenty
The Tides of War
"Your life could become a lot more comfortable if you just told us what you know," said Prince Consort Kristoff, standing just outside her cell. His expression was one of deepest distaste, and his voice was cold. "Tell us, Renata, how did you come to learn of what we have in our vaults?"
Renata chuckled. It had been several weeks since she'd been tossed into this cell, but there had been no real mistreatment. The guards were quite rough, but she'd been given food and water, and they'd even given her a thin sheet to use as a blanket when she'd complained about the cold. She was stiff and still quite sore from her fall down the stairs, and the food was not enough to fill her belly, and there was a dull pounding in her head, but she was still relatively well-taken care off. That was the problem with the council, she reasoned… they were far too soft. Had the situation been reversed, she'd have stripped the prince naked and tossed him into the darkest pit in Grimhilde Keep, and all he'd have from her would be stagnant water and stale bread.
And, if he didn't crack within the first week, she'd give him to Damon and Dominique. She smirked. Whilst her disgust for the twins was no secret, the truth of the matter was that they were both excellent at extracting information from just about everyone. Their powers… well, they always claimed to not have any, but Renata would be a fool to believe them. When one considered what their father could do with just a flute, and weighed that against how easily the twins could lure people into the black widow's web they called a bed… well, Renata had her suspicions.
"I quite enjoy the silence," she replied, raising an eyebrow. "It's quite annoying that you people insist on disturbing me every morning."
"Our patience only extends so far," said Prince Kristoff. "If we should decide you are useless, the punishment for attempted regicide is death. And, in Arendelle, we do things rather elegantly."
"I am well aware of how things are done in Arendelle," she said, suppressing the urge to chuckle. "But, you won't kill me. If you do, you'll never learn a thing, will you?"
"You forget, there were three of you." Prince Kristoff smirked. "Once the first dies, the next two typically become very chatty, even more so if we decide to kill the next. Make no mistake, Renata, we are all very good people in this castle, but getting our hands dirty is a necessary part of ruling a kingdom."
"You're bluffing," she said, even as a bit of uncertainty welled up inside her. "I know the twins. Whatever you can do to them is nowhere as bad as the things they do to each other for fun, so they're not cracking anytime soon. And, neither am I."
Forcing a confident smile to her face, she leaned back against her cot and fell silent. The prince stared her down, a vein pulsing in his temple, and then he turned away with a snort. As he walked off, Renata breathed a sigh of relief and got to her feet. As noble as he was, there was now a sliver of doubt in her heart, because this was the first time a real threat had been posed. They were getting tired of her silence, and the fact remained that she was a prisoner of war.
She had no rights here, and they could do with her as they liked. Not that they'd do all that much… but could she take that chance? The plan was already in tatters, and if she did not return to Grimhilde soon, who knew what her mother's new ally would do. The situation had to be explained and apologised for.
Of course, if she got herself out, she wouldn't be able to rescue the twins… Oh well, she thought, walking over to the narrow window in the corner of the room. It was for the best, really. The twins may be her allies, but the world would breathe a sigh of relief if they both met their ends in the dungeons of Arendelle. If she freed them, there was always the chance that they'd one day breed, and if it was true that madness multiplied with each generation of the De Vil family, then any child of Damon's and Dominiques would be best smothered in its crib.
The window was narrow, to small for her to even push her hand through, but it was winter in Arendelle, and icicles had formed across the ledge. Glancing at the icicles, she felt a jolt run through her at the sight of her reflection, hazy and somewhat indistinct, but there all the same. Reaching out, tugging her sleeve over her palm, she wiped the frost off the icicle, polishing it until it was clear as glass. Water dripped from the tip, but her reflection was clear enough.
Ice was nothing more than nature's mirror, was it not?
It would be dangerous… her reflection was not quite clear, and the icicle was very small and fragile. And, given her lack of rest, she'd be quite powerless by the time she went through. Still, Grimhilde would be safe… and home sounded a lot nicer than the dungeons of Arendelle.
Reaching out, she drew on her power, feeling it spark in her chest. The gentle warmth ran down her arm and poured out of her fingers, soaking into the icicle. With a smirk, she reached out and touched it, and there was a sharp tug in her navel as the makeshift mirror yanked her through.
The mirror world was white and empty, and she flitted through like a ghost as she was drawn towards the mirror on the other side. Breaking through it like the surface of a lake, she gasped at the refreshing coolness, stumbling onto the ground of her bedroom in Grimhilde. She coughed, her limbs trembling like leaves as she blinked, trying to clear her vision.
"Well, would you look at who finally decided to show up?"
Before she could react, Damon's boot had caught her in the cheek. Pain radiated across her face as she was knocked over, and something warm and wet trickled down her jaw. Scowling, she fought to get to her feet, but the mirror travel had drained her, and Damon had caught her at her worst moment. How is he even here? Kristoff must have lied to her, because the twins certainly weren't in the dungeons of Arendelle, not if Damon was here in Grimhilde. Idly, she fought the urge to laugh, knowing that Arendelle had lost their last kernel of information when she'd escaped, and then her attention turned to Damon, who loomed over her with a livid expression.
