** Obviously if you are reading this, then I expect you all to know that this site is called " " which I hope explains completely that this is a work of fiction based on another work of fiction or nonfiction. I do not own or have any of the rights to Disney's Frozen or Frozen 2, or any of their characters. All scenarios, original OC's, and plot points I create in my own story are indeed mine. Understood, awesome. **
Guys, HEY! It's me, and this is my first fiction or piece of writing I've ever released on this site. I will be trying to update weekly for now, on Saturdays, that way the content is as available as possible over the course of the week. Hopefully you always have something to read, anyways, hope you enjoy.
(And please turn off all cellphones so everyone can enjoy the movie … unless your reading this on your phone … ignore this caption.)
Autumn leaves swirl in a hectic off spiral motion around the young girl, cradling the weakened crown prince tenderly against her chest as the wind spirits carry them away. His breathing was quickly becoming more and more labored, glancing down at his face briefly the girl felt her own breath hitch in her throat at the pallid sight before her. Sweat caked his brow and ran in rivulets down his greying features, bringing her eyes up again to greet the rush of scenery flying past them, "Ah-ah-AH-Ah-ah-AH!" The haunting call issues from the girls lips once more with an even more pronounced urgency.
Tears finally cascade from her eyelids, like a dam bursting from the tremendous pressure, sweet nothings murmured frantically into the sweaty bangs stuck upon the princeling's forehead. Loud snaps* and crackles* fill the empty air with the sound of branches breaking over head as the cold gale picks up speed, rushing the wounded prince and his savior toward the border of The Enchanted Forest. A lump formed in the girl's throat as she glanced back over her shoulder once more at the only home she had ever known, the distance ever growing between her and the forest, between her and the Northuldra. Mist closes in over her vision, filling the last bit of space between The Enchanted Forest's border and the border of Arendelle.
As suddenly as the couple have left the Forest the wind spirits leave them, the drop to the damp earth is jarring and painful, landing on her back with the prince landing on top of her temporarily pushes all the air out of the young girl's lungs. Struggling ensues, pushing, pulling, and shoving the girl slowly moves the boy across the expanse of dirt that is rapidly reducing to mud and hefts his heavy limp body against the wheel of a wooden cart attached to a harnessed mule. Immediately Arendellians in the area recognize their prince, rushing over the owner of the cart assists the girl in moving the prince into the back of the cart, before assisting her as well and laying her beside him.
Wrapping the both of them in the spare blanket laying in the back of the cart, the girl settles her back against the wheel well and holds on as the mule begins to move along, dragging the cart with the two new additions back along the roads towards Arendelle. Not long after the kind man calls back to the two teenagers, asking how Prince Adgar is doing, and wondering what the young girl calls herself. She takes a moment to compose herself, looking at the young boy as the cart bobs along at a unhurried pace, then takes a large gulp of air before responding, "My name is Idun, and yes I am sure that your Prince Adgar will be just fine."
** (Setting – Change – "Transitions are hard.") **
"King Ruenard! King Ruenard, your Majesty!" A filthy sodden looking excuse for a Page calls out as he tumbles from the underbrush, his clothes tattered and full of briars, his hands scuffed and his face marred with a slick trail of blood now matted in his hair. Standing erect and proud in the clearing with his back to the bedraggled man is The King, Ruenard Oldenburg "The Great", conqueror of the Northern Countries and rightful ruler of the Southern Isles.
The beginning of the slaughter which ensued after the celebration far preceded any occurrences during the meeting between the two countries. The rampant carnage that soon followed this supposed meeting of "peace" brokered between the Arendellian and Northuldran people only a overdue result. Blood was destined to flow and tears were meant to be shed far before "The Great" King Ruenard struck down the "impetuous" dissenter that was the leader of the Northuldrans'. This war was inevitable once the friendly Northuldra magic users agreed to the treaty entailing a dam be built in their forest. This treaty gave King Ruenard just enough time, enough leverage, and enough opportunity to put his plan into action. A plan devoid of all logical reasoning. The King could not build peace, he could not take good intentions in stride, instead fear of the unknown and hatred of the unique and different swelled inside of him and blinded him to the evil of his following actions.
