A breeze ruffled the curtains. The pale sunlight playing off the leaves outside danced from one shape to the next, and the scent of freshly bloomed lilies drifted in through the open window. One of these things woke her, and yet none of these things woke her. Her heart had done it. It knew what she didn't.
She blinked lazily in the morning light, searching for familiar items to take their proper shapes. She could tell from the smell in the air, from the intensity of the sun, it would be a warm day. But for now it was a misty morning, and the stone floor would be cold under her feet, so she remained in bed. Not that she minded the cold. She was about to settle her head back onto her pillow and return to her dreaming, when she saw the form of her father, hunched over her dressing table.
"Papa?" she called softly. "Papa, it's so early…"
He was startled. It seemed he thought she was still asleep. She knew she had startled him because he knocked over her bottle of mint oil and her box of hair ribbons he had been rummaging through.
"Runaiil, my sweet alfva...you were not supposed to wake," he whispered.
Her father came to her bedside, a pair of tiny golden scissors gripped between his fingers. He pet her head and hugged her to his stomach with his free arm. "Papa is sorry."
On the floor by the scattered ribbons sat a leather satchel, packed so tightly it seemed it would burst.
"Papa, are we going on a trip?" she asked. Her voice was equal parts confusion and excitement.
He shook his head."No my alfva, your papa must go alone this time. I can not take you with me, though I wish I could, with all my heart."
She could only faintly see the features of his face. It hadn't been dark, why couldn't she see him? Had it been the sun behind his head when he knelt down? It was simply too faint. Faded. Forgotten. All she remembered were his amber eyes and his rich dark hair. Neither of which she had inherited from him.
"Where are you going?"
"Away. To Alfheim."
"When will you be back?"
Tears filled his eyes now. Why was he crying? She didn't ask.
"I'm not sure Runaiil. It might not be...for a long time…"
And then, as children are apt to do, she was crying too. He smoothed her hair and wiped her eyes and spoke elvish words of love to her, but it was in vain. At the time she didn't exactly know why she was crying, but she could not bring herself to stop.
"Hush now Runaiil, elskan mín alfva. It's not forever, you will see.
As she cried into his chest, her father took a small lock of her fair hair and braided it. Once tied off with the ribbon, he took the scissors and snipped it free.
"Look here Runaiil, you see? I'll take this with me wherever I go, that way I'll always have a part of you with me. Now we won't really be apart."
But it did nothing to comfort her. "Please don't go papa!" She begged him.
"I have no choice. It won't be safe if I stay any longer."
His arms released her and he pulled the bed covers back over her, coaxing her to lay down again. She fought him but he sushed her sharply. His face was desperate. She had never seen him wear such an expression. It frightened her.
"Papa has to go now little alfva, and you must stay. Stay and look after mother for me. It's very important. Can you do that for me?"
"Yes papa," she whispered. Her tears had made her tired once again.
He kissed her forehead and tucked her in. "Go back to dreamland little one, and don't tell anyone you saw me. I'll be back for you as soon as it is safe."
What he didn't say was when. What he didn't say was that Vanaheaim was dangerous to him because of her. He didn't tell her it was all her fault. But now she knew.
And that was when the chill of her own tears on her skin woke her. But she was not on Vanaheim. The sunlight was not softly falling in her tower cell. This was Asgard, and the sun had not yet risen.
Frost wiped her tears away on the back of her arm and scanned the room for something pleasant. There were her bed slippers, tiny, soft, wrapped in white silk and topped with bows. There were her combs, bone and antler, carved with an image of a stag and a doe. There was her leather bound journal, with pages that smelled of ink and paint and flowers. Pages smeared with charcoal finger prints. All the things that were familiar to her. Pleasant things. They did not comfort her now. She rolled on to her side and recounted the evening's events that had left her captive yet again.
"Sanna, Embla, let these gentlemen see their potential bride to be," ordered Freyja. " Honestly, you're only half elf Frösdine."
The princess turned her face away. "Mother, please, Father wouldn't like me to ignore customs. An alfva bride doesn't show her face until the courtship has begun. It isn't proper for-"
Freyja chortled. "Nonsense, you can't expect these men to marry a girl without ever seeing her face now can you? Take it off."
"Please..."
She pulled away but Freyja caught her hand. To someone less observant, or one more concerned with being polite, it might have looked like a loving gesture, but Loki saw what it really was. Her grip was too tight. Her knuckles crunched against one another, her fingers curled, she twisted her wrist away slightly to try and avoid the pain.