"Hello Renny, Darling," he said, grasping her by the hair and dragging her to her feet. Her eyes widened as she took him in—his handsome face was half-covered in bandages, and the look in his eyes was manic, almost demented. "Dominique would say hello, but I'm afraid she's dead. Told her we shouldn't have listened to you and just skinned the lot of them, but no, we needed hostages. Oh, Mummy's dead as well, by the way, and our prisoners have escaped. Funny, isn't it?"
He laughed, throwing back his head, his teeth flashing in the dim light streaming in through the windows. Renata paled as she digested the information, struggling in his grasp, but her arms still felt like two wet noodles, and for all his flaws, Damon was strong as sin.
"It's okay," he continued, patting her on the cheek. He flung her to the ground, climbing up to straddle her chest and pin her wrists under his knees. "I still have Daddy, even if he doesn't love me like Dominique did. I wouldn't mind if he did. Who doesn't want to suck the cock that made them?" Leering, he leaned in, cocking his head to the side, and he was laughing between his words, utterly and completely demented.
"Damon, perhaps you—"
He clapped a hand over her mouth, cutting her off.
"No, not another word out of that sinfully fuckable mouth, sweetheart," he said. "It's just you and me now, and we're going to get some revenge, aren't we? But you talk too much, and everything you say is just so stupid, you know? It's okay. Don't look so scared. I'd just sew your lips shut, but then how would I get to use your mouth? Maybe you could just be quiet? Won't that be nice? Then I wouldn't have to cut out your tongue."
Her eyes widened and she nodded, eager to agree. Her strength was beginning to return to her, and if she could keep him placated for a few more moments, she'd be able to break out of his hold and dispose of him. Strong and skilled with a blade as he was, it was obvious to her that Damon had lost what little had been left of his mind, and that would throw him off his game in a fight.
"We'll be best friends, sweetheart, you and me," he said, and his eyes glinted as he leaned in, his voice growing thick with allure. "You'll help me and I'll help you, and we'll kill them all before fucking on a bed made of their corpses? Right?"
Renata frowned. Her head was growing heavy, her thoughts slightly fuzzy. No, she thought, realizing what was happening. Desperately, she tried to force her mental defenses into place, but it was no use. Like hooks, Damon's magic had already caught her, and trying to fight it off was a fool's errand.
"We're going to my Chateau in Eléadoré, okay, and we can play all day. Tomorrow, we'll go kill something, and then we'll play some more. It's just you and me now, sweetheart, isn't it?" He chuckled, his voice dripping with his allure, and just like that, something in her mind snapped. "Daddy might be visiting, and I'll even let him play with you if he wants. I like to share. You'll come with me, won't you, sweetheart? Hamelin really is lovely this time of year."
"I'd like that very much," she said, and to her horror, she meant it.
"Have you reconsidered, my dear?" asked Tremaine.
Cinderella looked up, her eyes narrowing as they fell upon her gaoler. Tall and thin, her stepmother walked with a haughty elegance, her cane tapping the ground with every step she took. Her grey hair was pulled into a tight bun, and a gaudy crown glimmered upon her brow. It was a tacky thing, Cinderella thought, forged of gold and three times the size of the one she'd worn when she'd still sat the throne beside her husband.
"Even if I knew, I couldn't tell you," she replied, her chains rattling as she moved. Her wrists had been tightly shackled above her head, and the strain of keeping her arms up had long since caused her to lose feeling in them. "Lucile and Jaq are both long gone."
She spread her lips in a bloody smile, flashing her broken teeth at Tremaine. If the Godmother was good, her children would have crossed the border by now, but there was no way of telling which kingdom they had been headed for. When her stepmother had staged her coup, she had gone to great lengths to make sure her children were able to escape the castle, but she had been equally careful to not let them divulge their destination, not even to her.
"No matter," said Tremaine, seemingly unfazed. "There is nowhere for them to run to."
"A lie," replied Cinderella, spitting out a mouthful of blood. "I have a great many friends, Tremaine, and my children will be granted sanctuary no matter where they turn. And, in time, they'll see your head on a stake."
"You always were a delusional little girl," said Tremaine, quirking an eyebrow. Straightening her back, she lashed out with her cane, catching Cinderella across the face. A sharp crack echoed across the room, and she nearly bit out her tongue to keep from screaming. Gasping for breath, she slumped forward, but contained her agony.
Her hair may be a matted tangle, her face may be bruised and swollen, her teeth may be cracked, and she may be dressed in a filthy brown shift with her feet forced into glass slippers that were far too small, but even like this, she was still a queen, and she still had her pride. She refused to break under Tremaine's torment, no matter how bad it got.
"Your children are alone and friendless, lost in a hostile land with bounties on their heads," continued Tremaine, her smirk deepening. "Do you have any idea how easy it was to stage this coup? The nobility of Eléadoré has no love for you or your husband. Who can blame them? You're a maid without a name, and yet he raised you up to be their queen. One whisper from me and a few promises, and they were ready to string the lot of you up by your throats."
Cinderella remained silent, wincing as the cane viciously prodded her in the throat. Tremaine cackled, her yellowed teeth shining in the gloomy light cast by the single oil lamp in the corner of the room. Tremaine wanted her to take the bait, to get angry and say something that she wouldn't be able to take back. Closing her eyes, she tried to slip away inside herself, to let the world around her fall away, just as she had when she'd been a young girl subjected to Tremaine's temper.