"Your Majesty I have the report from the line. The battle is waging fiercely, casualties are mounting on either side, and now it seems we have lost control of the forest spirits as well. We need to retreat now." The Page drew in a deep breath, body weary from his running through the battlefield. He was about to continue asking about his orders to relay concerning the report, when a whimper echoed throughout the clearing. Bewildered the young man jumped slightly, eyes wildly playing through the dense copse and brush surrounding them. Again, the sound of whimpering and sniffling filled the tense air followed by a brief cry,
"Please!" Color noticeably drained from the Page's face as he slowly stepped from behind The King and brought into view the entirety of the scene before him. Blood soaked the ground on which three women knelt, one older woman cradling a body close to hers, the other two much younger, maybe the daughters of the weeping matriarch. The man gasped, his hand clamped over his mouth to stifle the sound and his eyes began to water. The body hugged tight to the elderly woman was headless, spouts of tar like blood oozed from the mangled corded stump of a neck that remained intact.
"Boy … Page, what is your name?" It took a long moment for the shell-shocked young man to respond to the query of his King. Eventually his watery eyes traveled over to the man towering over the women, he followed the line of his body starting with his feet and traveling slowly upward and coming to a jarring halt when met with the vision of horror held lackadaisically in the man's non dominant hand. Choking on his own breath the Page took a few tentative steps back, almost as if to retreat from what he is witnessing. The King looked himself disinterestedly at the object in his left hand and then smiled, a cruel and shiver inducing smile, "Ah yes," he glanced up then at the three women watching from their positions knelt in supplication, and then he looked over to the boy again, raising the object in his hand outward so that the gory details could come into better relief. "The head of that insipid "King of the Forest," Frederick Agripin, he has much more of a commanding presence in death than in life does he not?" With finality he loosened his hold on the head of the Forest King, it rolled from his blood greased palm, sliding finally into the dark shadows of the forest floor, rolling a bit until it was out of sight near the base of a tree.
"M-my name is Lukas, Your Majesty." The King nodded his head imperceptibly in recognition before turning his attention to the three women, speaking to Lukas over his shoulder as he made his way around the trio of women until he was standing behind them, once again facing Lukas.
"Lukas, these women are important icons to the Northuldran people, The Kings Wife and the unanimous matriarch, and her two eldest daughters. From your viewpoint regarding this situation, what is your understanding of the correct thing to enact in this scenario?" The King raised his brow, folding his hands in front of him, sword in his dominant hand. Lukas swallowed thickly, his pulse the hoof beats of a race horse thundering in his ears. Hands twitching uselessly at his sides, the Page takes another deep breath before addressing The King.
"I believe his Majesty understands the stakes of battle and the good of his subjects better than a unexperienced, lowly Page. I would say that if his Majesty deems it necessary to remove these icons of the Northuldran people from this life, I would have no say in that decision, Your Majesty." A moment of silence passed over the iron colored clearing, desperate and pleading looks raining down on Lukas from the three women held at sword point. Finally, a sound broke the fragile silence, and it was not the sound of iron cleaving flesh, or of the cries of the women, or of the Kings solemn assent of Lukas's words. No, the sound was a laugh, deep, cruel, and cutting. The King slowly raised his arm out to the side, his other hand outstretched toward the elderly mother.
"No more perfect words could have been spoken, Lukas "the lowly page." You are very correct in your understandings of the world, and in knowing what needs to be done. Well said," tiring of the nonresponsive visage of the woman, the king violently grabbed her by the arm and ripped her away from her daughters and the remains of her husband, standing her on her shaking legs, a viscous fire in the gaze he settled upon her. "You abhorrent hag of a Queen, you sham of a Matriarch, your people are nothing but flies living on the hide of the dangerous beast known as "Magic." You are inept witches and sorcerers. You all did hear the dear Page's announcement once entering the clearing correct? You have lost already, your spirits abandon you, and my armies outnumber you, I will kill you off and starve you into obscurity to rid the world of the filth that is your people!" "Ha!"
Lukas looked at the elderly woman in surprise, no doubt in his mind that the tired and derisive chuckle came from her. Slowly her head raised, surprisingly bright blue eyes meeting the dull razor sharp glean of The Kings hazel ones. A smile stretched her cracked bleeding lips, it was small yet defiant, she drew in an even smaller breath. "You are a fool. You are a foolish King, from an even more foolish, cowering, and power-hungry bloodline. The power you truly crave eludes you, and so you now despise it, and you fear it. To wipe it from the face of the earth itself will be your final victory. This act is not for your subjects, your family, or for the good of the world. You do this evil for your ego, and for your empire, and because where there was a heart inside you, there is now only a pit that cannot be filled." The corners of King Ruenard's lips twitched ever so slightly, but his gaze did not break, locked with the woman's in a tense staring competition, or maybe it was a battle of wills.