Loki's brows raised, but no one's eyes were on him now.
"Remove it for me, alright darling?"
"Yes Mother..."
The two handmaids cautiously approached and gathered the long white veil that shielded the princess from the gaze of others. Well practiced at the task, they flung the fabric over the points of the crown on top of her head. They rolled the fabric at the edges slightly to keep it from falling loose again. The crown was actually a combination of a silver and blue silk brocade hat with a scalloped brim, paired with a silver diadem, dripping with strands of beads and jewels.
When the handmaidens stepped away, Frösdine's face was visible at last.
Soft and white like fresh powder snow was her skin, and glimmering in spots, as if the sun were shining on it. Her hair mirrored this effect, white, dull, and dusted with the same glittering effect. She had high cheekbones and small plump lips, both of which were slightly tinted blue. Her narrow eyes were clouded with a swarm of emotions. Wet sadness, cold anger, and something that must have been embarrassment. They were no set shade of blue, but rather seemed to be many vying for dominance. Her thick eyelashes resembled frost coated blades of grass. White. Frozen in place. Both the lashes and the blue tinted lids were coated in what appeared to be a fine layer of ice crystals. These gleamed brightest of all.
This is her curse then? This is powerful dark magic indeed.
The tinge of blue in her skin swam through her entire body. It could be seen faintly in the curve of her collar bone, in the tiny veins in her neck. Any more vibrant and she could have been part frost giant herself.
Thor cleared his throat and tried not to stare. He had seen stranger, Loki was sure, and he knew his brother, though dull, was not vain. No, Thor was not anymore put off by her visage than he, he only feared that to stare would imply shock, and therefore judgment. He wanted to be polite.
But Loki didn't care for polite at the moment. Loki stared. Staring meant studying, and studying meant victory, though, he did not yet know what battle he was fighting. Only that she would undoubtedly be his enemy. He had no allies.
Her elvish features were easy enough to spot. A thin elegant nose, pointed ears, and a lithe and graceful frame. She had a high arching brow and a sharp jawline that spoke to their natural nobility. The light elves were older and wiser than even the gods, so old that only the elder Vanir knew how to reach their realm, but Loki remembered their images in childhood story books. Compared to the elves he had seen most recently, she was pretty for an elf.
"What do you think? She's useless at spellcraft beyond creating ice...but it does make her look exotic I suppose. Well, maybe not to an Asgardian, hum? You see snow here often enough..."
Frost turned her face away, as if ashamed, but said nothing.
No one else spoke either, but Freyja didn't seem to notice. "Now then, introductions out of the way, call in a witness to enact the contract. We'll have it finished and done with and then I can pay my respects to dear Frigga with a lighter heart."
"Hold Freyja, there are clauses in there I should like to review. Let us examine the contract together once more," said Odin smoothing his beard in agitation.
Freyja folded her arms over her chest with a sigh. "Very well then. Children, why don't you run along. We'll manage on our own here."
"Father?" Thor pleaded.
"Go," Odin barked. "Go and show the girl Asgard, like you promised. I will stay here and see to it that the contract is fulfilled, as I promised."
Thor sighed. "Very well. And Loki?"
Yes, what of Loki?
Loki cleared his throat. "In light of the circumstances, I think it would be best if simply return to my quarters."
As much as he would have liked to stay and observe the situation as it unfolded, he knew appearing too eager or interested was unwise for his scheming.
Odin gave him a harsh yet relieved look.
"That, I think, would be best."
The Enojar did not restrain Loki, but rather escorted him out in tight ranks.
When he finally disappeared from sight Thor cleared his throat to speak. "Well then. Shall we princess?"
He offered her his arm and braced himself for the chill of her touch.
Frost merely bowed her head and gingerly took his arm.
Once outside the war room, the mysterious princess suddenly stopped and withdrew her arm.
Thor, now two paces ahead of her, turned to look back at her. "Princess?" he questioned.
He thought she might be preparing to make a snide remark about her mother, or his own father, maybe even Loki. The contract? Himself?
Instead she simply replaced the veil over her face before returning her hands to their neatly clasped position in front of her.
"Lead on your highness," she beckoned almost sweetly.
Thor couldn't help but chuckle at her modesty. She was certainly a shy, demure thing.
"Tell me what would you like to see? The palace? The city? There should be light enough to admire the gardens if you like."
"A garden stroll would be lovely. What with traveling so far, I should like to stretch my legs." There was an accent to her speech, French Midguardians would call it.