The years of lavish comfort, though, had softened her and alienated her from the girl she had been, and she was aware of every prod, poke, hit, and crack. Blood dribbled from her lips, and her torso felt as though it was on fire, every inch of her skin burning beneath the roughspun shift.
Blood ran down her legs from where the cane had cut deep into her skin, splitting it open. Old, Tremaine may be, but she was still as strong as ever, and the years had only honed her precision when it came to using that blasted cane. Finally, after what felt like eternity, the blows stopped coming, and Cinderella looked up, spitting her hair out of her mouth and glaring.
"Most impressive. Your husband endured worse and didn't crack either. No matter," said Tremaine. "It would seem you've outlived your usefulness, though I'd say you outlived that the day you were old enough to talk."
She snapped her fingers, and the door swung open. Two burly guardsmen walked in, dragging Henry between them. Cinderella's heart sank as she took in the sight of her husband. He was naked, blood running down his bruised skin, and when he looked up at her, half-conscious and not seeming to truly see her, she realized that he'd lost several of his teeth, whilst his left eye was a gruesome ruin. The socket was empty, oozing pus and blood, and the skin was burned. As they chained him to the wall across from her, binding his hands above his head, just as they'd done her, Cinderella realized that the skin upon half his fingers had been flayed away, and all his fingernails were missing.
"You loathsome bitch," she snarled, jerking forward against her chains. They rattled mockingly, digging into her skin as she tried to lunge at Tremaine, and to tear that vicious smile from the old bitch's face with her bare hands. "I should have had your head years ago."
"What's this?" asked Tremaine, laughter bubbling from her lips. "One more mistake in the long history of mistakes that has been your life? Who would have thought?"
"The only mistake was not having you hanged for your crimes," she shrieked, jerking forward again. Rage bubbled up within her, fuelling her through the pain and exhaustion. She was not a violent woman, but in that moment, all she wanted was to rip Tremaine apart, to make her hurt as much as she did.
"I will forgive that rudeness," said Tremaine, dismissing the guards with a snap of her fingers. "In fact, I will be quite merciful. I will allow the two of you to be together as you meet your end."
Walking across the cell, Tremaine smirked as she reached out for a many-spoked wheel against the wall. Reaching out, she turned it, and Cinderella shrieked as she felt the chains tighten around her wrist. Across from her, Henry groaned. Then, she was being lifted off her feet until she was just a few inches above her ground. Almost at once, her shoulders began to ache.
"I must confess, I was surprised to find such a device in your dungeons, Cinderella," said Tremaine. "A relic of King Henry's grandfather's rule, I would say. It's an interesting bit of equipment, isn't it." Locking the wheel in place, she reached for the lever beside it, yanking it down. Something clicked, and Cinderella bit her tongue deep enough to draw blood as she felt the weight upon her shoulders double, and it almost felt as if they were pulled up whilst her body dragged her down.
"It's a slow death, but no more than you deserve. My men will be here to force food and water down your mouths everyday, because I want you awake for all of it. If you lose consciousness, they'll wake you. You see, my dear, in a few hours, the pain will be unbearable. Soon, your shoulders will dislocate. Then, in time, they'll pop off altogether, and you'll bleed out on the floor. The same is true for Henry."
Cinderella's eyes widened as she stared at her husband and then at the chains, realization dawning. Her throat grew tight, and her stomach felt as though it had turned to lead.
"I am merciful, dear. Whichever one of you dies first releases the weight on the chains, and they'll fall to the ground. I'll treat the survivor as my honoured guest, and let them live in this cell for the rest of their life with their lover's corpse as company. It would be a shame to come between true love, after all.
"You will pay for this, Tremaine," said Cinderella. "May the next time I see you be when we meet in hell."
Tremaine chuckled. "Goodbye, Cinderella."
My Dearest Queen Elsa
I write this letter with a heavy heart. Dark clouds circle Renvale, and all my joys have turned to ashes in my mouth. My dearest husband, King Florian Charming, has been assassinated, killed by poison, and an investigation has unearthed that the murderer was none other than my beloved Margaret. I can imagine your shock, but no heart is as broken as mine over this nightmarish turn of events.
My son and our heir, Prince Christopher Charming, has been missing since the fall of Amoré, as he had been visiting the kingdom when the disaster claimed it. I am beside myself, and I do hope you are able to forgive me not sending my troops to the front. Renvale is in a state of turmoil, and as the line of succession has been utterly ripped out by the roots, I have been coronated to rule until my dear nephew, Viscountess Vanellope von Schweetz, a babe still at her mother's breast, comes off age.
"Well, things just keep getting worse, don't they?" asked Kristoff, raising an eyebrow as she set down the letter, not willing to read any longer.
The letter made no sense. It was genuine, that much she could tell, because it bore the royal seals of both Renvale and Queen Snow, the three golden acorns as well as the the red apple, but the truth of the matter was that nothing in the letter made sense. King Charming was dead… which Anna could believe, but for Margaret, his own daughter, to be the killer? She knew Margaret, and the girl was a great many things, but a killer was not one of them.
Anna had met killers before, and she doubted that Princess Margaret Katherine Charming had it in her to take a life. The girl was naive and spoiled, but it took grit to kill, or a strong sense of self-preservation… and to be honest, the girl had neither.
"An understatement, wouldn't you say?" she asked, burying her face in her hands. "Nick's gone, the prisoner escaped, King Charming has been assassinated, and… I can go on for days, can't I, but well, everything's gone to shit."