"Sing," Silence. "I enjoy a good voice, or better yet," his gaze traveled to the other two women, "Good voices, so please regale me with a tune. If not for me, then for yourselves, peace in your final moments." During the next few moments, there was one second where the matriarch's eyes flashed with a great will and an unbridled anger, that was the one second where Lukas truly had no idea what he would do if it came to a fight between the women and his King. Luckily that second passed, the three women were given a moment to hold each other and to come to a decision. To sing, or not to sing, or maybe even what song to sing in their final breaths. Softly, slowly, it filled the air with a incandescent and indescribably almost visible glow. Voices in unison singing a song that couldn't be more than a child's lullaby and yet, Lukas didn't know how, and yet he knew that this song had a meaning so much deeper than simply the words themselves.
"Where the north wind meets the sea,
there's a river full of memory.
Sleep my darling, safe and sound,
for in this river all is found."
The first verse tapered off, humming filled the silence in between versus, the light airy sound was enough to slowly draw Lukas deeper and deeper into the music's embrace. Not one of the women, nor the dutiful Page for one moment noticed the silent and languid approach of the King as he made his way into a tall trees shadow, taking his time slipping around the group and into the perfect position to make his next strike. Darkness swallowed up his features from view, he now resembled only a shadow in the background.
"In her waters, deep and true,
lay the answers and a path for you.
Dive down deep into her sound,
but not too far or you'll be drowned."
Holding hands now, the women were shaking slightly, and yet not once did their singing waver. Eyes shut tight in acceptance, they did not open them to glance at their surroundings, they were resolute.
"Yes, she will sing to those who'll hear,
and in her song, all magic flows.
Can you brave what you most fear?
Can you face what the river knows?"
Lukas spotted him, his eyes locked on the two deep menacing pools of hazel that burned behind the group of women, a hand raised to his face, a finger alighted upon his lips in the universal sign of silence. Lukas's heart pumped harder than before, it took all his respect for himself and for the women awaiting their fate for him to steel his heart and continue watching what unfolded before him. It also took everything within him, for him not to jump forward and defend the women, form his King.
"Where the north wind meets the sea,
there's a mother full of memory.
Come, my darling, home—"
Cut off abruptly midway through the final verse. Screams now alighted into the air, The King stood victorious, arm wrapped around the matriarch's waist, his sword pushed through her back and standing at attention, the tip sticking three feet out of her chest. For a moment, gurgles could be heard from the elderly woman's mouth, blood seeped from the corner of her mouth as her eye lids fluttered. She offered her daughters one more smile, and her eyes closed. Abruptly, The King ripped his sword from her cooling corpse, simply letting it fall unceremoniously to the ground. Only a limp pile a flesh now that the soul had left her body, her two daughters crowded her body, sobbing, wails of pure pain and hatred ripping themselves from their throats as they held their mother close to them.
"Where the north wind meets the sea, there's a mother full of memory. Come, my darling, homeward bound. When all is lost … then all is … found." He stood, uncaringly wiping his bloody sword clean on the back of The Forest's King, inspecting to make sure the blade was satisfactory, King Ruenard smiled to himself and sighed. Hefting the sword, he slowly moved again closer to the girls and slowly raised the sword to once again point its cold iron blade towards the older looking daughter. Shivering the young woman stood slowly, her younger sister defiantly rising as well and clinging to her dominant arm. The King smiled, "How sweet … sisters do indeed need to stick together … fine then, I suppose no need to pick yet. Well, I suppose you two should begin singing once more, I quite enjoyed that tune. Your voices are also rather attractive, so please start whenever you like, and once the song comes to a close once more, so shall another life. Rather fitting is it not?"
Lukas's jaw clenched so hard that he could feel an incisor crack, his hands previously shaking had now finally stopped, his hearts thundering pulse had long ago become the only sound he could hear. He had finally come to his decision. He knew what it was he must do today, this "celebration" was only ever meant to end in bloodshed.