"This way my lady," he said, extending his arm towards the west hall.
For a while they walked in tense silence. The sort of silence Thor had never been good at breaking. Only the rustle of her gown and the soft patter of her slippers answered the tromp of his boots. Then the silence began to feel rude.
"This is your first time is Asgard, is that right princess?"
"No," she murmured shyly, "I've been once before, when I was very very young. If I'm not mistaken, it was near the day of your birth, Prince Thor. The birth of Odin's first son was cause enough to bring mother. I remember your little golden cradle."
Thor chuckled somewhat nervously. "That long ago? Forgive my asking, but how many years are you princess?"
She thought a moment. "Perhaps some odd 3,000 years. I can't be certain, I have long since stopped counting them."
"3,000 years, truly? Well...that puts you a fair bit over myself, but you look so young...Tell me, is this the doing of Idun's apples then? I have heard they are still eaten in Vanaheim."
"Partially perhaps, though I have long abstained from them now. Elves age differently you see," she answered.
Thor hummed thoughtfully. She made for a delightfully polite conversationalist, if nothing else.
"Seems odd, you being my elder. You don't seem it at all."
"In numerals only I assure you. I was a child likely for much much longer than you were. A few hundred years. By elvish standards I'm scarcely of age now . Though, we don't know for certain my lifespan due to the mixing of blood. I'm the first half elf born in well over a millennium. I suppose no one truly knows their lifespan though, isn't that so?"
Thor nodded.
The golden gates of the western gardens came into view at the end of the paved pathway. There was no lock or bolt as the gate wasn't meant to keep anyone out, but rather there for the added beauty. It also provided a good structure for ivy and climbing flowers, of which the garden had many.
Thor opened the gate and guided Frost down the steps into the garden. Differing from the eastern garden's abundant flower beds and well maintained shrubbery, the west garden held mostly fruit trees and fountains. The center of the garden featured the grandest fountain surrounded by a winding walkway enclosed beneath a tree canopy. The gravel path was narrow, it forced two to walk close to one another. The sort of place young lovers would wander whispering sweet nothings and sharing secret kisses. The sort of place romance was apt to blossom as easily as the flowers. But romance was not his intent, and Thor now felt silly for bringing the princess here.
Frost didn't seem interested in paying him any mind however. Instead she wandered on ahead, drawn immediately to a fruit tree that was still in bloom.
"This tree," she spoke, reaching out to touch its trunk, "I recognize it."
Thor approached and bent the blossoms down so that Frost could admire them. "A dennelza. From Nidavellir I think. Have you been?"
"Never. This is only the second time I have ever left Vanaheim. I've scarcely ever left the palace grounds."
Frost lifted her veil and sniffed the flowers. Her nose wrinkled from the tickle of the pollen but she smiled all the same.
"Is that so? I've seen several of the realms for myself now. Is it that you dislike travel?" Thor asked her.
"Oh no, not at all. I've always wished to see more of the realms, it's only that...well, it isn't permitted."
Frost stepped onto the loose stone path beneath the trees and Thor followed.
"Not permitted?"
Frost's face fell slightly. "It's dangerous, you see."
"Ah," Thor exclaimed, nodding in understanding. "Because you are royalty, yes, I suppose that is reason to be cautious."
She laughed curtly. "No, your highness, I am not the one in danger. I am the danger. My curse. So you see, traveling is not permitted."
Thor scratched his beard, a little embarrassed he had overlooked that point. They walked in silence for a while.
Thor found himself wondering what on earth his father could have been thinking all those years ago, signing that contract. How were they to ever welcome outsiders to the throne? His father, such a proud man, forced down so easily. This was not how he wished to leave the throne, and the shame of it would cause him much grief. What could he hope to do to bring comfort to him? He knew not. For now, this was what his father needed of him. To keep the princess occupied while he worked out a plan.
"Well," Thor said, "I imagine you should be quite excited to see Asgard then. Perhaps my saying so is unfair, but it is a beautiful place. Her people are hearty and good, as is the ale."
The princess giggled into her palm. "Is that so? To tell the truth I am more interested in your rich history than the quality of your drink, your highness."
"You really aren't from Asgard," he told her with a smile. "And as I said, Thor will do well enough. I'm not really accustomed to such formality these days."
She gave a little bow of her head. "As you wish. But you did call me 'princess' first."
"Ah, yes, well, my apologies prin- Frost," He corrected himself.