Her husband shook his head, looking worried. Setting aside the reports he'd been looking over, he rose from his seat and came to kneel beside her chair, taking her hands in his. Bringing them to his lips, he kissed her knuckles before reaching up to cup her cheek.
"Once, long ago, the entire kingdom went to shit and we made it through all right, didn't we?" he said, and her choked response was half a sob and half laughter. "Granted, you died in the process, but you're still here, right?"
"A frozen heart beats more steadily than a dead one," she replied, pursing her lips. "I'm worried, Kristoff… I'd just had Brynn when Oloria fell, and so the two of us didn't go to the war-front… but you remember how Elsa was when she returned. The things she saw… and now Nick's out there, and she is again, and there's Agrabah, and Amoré, and Renvale, and who knows how long before the war finds itself on our doorstep? Bryn and Morrigan…" She swallowed, tears stinging at the corners of her eyes as she trailed off, worry for her children plaguing her.
Her daughters were her life, and neither of them were old enough to defend themselves, not like her nephew could. Amoré had fallen in less than a day based on all the reports, and the Imperium had been swept to dust in a week. Against such power, what chance did Arendelle stand, all but defenceless as it currently was with their army and both Nick and Elsa abroad.
All she could do was trust in the wards woven around the city… Elsa's frost burned hotter than fire, but that was nothing compared to the defences laid upon the city walls. Jack had woven his magic into the very stones of Arendelle when Nick had been born, and it was the magic of both her sister and her brother-in-law that she had to trust.
"Anna, look at me," said Kristoff, rousing her from her thoughts. "It will end well. Don't ask me how I know. I just do."
"You're my husband. It's your job to say that, even when you know it's not true."
"Yet, when have I ever lied to you?" he asked. "Twenty-one years of marriage and I've always been honest, haven't I?"
"You have," she said softly. "But you can't lie about things you don't know about. Do you know, after Elsa told me she planned on taking almost the entirety of our army to the Imperium, I wanted to send the girls to Corona. It would be so much safer for them, and then the idea only intensified when Renata's cohorts broke into the castle… But I can't, can I? Morrigan's still nursing, and Bryn… even being in the castle this long, away from the trolls, is dangerous for her… Isn't that just the kicker… I can't even send my daughter to safety because of another one of my mistakes."
"Grand Pabbie assured Olaf that she would be fine when he allowed her to return to the castle to meet Morrigan," said Kristoff. "The ice in her heart will thaw in time… she just needs to find her act of true love, and she's strong enough to warm her own heart now. She doesn't need the trolls to warm it for her."
"She would not need too if she hadn't inherited my curse," said Anna, her voice breaking. "Even after all these years, I can still piece the cold in my chest, and it hurts, Kristoff, but do you know what hurts more? Knowing she has to feel the same thing."
"And Alyssa Rose has to deal with her father's beastly nature. Nick spent months floating around the castle whenever he took off his shoes because of Jack. Cornelius gets upset and every light in the room goes out. All of them, Bryn included, inherited a few bad things along with the good from their parents… but that ice she got from you, it gave her magic as well, didn't it?"
"Always looking on the bright side, aren't you, Kristoff?" she asked, a wan smile spreading across her lips as she leaned in to rest her head against his. "I wish I could still be as positive as the girl I once was."
"You're still that girl, Anna," he said, "Now, you're just old as well." His voice slightly teasing, he scrunched up his nose as she smacked him on the shoulder. A yelp escaped her throat as he yanked her down onto him, sending the pair sprawling onto the rug.
"Very mature," she said, and despite everything, she laughed at the face he pulled. "Sometimes, I wonder how you every managed to find a wife."
"You're one to talk," he replied, leaning in to press his lips to hers. "You married me."
"You don't have to come with us, you know?" said Cornelius, falling into step with him. "If you wanted to go, Ali's carpet could have you in Corona within a few hours."
Christopher frowned as he limped along the path, using a somewhat burnt stick from the fishing village as a makeshift cane to keep as much of his weight of his feet as he could. The thorns of Amoré's woods had cut deep, and even though he'd cleaned out the cuts and wrapped them in bandages, they still stung. Mercifully, Morgan was about his size, and he'd been able to borrow a pair of shoes, and Cornelius had chipped in with a fresh shirt to replace the one he'd been using as a satchel.
With Pooh and Chip both nestled in Nicholas' bag, there'd been no need for his old shirt anymore, and so they'd simply cleaned it as best they could and kept what remained of the tattered fabric in case they needed more bandages.
Honestly, it didn't feel as though he was needed anymore. Pooh and Chip were both safer with Nicholas than they were with him, and he was not a fighter, not in the slightest. Injured as he was, it was quite possible that he was a liability to the rest of them… but that didn't change the fact that they'd saved him, and he wanted to help them in whatever way he could.
"I know," he replied, his voice low. "But… what kind of person would I be if I ran away when the going got tough?" Realizing that he was slowing them down, he gritted his teeth and picked up the pace, wincing with every step.
"A smart person," said Cornelius. "You're injured, you're not a fighter, and don't get me wrong, I like you well enough, Christopher, and I don't think you'll help anyone by getting yourself killed."