The daylight was bleeding away quickly now, the sky scarcely visible beyond the trees giving away to delicate pinks and dusky orange. Soon the garden would become a treacherous place for the lack of light, but there was time yet.
"This one. Silver Split Elm, is it not?" Frost asked, examining the leaves of another tree.
"I'm afraid I couldn't tell you, I am, apparently, not as knowledgeable on the matter as you are."
Frost hummed thoughtfully before snapping a leaf off the tree and depositing in inside some hidden pocket of her robes.
I know all the trees in my gardens. Know them each by name."
"Do you study plants then?" Thor asked her, genuinely curious.
Her head lifted and she met his gaze for the first time. Her soft blue eyes glittered with suppressed excitement.
"I study everything I can. Botany, history, architecture, poetry. All through books, of course."
At that omission, the light wicked from her eyes and her gaze dropped again.
"I see. I admit I don't read much myself," Thor confided.
"But you have seen things, no doubt. First hand experience is invaluable," she assured him. "I would have much preferred to study these things in person had I been able. Instead, books became very good friends to me."
"That I have."
And what would become of Loki? If he married her? If he didn't? Could he really skip away to Vanaheim a free man, even after all he had done? Then he would have the run of two realms all to himself. The princess couldn't hope to keep him in check, though, Freyja might be. What would be his fate if he remained on Asgard? A prisoner for the rest of his days? Thor was certain he would not be able to bear the burden of keeping his brother captive were it left to him to uphold. And releasing him might prove more dangerous than extraditing him ever could be.
"What is it you like then Thor?" chirped the princess. Her smile seemed strained.
Am I already boring her I wonder?
"I'm afraid I'm not so interesting. I like to fight and I like to drink, like any Asgardian. I find learning a joyful pursuit, but not one of my strengths I'm afraid."
"You said you have traveled. Where to?"
"Well, Vanaheim of course, to help your people clear the raiders and rebels. Jotunheim, briefly. Svartalheim too. And I have spent a fair amount of time on midgard as of late."
The princess nodded, a wave of excitement coming over her. She was either very good at faking emotions, or very bad at hiding them.
"I had heard something of that," she said, stopping to examine another tree. "You were exiled there once before weren't you?"
Thor laughed and pretended to polish a smudge from his bracer. "I was, yes. For a short while."
"Asta said you certainly must have done something quite bad to anger the Allfather so terribly."
"Unfortunately, my father is quick to such anger regardless. But yes, I did make a fairly grave mistake. And now I'm old enough to see the wisdom in what my father did. I do wish things had ended differently though."
The princess tilted her head, as if indicating she was listening. "Oh?"
Thor sighed. "Loki. His trouble began then. His real trouble. I still don't fully understand what his motivations truly were. Or his goals for that matter. But it started him down a much darker path in life, and as you can see, we have yet to successfully walk him back."
"I see," she replied.
They had reached the center of the garden and stood at the edge of the great fountain. At it's top it featured a milkmaid and her goat. Thor could not tell if the sun had set or not. Here the canopy of trees was too thick to see beyond. Here they were no longer Prince and Princess keeping up pleasantries for political gain. Here they were simply two strangers.
"I sense this subject causes you true grief, Prince Thor. You care for your brother a great deal," Frost said.
"Aye. I do."
She turned to face him and for the first time since meeting her, the oppressive chill that emanated from her seemed to dissipate. Her white hair and her eyes, ever so slightly obscured by her veil, somehow gave her the illusion of wisdom as she spoke.
"If it would be any comfort to you, I don't believe your brother is lost to you yet. So long as you love him, I'm sure there is hope."
Thor frowned, though not in anger. He hadn't expected such sentmental words from a stranger. He had grown accustomed to the empty words of nobles, telling them how they felt empathy for the status of his brother. They were easy enough to detect. He could read them on the speaker's lips before they ever left their mouth.
Her words felt too heavy to be empty.
"I thank you Lady Frost."
She smiled as him and laughed. Thor could see the white puffs of her breath float through the air as they sputtered out of her.
"What is it?"
"It's silly," she said with a shake of her head. "It's just, I can't remember the last time someone thanked me for something. Isn't that strange?"
Thor broke out in a half grin "A bit, yes."
She sighed and began to circle the fountain, admiring the stone work in incredible detail.
"It's beautiful," she said, reaching out and touching the milkmaid's delicate ankle. A thin layer of ice crept over her marble skin and the princess retracted her hand.
"Yes, it is," Thor replied, watching as the ice rapidly melted away.
Frost then sat herself upon the edge of the fountain and stared down at the ever rippling water. "You don't seem frightened of me. Why not?"
Thor laughed. "Would you like me to be?"
"No. I'm just surprised. Very few who meet me are not."
Thor wandered among the flowering trees, stopping to admire one from Midgard. "I have met a man whose rage and fear can turn him into a terrifying powerful beast, as if by magic. That man is also very kind and very intelligent. He helps people. I have met a mortal woman who can move as quietly as a shadow and can strike as deadly as a serpent. That woman does terrible things for the ones she loves. I know a man who built a vast fortune upon death and destruction wrought by weapons he created. Now he makes armor to protect the world."
Thor snapped a flower off the tree. Fat and waxy, and butter yellow, Jane had liked them. A Magnolia she had called it. Thor turned and approached Frost, offering the flower to her. "Each of them have powers that are frightening and deadly. Some of them even struggle to control their abilities as you do, but each of them have become my good friends. I see no reason why I should fear you, when befriending you seems much more enjoyable."
The princess tittered nervously, and Thor thought he might have seen her blush beneath her veil. She plucked the flower from his hand and sniffed it. "You should like to be my friend then?"
Her touch had scarcely been cold at all.
So strange this scene must have looked to an outsider. The very image of courtly love. The maiden, the fountain, the gifting of a single bloom that paled in comparison to her beauty. The scene poets wrote of over and over. How much like young lovers they must appear. But there was no love here. There was apprehension, vulnerability, and even the warmth of kindness, but no love. Thor was not capable of it, even if he had wanted to be, for the sake of Asgard. For his father. But friendship he could offer with ease and offer in earnest. Such kindness cost nothing, and could gain one everything, after all.
Thor shrugged. "One way or another, it seems you will soon be family. We may as well endeavor to get along. Does that please you?"
"Yes, I think I should like that very much," she said softly. Her voice shook as if she might weep..
"Then we shall be friends, Frost," Thor beamed.
She smiled back and nodded. "I have not had a friend in a very long time. Besides Asmund I suppose..."
Thor sat beside her. "Asmund? A friend from Vanaheim?"
"Yes. My oldest and dearest friend," she gushed. Then the joy drained from her face and she averted her gaze to her feet. "My only friend really."
She turned and dipped her fingers into the fountain. She released the flower and set it afloat on the pool's surface. This time she left no ice behind. Thor was beginning to grasp that Frösdine was a very lonely girl, which was exceptionally touching to him. He who had always had so many friends.
"I'm sure you will miss them terribly. I am sorry you will be apart."
"Oh, no, I could never leave him behind. Asmund is here with me."
Thor raised his brow. "Oh? I'm surprised, your mother didn't say anything about us having another guest."
"That's because Asmund is not a guest," she giggled out. "Not exactly. Asmund is my guardian and my dear friend, true, but you see, Asmund is my bird."
Thor laughed softly. "Oh, a pet."
"Asmund would not agree."
"What sort of bird?" Thor asked her. "It must be quite a fearsome creature if you would charge it with your protection."
"Oh yes, he most certainly is! His wingspan must be every bit as wide as I am tall. In Vanaheim we once called them Hjarta-eta, Heart Eaters. Myths say once long ago our ancestors feared them as they were much larger and were said to use their beaks to pierce men's chests and peck out their hearts in one go. I'm not sure when the name changed exactly, but at some point we began to call them Harpies."
"Surely they couldn't be as large as our fjǫðrkǫttr?"
"Ah, you mean the feather cats of your mountain caves. I've studied them in great detail. No I do not think the Hjarta-eta were ever so large that they could be ridden by men. Not that your feather cats really can either. No one is fool enough for that. No, our Harpies today are much smaller, probably due to over hunting. From what I have been able to gather from books, they are very much like your Rock-Beak Falcons that nest in the forests at your mountain bases."
She sounded very much like Jane then, knowledge spilling out of her like an over filled wine cup, eyes eager and as bright as stars. He missed her terribly, but it was endearing to meet someone who could remind him of her this way. He grinned at her.
"You weren't lying when you said you loved your books I see. I should like to meet him, your Asmund. Perhaps tomorrow?"
Frost bowed her head slightly. "If it should please you. I warn you, he is dubious of strangers."
"Oddly enough, you aren't," Thor commented.