Christopher shrugged, biting his lip. Looking away, he walked on in silence for a bit longer, a dozen thoughts flying through his head. The truth was that maybe getting himself killed might be the only way he'd ever be useful. He flinched just thinking about it, the mere thought of how much more useful he'd be as a meatshield or diversion as opposed to a person overwhelming him. No, this wasn't about him and his oddities… this was a rescue mission, and dammit it all to hell, he wouldn't add this to the list of things he'd failed at. All his life, he'd felt stupid, but this… this was something he didn't want to one day look back and say that, once again, he'd run.
He could do this… he was a prince, and he'd stand alongside the rest of them as they rescued their friend. He'd said horrible things to Alyssa, taking out his own issues and frustrations on her, but she'd been a friend, even for a short time before the curse had struck. She'd done some nasty things as well, but she was still his friend.
Friends didn't turn their back on friends… they just didn't. That much, he did know.
Possessed by the sudden urge to sit down and cry, he fought to stay on his feet. He had abandoned her, though, opting to flee the castle rather than stick around and try to find a way to save her. He'd abandoned all of them: Queen Belle, who'd been warm in ways his own mother had never been, and King Adam, trapped in the same cursed shell as Alyssa, and Lumiére, who'd always been kind… Even his toys back home; he'd left them as well, even if he hadn't had any choice in the matter. Swallowing thickly, he pressed on, until he felt a restraining hand on his shoulder.
"Was it something I said?" asked Cornelius. "Look, I'm sorry if I'm being short with you all. I'm just worried, and I'm not a people person when I'm worried."
"Look, Cornelius, I know I'm pretty pathetic, and I get that I'm useless, but I can count the number of people who've been nice to me on my fingers and still have fingers left over." Christopher sucked in a breath, pursing his lips. "Alyssa is one of those people. I'm coming with you lot because she's my friend as well… and she's your wife, and even though we've seen each other perhaps twice in ten years, you never mocked me either."
Cornelius paused, surveying him, looking as though he didn't know quite what to say. Awkwardly, he ran a hand through his hair before nodding. The woods on either side of the path were quiet, too quiet, and Ali was way ahead of them, scouting out the path ahead. Nicholas and Morgan were flying above, keeping an eye on the surrounding countryside, and a reminiscent chill ran down Christopher's spine.
Standing here, enclosed by the trees, listening to the silence… it was felt far too familiar for his liking. Warily, he glanced around.
"You know what, I don't care what they say about you," said Cornelius, breaking the ominous silence. "You have a lot of heart, Christopher. And for the record, I never thought you were weird, because when I met you, the only thing that ran through my mind was that it was rather cool to have a living teddy bear."
Cornelius' words warmed him, but for some reason, he couldn't respond. His tongue seemed to have turned to lead, and he could hear it, echoing faintly in the background. Panic began to set in as he pinched himself and realized that no, he was not imagining it. The growls were real, and he grasped Cornelius by the wrist.
"We need to run," he said. "Now."
For a second, Cornelius looked confused. Then, a loud roar tore the air, and his eyes widened as he took off, keeping hold of him and half-dragging him along. Christopher bit his lip to keep from crying out in pain, but then Ali had turned back to see what the commotion was, and Morgan and Nicholas were descending, flying back to back and keeping a wary watch over the surrounding trees.
"What in Tsar Luna's—" Ali began, reaching for his whip.
"We need to get in the air," Cornelius gasped. "Hollow Ones in the woods."
Swiftly, Ali nodded and whistled, and as the first Hollow One thudded out of the woods, waving about its cleavers, the magic carpet flitted over, hovering a few inches above the ground. A flash of fire caught Christopher's attention, and he looked up in surprise as Morgan spat out a fireball. The Hollow One burst like a balloon as the fire hit it, a loud squelch echoing through the woods as blackened blood, rotted flesh, and yellow pus splashed the area.
"Get on," yelled Cornelius, and numbly, Christopher scrambled onto the carpet, his heart sinking as more Hollow Ones burst from the trees. A large icicle took one in the chest, and then another fireball went flying, and a few seconds later, Carpet was rising into the air.
"Hold on to something," said Ali as Morgan and Nicholas rose into the sky beside them, both taking deep breaths. "It's getting windy, and I don't think we're going to be walking for a while."
Determinedly not looking down, Christopher grabbed onto Carpet's tassels, and taking a deep breath to steady himself, he closed his eyes against the frigid wind as they raced through the sky, the Hollow Ones lurching after them, and the castle of Amoré looming over the horizon.
"Queen Elsa's forces have swept the coast, and Queen Ariel has brought the flatlands to heel," said Princess Sigrun, setting down the missive. "It would appear that the eastern seaboard has been cleared of all hostile forces."
Jian nodded, opting to hide his elation at the news. The captains who reported to Sigrun already held him in disdain due to his reliance on magic, and he would give them no further excuses to complain about what they called ineptitude. He would dearly love to see what they would accomplish had they been in his position; without dragons or supplies, exhausted and battling numerous injuries, with just a small handful of soldiers under his command, all of whom had been in much the same state as he.
They were seated around a rough-hewn table in the dining chamber of the Bei Fong Estate, which their combined forces had liberated from the Hollow Ones and then claimed for use as a temporary base of operations. It left a bitter taste in his mouth to so callously seize the home and belongings of a family that could not have been dead for more than a few days, if the state of the corpses could be believed, but in war, there were no rules. You took what you needed to survive, and it was not as though the dead would be able to use the estate for anything other than a haunting.