She gave an almost sly smile and lowered her gaze as if to play coy. "That's where you are wrong Prince Thor. Nearly everyone is a stranger to me. Even my own brothers and sisters. So you see, the truth is, I'm simply dubious of everyone. I am merely cunning enough to hide it well."
Thor gave a single handed shrug. "I suppose there are benefits to erring on the side of caution. Allfather knows that is a lesson I had to learn the hard way."
Frost nodded. Her smile seemed both wise and sad.
"So I take it you like animals then?" Thor asked the princess.
She nodded. "Oh yes, they are fascinating are they not? So many fearsome features and exquisite shapes. Nowhere is there more beauty than in nature."
"I am very curious about your winged horses, can they truly carry that carriage? I can't imagine it is possible."
"They can, though not strictly by their own power, the carriage is enchanted with their feathers you see, and…"
The sun had long set by the time Thor led Frost out of the garden and into the palace. Though she had had no particular desire to be escorted, she found herself clinging to the prince's arm all the same. Perhaps it was for fear of falling, or perhaps it was simply of the darkness. There was something inherently unsettling about darkness in new places. That was most likely the reason she could not find sleep now.
The mood in the war room had grown no less tense in their absence, but neither Freyja nor Odin had killed the other, so it was presumed negotiations were at a close. Frost was able to do little else but give Thor a quick bow before she was whisked away by the handmaidens trailing behind her mother.
Dinner was hosted with no more celebratory atmosphere than a funeral. Odin, Thor, her mother and she ate in near perfect silence, apart from the sounds of knives on plates. She had been redressed again, her mother demanded it. "It was the proper way," she had said.
Frost scarcely dressed once in a day, let alone three. She had no one to dress for. She took meals alone, she walked the garden once a week, alone. It had seemed beyond absurd to her to see gown after gown packed away for her stay in Asgard. Most she had not worn but once, if that. They were lovely to look at at the very least.
Prince Thor, ancestors bless him, had tried to make conversation, but Frost found it difficult to speak freely with her mother's smugness filling up the room. Everyone choked on it but her. It seemed so unjust.
She made a few shy attempts to reply to him at first, then she merely nodded, then the boy stopped trying. The food was rich and flavorful, bedecked with herbs and spices. It almost smelled good enough to distract her from the oppressive cloud of dread that hung over the room. It felt as if her chair sat at the edge of a cliff, and any moment she might topple over the side into the murky abyss. Delicious it may have been, but it remained on her plate.
When the meal ended it was customary for the wine goblets to be refilled. Everyone declined in favor of departing the room as quickly as possible. Frost caught Thor's eyes as they stood from the long table. He looked apologetic so she smiled at him. She hoped he understood she felt the same. Then they went their separate ways.
As a servant girl guided Frost and her mother back to their suite of rooms, Freyja took hold of her arm, pulling her towards her own room. The cold in her blood rose up in to her throat, accompanied by a sharp pain in her chest. She pushed it down.
"So tell me, how was the prince dear daughter?" her mother asked.
"Well. He seems to be in fine health and good spirits."
Freyja's grip tightened.
"That is not what I meant. Do not presume to play the fool with me."
A small spark of pain traveled through Frost's arm, but she did not flinch or wince. Freyja, goddess of love, goddess of beauty. No one ever seemed to remember she was also the goddess of war. Goddess of death. Frost never forgot. She remained cold.
"Then I'm afraid I don't know what you mean mother."
"Will he marry you?" she hissed, half in anger, half so the servants could not hear her.
A shiver ran down Frost's back, but she did not shake. "He said before he would not."
"Can you change his mind?"
A tiny smile flickered across Frost's face. She shooed it away as she shook her head and again became somber. "He loves another," she answered.
Freyja gave up a haughty laugh as she pushed open the door to her chambers.
"With a mortal my dear. How long do you think she will hold his attention? A century is the most she could ever hope for. I doubt it will be that long."
Freyja flopped gracefully onto a couch and removed her shoes. Frost remained standing. She stared at the beading on the hem of her gown.
I don't think he will be so easily swayed," she whispered.
"So what do you plan to do about it?"
She remained silent.
Freyja sighed and shook her head. "Well, you had best figure it out quickly. I would like to know our plan before I make my way home."
"Home? What do you mean?"
The cold rushed out of Frost's skin as fear flooded in.
"Home, to Vanaheim dear. Have you gone deaf, or daft?"
"We're...going home? We only just arrived…"
Freyja shook her head, smirking. "No. Not we. Me . I am going. You are staying."
Frost glared at her mother, speechless.
"What?" Freyja asked with a short laugh. "Did you think I was going to stay here for the duration of your little match making game? Please dear."
"You mean you're leaving me here? Alone?" Frost nearly shouted, her delicate hands balled into fists.
"You can't expect me to stay here, I do have a kingdom to run after all," her mother retorted, fanning herself with a feather hand fan.
"But you can't just leave me behind like this! I don't know these people, their customs, their ways, I...what if they do not keep their word? Take me hostage? Something worse..."
Freyja laughed. "You are so dramatic Frösdine. That's your father in you, no doubt about that. I'm sure you will be just fine here on your own. There's no call for all these-these theatrics, honestly..."
"But mother, I-"
"Do you think that someone will be there to hold your hand once you are queen?" Freyja snapped, pointing her fan at her daughter. "There will only be so much I can do for you from Vanaheim. You had best learn to keep your own head above water while you're still in the shallows girl."
"Odin is furious," Frost whispered. "He doesn't want me here. He doesn't want to lose his kingdom. Neither does Thor. You think I am stupid, blind to these things because you've kept me away from so much, but I see them mother. Do you honestly believe I am safe here alone?"
"Odin is a man of honor. For the most part. I am not concerned."
"What if he isn't?"
Freyja stood from her seat, frowning down at her daughter. "I am not concerned."
"Because I am an acceptable loss," Frost spat.
"Not yet you aren't," Freyja cooed. She stroked Frost's cheek and smiled at her.
Tears of anger welled up in Frost's eyes and turned solid on her cheeks. Abandoned. Stranded. At the mercy of Asgard. So be it.
"Very well. I shall stay."
"That's a good girl," Freyja purred, stroking Frost's cheek again.
Frost suddenly snared her mother's wrist and pulled her hand away. An icy gust of wind caused the candles in the room to flicker.
"But know this mother," Frost said in a chilling whisper. "go back on your word to me...and you shall learn just how cold I can be."
Freyja stared at her in slack jawed shock.
"Betray me, and you, and all of Vanaheim, will be reduced to a frozen wasteland. There will be no mercy this time. Have I made myself clear?"
The sound of ice creaking and cracking filled the room as the floor beneath their feet froze over. Freyja jerked her hand free of Frost's grasp and rubbed her wrist. She opened her mouth as if to reprimand her, but seemed to change her mind at the last moment.
"Good to see you still have some conviction left in you Frösdine. You'll need that strength to pull this off. Deliver me Asgard, and I'll keep my word."
Frost bowed and turned on her heel to leave. Ice and snow trailed in her wake.
Tears dried, mind wandering, she picked at her teeth. The venison had been tough and fatty, no matter how well seasoned. Perhaps fowl would agree with her better. She was little concerned with her dining experience anyway. She pulled herself from the plush feather bed and felt the hair tangled at the back of her neck. She instinctively made for her combs and made herself presentable. Her father and mother had both always insisted she look presentable as possible.
Though the room was not warm, she craved the cool night air, and wandered to the window. It opened with ease, no locks or bolts or ice keeping it clamped shut. Her windows at home did not do that. A light breeze fluttered in, not even strong enough to blow her hair, and from somewhere nearby she could hear the rush of water. She could see a great deal from such a height, and yet, so very little. There were boats, and houses, and the flicker of flames, as small as a candle's from where she stood. There was something unsettling about darkness in new places. Darkness be damned.
The door to her tower was never locked, nor had this one been. Asgard was cold, not nearly as cold as Frost could endure, but colder than Vanaheim. Though far from chilled, a dressing gown over her night dress felt appropriate. In this, and her slippers, Frost ventured into the halls of the palace. She took no candle or torch light, no where in the common areas was dark enough to require it. Asgard took their "palace of gold" quite literally, and what was not golden was lit by golden light. It was not rosey and fragrant Vanaheim, with her pure white stone work and her open air corridors. No it was not.
Frost walked and walked, passing entirely the suite of rooms set aside for her and her mother. Past a second suit. Past a great curved stair. A tapestry hung here, of dark dreary green and brown. It depicted Jörmungandr biting his tail, eyes lifelessly emoting something that was both dull fear and senseless rage. Every bit the dumb hound that had caught it's tail and didn't know its next move. There was little else at play, waves and waves and waves. Stitched almost endlessly on top of one another. It was clearly fantastically well made, but that didn't keep the piece from being ugly.
Frost sighed and passed it by. "I do hope all their art is not so...underwhelming."