It was better than camping, that much was sure. Here, they had a roof over their head, full granaries, and sturdy walls from which to keep watch over the surrounding countryside. Should they come under siege, the walls would do little good, but it was much better than the rough canvas of a tent, that much was certain.
"Commander Jian?"
He started, roused from his thoughts, and he realized that Sigrun was speaking to him. Clearing his throat and ignoring the many condescending glances shot in his direction, he turned to look at the princess, silently urging her to repeat the question and spare him the embarrassment of admitting he hadn't been paying attention.
"You know the land better than most of us," she said smoothly, gesturing to the map on the table. "The Imperial Palace lies between us and the sea, but we desperately need to join our strength with that of Queen Elsa's and Queen Ariel's before we can even consider assaulting the capital. What is the fastest way around?"
"Here," he said, stabbing a finger at the map. "These fields are used to grow wheat, and there are several trails leading through them for horses and caravans. We would reach our allies' position within a week, but they are dangerously close to the Imperial Palace. Here, though," he pointed to a second smooth expanse of green on the map. "Mulberry orchards for the cultivation of silkworms. The bluffs give us cover, and it would take us longer to cross them, but the risk would be much lower."
"Pah! Are you a soldier or a coward?" asked Captain Hrid, a hoarish man with a thick neck and a large battle-axe strapped to his back. "We cross the wheat fields, and if the enemy seeks to threaten us, we cut them down!"
"Several hundred refugees have flocked to our banners," said Jian, raising an eyebrow. "Now, I am not sure how soldiers behave in DunBroch and Berk, but here, we prioritize the safety of our citizens. Or, perhaps you would like to put a sword in the hand of every infant and elder who has come to us for solace, fleeing the destruction of their homes and the deaths of their families, and ask them to fight?"
Silence rang clear through the air, and he leaned back in his chair, satisfied that he'd made his point. Hrid glared at him, red in the face, and beside him, Captain Dagmar clenched his jaw. The others exchanged sour looks with each other, but when he turned to Sigrun, she was smirking.
"Perhaps that is how things are done in the Imperium," she said, "But in DunBroch and Berk, our civilians can defend themselves. Still, you raise a fair point." Rising to her feet, she swept out a hand. "You are all dismissed. I would like to think in private."
As the captains muttered their farewells and rose, Jian stood up. Turning, he paused when he felt a cool hand upon his wrist. Glancing behind him, he raised an eyebrow in surprise.
"Not you," said Sigrun, her voice low. "I would like a few words."
As the last of the captains left and the doors closed behind them, Jian leaned against the table, waiting for her to say what she had to. This was new for him—especially when it came to Sigrun. There was history between them, but she was a very different person than the girl he remembered. When he'd met her… she'd been rather tomboyish, but also sweet and prone to laughter. The Sigrun who stood before him now, however, was a different kettle of fish altogether. She wore armor in place of silk, and he knew that the eyepatch she wore was not there for cosmetic reasons. He swallowed thickly, not wanting to dwell on that particular memory.
Very few princesses in history could claim to hold the title of general, and yet, he was certain that Sigrun had earned her way to the top.
"My men don't like you," she said, cutting right to the point. "Small wonder, given how hard you are to like, but if you mouth off like that again, I can't guarantee they won't come looking for you in the night to wedge a knife between your ribs."
He raised an eyebrow. "Surely the men under your command are not so thin-skinned that they would resort to such lowly methods of revenge? I would have expected that you would have instilled a better sense of discipline into them."
"Discipline?" she asked. "Berk is not the Imperium, and neither is DunBroch. My people respect and follow strength, not whatever nonsense their edicts have instilled in them. If you want their respect, show your strength, because engaging them in a battle of wits will just leave you with a headache and them very annoyed."
"I do believe that's the best advice you've ever given me," he said, snorting. "But, I don't want their respect. Now, is that all or can I go?"
Sigrun regarded him with a curious eye, and she sighed. Gesturing for him to follow, she headed for the door, and as she opened it, she ushered him out ahead of her. The corridor was empty, but the sounds of soldiers chatting over dinner echoed from the courtyard where a great many soldiers had set up their tents, and it was a heartening sound after the weary silence of the past few weeks.
"Walk with me," she said, and her tone made it clear that it was a command rather than a request.
Wordlessly, he followed, wondering what it was she wanted now.
"How are you handling everything?" she asked, the weariness in her voice taking him by surprise. "A brave face is easy to put on, but nobody recovers from the losses you've taken so quickly."
"I'm fine." He gritted his teeth. What did she care as to how he was coping? At the end of the day, they had both walked separate paths a long time ago, and more to the point, she had no right to pry. Breaking down in front of her had been a mistake, he knew, and if he could take it back, he would. He had allowed his grief to get the better of him, but he couldn't allow that to happen again. Swallowing down thoughts of his mother, his father, his brothers, and his sister, he kept his head held high and kept up his face, not letting his indifferent facade crack for so much as a second.
"We both know that isn't true," she said. "Now, it's not my place to pry, but it is my place to make sure you don't get yourself killed in the coming battles, Jian. And, you say you're fine, but I know you, and this isn't you."
"You know me as well as I know you," he countered, pressing his lips into a thin line. "It's been a very long time, Sigrun, and we're not the kids we were in Renvale."
"True," she said, "But the more things change, the more they stay the same. Believe it or not, I do care about you despite how we left things, and I'd rather you don't die in the near future."
"Look, Sigrun," he said, running a hand through his hair and turning away. "I'm fine. I'll be better when the war is over, sure, but I have soldiers civilians who depend on me, and I'm not about to leave them to their own devices by dying just because I'm in mourning. I'm grateful that you're trying to be there for me, but I don't need that, I really don't."
"Then, what do you need?" she asked, turning, raising an eyebrow.
"I don't know," he said. "All I know is that it isn't you."
She staggered, feeling as though he'd just slapped her across the face. Drawing herself up to her full height, Sigrun glared, her temper flaring at his words. Did he understand nothing? Was he truly as selfish now as he'd been all those years ago? Did he, for one second think, she'd have dropped everything and marshalled her forces the minute she had learned the Imperium was under attack, disobeyed her father's wishes to remain out of the conflict until more intelligence had been gathered, had it not been for him?
"Yes," she said. "Lash out like you always do when someone tries getting close to you. It's what you did in Renvale, isn't it?"
"I don't want to talk about that," he retorted, and his voice was rising to match hers. Turning, he made to leave.
She was grateful that the captains and soldiers were eating outside, sparing them the need to witness the scene the two of them were causing. Thoughts of the war slid from her mind as she reached out, grasping him by the collar and yanking him back.
"Oh, we're talking about it," she said. "Can't you, for a minute, just admit that you need help? The last time you charged in, refusing to listen to the people who cared about you, I lost my fucking eye. What's it going to be this time? Your life?"
"You losing that eye was not my fault. Nobody asked you to come after me!"
"What was I supposed to do? Let you rush off after those thugs on your own just because they'd stolen my bag? We both know you'd be dead if it wasn't for me showing up when I did."
"I had everything under control! If you'd just stayed in town like I'd told you to—"
"Why is it so bloody hard for you to admit that you can't do everything on your own?" She clenched her fists, cutting him off in mid-sentence. The only person he was fooling was himself, because they all knew the truth. They'd been ready to string him up from a tree by the time she'd arrived, and if she hadn't interfered, as he put it, he'd be hanging like a bird feeder.
"Why?" she continued, when he made no move to reply. "Why can't you just get over your stupid sense of pride and admit that you needed my help, and why can't just you look at me now and be honest about the fact that you're not okay."
"Because it's you," he roared, and immediately, she could tell by his expression that he hadn't meant to say that. "What do you want from me? To tell you I want to just go to sleep and wake up to find it's all been a bad dream? To admit that I'm crying myself to sleep every night? What do you want? To tell you it sometimes keeps me up at night knowing that you have one eye because of me? To give you more ammunition for you to lob back in my face whenever we argue?"
Was that what he thought? She frowned, her anger dwindling as swiftly as it had risen, and she reached out to steady his trembling hands with her own. He tried to pull away, but she had wrestled dragons, and her drip was firm enough to keep him from turning and bolting…
"No," she said, surprising herself by how tender she sounded. "Jian… I don't blame you for what happened to me. What I blame you for is running, for making me feel like you were only with me when I had a pretty face. But, that's not why I'm here. I'm here, talking to you, trying to get you to let me in, because I know what happens when you bottle things away, and I don't want to see you get hurt."
"I ran because it was my fault," he said, after what felt like an era of silence. "I… I never meant to hurt you more than I already had." His voice cracked, and he tried to pull away again, but she simply shook her head, wordlessly gesturing for him to continue.
"I'm sorry about the eye, about leaving you, and about everything that came after. But, in this, I am a soldier of the Imperium, and I can only let myself mourn when my homeland is safe. All I can do now is kill as many Hollows as I can because that's what I want. Vengeance. For my home, my family, and my friends."
"I understand that, but promise me that you will not join them in the grave. On your honor as a soldier, promise me that," she said, knowing him well enough to understand the only way to ensure he never gave up was to have him to vow to survive upon the one thing that had ceased to be an occupation and become an extension of himself.
"Very well. I swear upon my honour as a soldier of the Imperium that I will survive this war."
"Good," she said, reaching out to run a hand down his cheek. Without meaning to, she leaned in, and a second later, she was kissing him. For a moment, he was still, caught by surprise, and then he returned the kiss, his hands falling to rest on her waist as she wrapped her arms around his back.
Quickly, too quickly, the kiss grew heated as almost a decade of memories crashed over them; their history was a complicated one, and she couldn't deny that there had been a great many mistakes made by the both of them where the other was concerned. He backed her up until she was pressed against the wall, his lips never leaving hers, and he was kissing her almost hungrily, and she returned his kiss with a passion she didn't know she still had.
"Is this wise?" she asked, breaking the kiss and ducking her head.
"I thought you said you were tired of me running away?" he asked, a faint glint of amusement in his eyes as he gazed into her eyes.
"We made too many mistakes, you more than me, but even so, there were a lot of mis—"
"They weren't all mistakes," he said, and as he pressed his lips back to hers, she couldn't help but agree.
A queen crowned in white roses descended the ancient steps of her castle, her sword born aloft, her hair flowing out beside her. At her side marched her chess pieces and cards, preparing for the final siege. Ahead, the sky grew dark and tumultuous as the Hollow Ones marched through Marmoreal, and the black clouds spilled across the sky, steadily drawing closer to her castle.