The palace was exceedingly quiet. It seemed so wrong. The architecture, the design, the cheery brasiers along the walls, everything about it seemed to call for singing and trumpets and debauched merry making. The way Asgardians did everything else. Peace and quiet was off putting at best. She almost hoped a fight would break out. But then she retracted that sentiment.
She continued down the hall, that seemed it might never end, eventually coming to another staircase. This time, she felt the urge to descend. The cool stone of the hand rail under her palm sparked within her a sudden memory. The sense of wandering the unknown, never feeling lost, it was something she knew well. She had no name for the sensation, it was a knowing, without knowing. It was knowing everything would be okay, that the path she walked was the right one, even if she didn't know why she walked it, or where she would end up. It was her innermost self calling to her. Leading her.
This might seem strange to the people of Asgard, but people in Vanaheim it was common. Seeres, sorcerers, witches, they had many names. It is more than mere magic. Different than her ice or her mother's shapeshifting. This was something that couldn't be taught. The gift also had many names, Luck, intuition, she called it "the guide". It had different uses, scrying, viewing the future, and this. Whatever this was. This sense of being led down a fortunate path. Or, at the very least, an exciting one.
She descended three floors and though the guide beckoned her lower, she found she could go no lower there. The stairs to the ground floor were elsewhere. The decor changed here, gold turned to darker bronze, and gray stone was used. The white and black marble had been exchanged for dark green and soft gray. Her silk slippered feet were silent as she wandered the halls, perfect for sneaking past guards, though she hadn't seen any.
So few patrols. I wonder why?
She thought it curious security would be so lax after the incident with the dark elves.
And with strangers in the castle too. You think they would learn.
But perhaps her guide was taking her this way on purpose. To avoid the patrols.
I wonder why…
Frösdine passed archway after archway, well into the east side of the castle now. She dreaded the thought it would take her to Thor's door. A lover's liaison in the middle of the night. Absolutely not. What would she say to him? But the thought passed. The guide called, and she always followed.
The stairs she found to the ground floor were not the main stairs, nor were they even secondary stairs. The stairs she found were small and narrow and winding. Around and around they spiraled, so tight she quickly grew dizzy. A servants stair most likely, made to discreetly transport dishes and cleaning supplies. Her palace had no such stairs, beyond her tower. At last, the spinning darkness opened up into a small room, and through it she could see the grand foyer. She carefully padded into the room. There were, she imagined, always guards posted here, so she was surprised to find it empty.
"Maybe I'm dreaming," she muttered to herself, turning her head back and gazing up at the pillar heads. Odin and Bor, and his father before him, and his father before him. They glared down at her with stern stone faces. Odin still had two eyes. She was not long in her admiration when she heard footsteps descending the main stairs.
Thereare the guards.
She waited to watch them enter, they wouldn't notice her standing in the shadow. She was too still and too quiet. And if they did, what would they do? Nothing, she was a guest. Still, she hid, and they passed her by. She was prepared to follow them, but the guide called her back, down to the spiral stairs. Lower into the building.
For the first time in a very long time, Frost hesitated to follow the little voice calling to her. She knew now where the voice was pulling her. Where she would end up. But that was not what gave her pause. Do delve into dungeons dark and deep, where all manner of foul and dangerous brute was kept prisoner. This would give most anyone second thoughts. But this was not what worried Frost. What worried her was the fact that she was eager. Excited. Her heart quickened with exhilaration and she clutched her robe to her chest as if to slow it. Why should she feel enticed by danger she could not fathom.
"Where are you taking me little friend," she asked the voice, knowing it could not answer.
For this was the dungeon she was set to enter. The light here dimmed, the stone grew colder and mildly damp beneath her hand. There were no doors or gates to bar her entrance, only the einherjar standing watch.
Still the voice called to her, beckoned her inside, its goal now obvious to her. For what purpose could it have lured her here, other than to meet with the dishonored prince.
Very well then.
Frost silently descended the final stairs, a shimmer passing through her hands. She approached the guards, unseen, and blew a light flurry of snow over them.
"You do not see me, or hear me," she whispered to them. "Everything in the dungeon is quiet, just as it should be. When I leave, the spell will be broken."
The guards did not react to her words, nor did they at all perceive her drift past them into the dungeon proper.
There was a level of opulence, even here. The stone, not polished, but smooth and clean. The cells, large, though some were crowded. They were open faced, like glass cages. And in one of them waited the trickster, Loki.