"Madness," said Mallymkum, perched upon her shoulder and clasping her needle-sized rapier. "This is madness."
"Madness or sanity, we must make our stand," she said, reaching out to run a finger down the dormouse's cheek. "There is nowhere else to turn."
The Hatter tittered, a nervous giggle escaping his lips. For once, he seemed at a loss for words. She took his hand, feeling the wrinkles in his gnarled fingers. Long ago, she remembered being a young girl who'd taken that very same hand and descended into madness with the rest of them… but she was a woman now, and he was an old man.
"Come, Hatter," she said, patting him on the back. "We've done dozens of impossible things in the past, and today, all we need to do is one. Surely, we can pull that off?"
"Indeed, Alice," he said, reaching up to adjust his hat. "The impossible is only impossible if you believe it is."
.
"Reminiscing, are we?" asked Tsar Luna, startling her from her thoughts.
Glancing up from her seat beside the crackling fireplace, the Godmother took a delicate sip of her bourbon. Blinking to banish any stray memories, she turned her head. Tsar Luna stood in the doorway of his living room, leaning forward on his cane, and pensive expression on his narrow face. Silently, he walked towards her before taking a seat in his usual high-backed chair before adjusting his monocle.
"Pitch Black's return has stirred old memories," she replied, knowing better than to lie. "I was merely contemplating what became of the world the last time he rose."
"Wonderland was a tragic accident," said Tsar Luna, reaching for his cigar box. Clipping the tip of his cigar with a tiny silver knife, he brought it to his lips as he fished about his pockets for a lighter. Leaning back, he took a deep drag before blowing out a silver-blue smoke circle which hovered in the air above him.
Within the circle, images flickered, grainy and blurred, but the Godmother tensed all the same. The pictures Tsar Luna had conjured were familiar: the high towers of the White Castle in Marmoreal, the Hollow Ones tearing through the gates, the Hatter descending upon them with his top hat askew, the Bandersnatch ripping through their ranks like butter… and the queen, a girl all in white, duelling a man all in black upon the castle steps.
When the man swept out his scythe, the Godmother did not flinch, knowing what was coming. The queen gasped, her fingers growing limp as the Vorpal Blade slipped from her fingers, and blood poured from the gaping wound in her belly where the scythe had taken her.
"I remember Wonderland well enough without the need of a visual aid," she said stiffly, looking away as the images flickered and vanished. "There is no need for that nonsense."
"I felt a reminder is in order," said Tsar Luna. "After all, the grudge you bear Pitch is most unlike the grudges carried by your fellow Guardians. I would hate for you to rush off in search of vengeance."
"I am not stupid, Tsar Luna," she replied. "Though the younger Guardians are questioning why we don't corner the wretched creature at once. I cannot say I blame them, because the world below is in shambles as it is. Do you not hear the people pleading? I fear that if one more person calls out to me for aid, I might go quite mad."
"You are already mad, Alice," he said, chuckling. "And, should we act, what will happen when the next grand catastrophe strikes the world? Are we to bestir ourselves whenever they stub a toe?"
"I understand why we do not intervene for the little things, but this is very different," said the Godmother, rolling her eyes. "Pitch is ours to deal with, but his minions are not. Speaking off, how goes the search for the new potentials?"
Tsar Luna chuckled, a knowing look upon his face, but he did not reply. Irritated, she sipped at her bourbon, glaring in his direction. This was his way, like it or not. Whenever there was something that she dearly wanted to know, he would clam up after dangling the carrot, and like the horse, she'd rear up in frustration. Not this time, however. Tsar Luna could play his games, and she would play hers.
Her role was a simpler one. She granted the wishes of young children in need, though it had been a long time since a situation had been dire enough to warrant her personal attention. Her fairies acted in her stead, and she only descended from her starry manor for two reasons: The Council's call, or if someone caught her eye. The last one to accept her blessing would be around twenty now, she believed, and she wondered what had become of him. He had been a pure soul and, if she did say so herself, his wish had been one of the sweetest and most innocent she had ever granted.
She made it a point to rarely keep an eye on those she'd interfered with. Oftentimes, that would lead to her growing attached, and mortal lives were so fleeting. Over the centuries, she'd felt the keen sting of loss far too many times for her to count, and these days, she found it easier to simply set the young ones on the right part and leave it at that.
Leaning back in her seat, she pursed her lips, gazing into the flickering flames. The fire crackled, throwing up sparks, and as a log collapsed, ashes rained down upon the hearth.
.
On the steps of a ruined castle, a young queen lay in a pool of blood, clad all in sodden red. Still and cold, she gazed at the full moon with glassy, unseeing eyes, and a moonbeam came to rest upon her chest.
Slowly, she rose into the air, and her wounds stitched shut. Her armor fell away, replaced with a red dress, and her hair tied itself into a high bun. At her side, the shattered remains of the Vorpal Blade glimmered in the air as they shifted, growing molten, and reforged themselves into a wand.
"Rise, Fairy Godmother," said a voice, and a jolt ran through her, her eyes flaring open as translucent wings, like those of a butterfly, unfurled from her back. Clutching at her chest, she gasped for breath, sucking in the cool night air as the ashes of Wonderland rained down around her.