Merry Christmas! Happy Holidays! :D

Thank you for all of your reviews! A special thanks to mayyybayyy97 (I would not have started this chapter without your encouragement, this is for you!), thepapergirl (Thank you for being the 50th reviewer! And thank you for your review and your thoughts.), and Lauraeffingiero (I hope some of your questions will be answered here, and if not, they certainly will be in the upcoming chapters! :) And I got Fenrir from Norse Mythology, but I will drastically change the mythos to suit my story, thank you so much for reviewing).

I apologize in advance for any typos/grammatical errors.

Please enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Jane and the Dragon, it belongs to Martin Baynton.

O0oo0O

Red Snow

Chapter 9: Invasion

Jane was trying her best to ignore the twisting feeling in her stomach as she sprinted down the Castle's massive halls, but she found that she could not. The amount of blood that pooled on the floor of the Throne Room was too much for her to bear. The image of a dying Queen burned before her every time she closed her eyes. Pain radiated from her chest, it burned her throat, her lungs, and stung her eyes. It hurt. Her heart hurt—for the death of her ideal, the one whom she admired so fiercely. For the death of her Queen.

Jane was once again confused, frustrated, and even angry as the same haunting question kept turning itself over and over in her mind—why?

Why would he do this?

Jane could not understand, and would never understand such ruthless actions.

Could it have been for power? If so, why did he not kill the King, too?

The sounds of battle dimly reached her ears.

Why did he not kill the King? Seeing as it would have ended this impending war more quickly?

Jane knew her musings bordered on treason, but could not help it. She wanted to know why. How could a seemingly loving brother murder his own sister? She could not fathom it.

Unless…

A sudden thought rippled through her.

Unless he did not mean to…?

Jane shook her head furiously.

This is stupid, Jane thought. I will not justify the actions of the slayer of my Queen.

She turned a corner and sped towards the open doors leading outside. She had to concentrate on the matter at hand, and the request Sir Theodore asked of her. When Jane, Gunther, and Sir Theodore found King Caradoc and his fallen Queen, the old Captain wasted no time in interrogating the hysterical and shocked King of what had occurred. After some forcefulness from Sir Theodore, their worst fears became reality—Lord Victor had slain a member of the Royal Family. Reacting quickly, Theodore ordered Gunther to relay his earlier battle strategy to Sir Ivon and thus move Kippernia's army towards action. He then asked Jane to head a search party of Royal Guards to fan out to find and capture Lord Victor, that is, if he was still on the castle grounds, while Sir Theodore tasked himself with trying to get Queen Gwendolyn to the Royal Physicians in an effort to save her life. Jane hoped and prayed that the Queen would be spared, but she pushed the thought aside and focused on her duty at hand—that of trying to locate Lord Victor before he left the Castle. Jane sincerely believed that she would not find him, but nevertheless tried to accomplish her duty.

She now galloped down the outside pathway that flanked the Throne Room, swiftly turned a corner, and immediately stopped in her tracks. Her eyes widened and her breath hitched at the sight before her.

Snow crunched beneath his black boots as he slowly walked down the ice-covered steps, and halted once he reached the frozen water fountain. Lord Victor gradually took in his surroundings and a faint, wry smile crept onto his face. He stood in the empty Royal Gardens; snow leisurely drifted from the frozen sky above and swirled around the enclosure. A white sheet soon formed and shrouded the grounds.

A sigh escaped his lips and the vapor floated skyward before disappearing into nothingness. Victor looked down at his blood-drenched hands, his face was blank, void of emotion, but his eyes were dark, troubled, and reflected an untold sadness within their icy depths.

He turned his gaze to the cloudy horizon, and then gave a bitter, mirthless laugh.

"Oh, I really messed everything up now," he muttered. "Have I not?"

No, a calming, deep, and familiar voice resounded in his mind. We can still proceed as planned. You just have to—

"No, I cannot … I—"

What? Is this not what you secretly wanted?

"No, I-I—"

Did you not enjoy it? the voice drawled. Did you not relish making her suffer for all she did to you?

Victor paused, his eyes glazed over, and he could vividly recall the sight of her tears, the feeling of warmth as blood soaked his hands.

"Yes, but—"

You did not wish for her to die, the voice finished. Not until it was all over.

"No," Victor conceded. "I did not."

He hesitated again and furrowed his brows in longing.

"You cannot bring her back, can you?"

He knew it was a foolish thought, a foolish request, but his heart was torn—a part of him was blissfully happy for her death at his hands, satisfied, not of her overall suffering, but at her ultimate demise—however, a deeper part of him, maybe a truer part, mourned for her. For his flawed protector. For his failed guardian.

No, Victor. I cannot.

The reverberating words echoed through his mind and traversed deep into his marred heart. Victor let out a deep breath he did not know he held as a single tear fell from his eye and traveled down his face.

You know you cannot stop now. The wheels of fate are turning, little Victor.

The blond closed his tired eyes and listened to the lulling shadow.

Do you not hear the din of battle? It is calling to you, go towards it, and fulfill our oath.

He could hear the sound of clashing steel in the distance; he could smell the distant scent of smoke in the air.

"You will never leave me," he softly asked, "will you?"

And for an impossibly fleeting moment he was a broken child again—alone, scared, and in pain. "Never again," they promised under the roar of distant trees, in the flurry of ice and shadow, all those years ago.

I will always be with you, little one.

A grateful smile blossomed across his visage.

"Thank you."

A sharp point suddenly pricked the back of his neck.

"Move and I will slay you where you stand."

Jane was crouched in her battle stance, her dragon blade, clenched tightly in her hand, was pressed against the base of Lord Victor's neck, and ready to thrust forward. She was surprised to find him here—in the Royal Gardens of all places. Jane expected him to be in the midst of battle, not lost in reverie while muttering softly to himself. She was taken aback by his repeated irrational actions, but quickly took hold of the opportunity to restrain him. Jane was about to call for backup when dry laughter echoed throughout the Gardens and shook Victor's statuesque form. Her eyebrows flew up at his bizarre response to her command. He fluidly turned around, effortlessly avoiding her blade tip, much to her horror, but Jane quickly drew her sword to his neck again.

"Well, if it is not the Lady Knight?" Victor flashed her a smile that did not reach his eyes. "How are you this fine morning, Sir Jane?" he sneered.

She knitted her eyebrows as her temper flared, but managed to smother a vile reply.

"Move again, Lord Victor," Jane curtly spat, "and I will not hesitate to kill you."

The smile slipped from his lips as his eyes turned dark and deadly.

"Pray, tell me, what do you know of death?"

Jane's eyes broadened in response. Victor's icy stare bore into her, he was searching, calculating with such intensity Jane felt that he was looking right into her heart, her mind, her very self and could read her every thought and emotion. Jane's sword arm started to shake as tremors ran down her body. His ice-blue eyes unnerved her, there was something underneath their stony stoicism, a shadow, a glimmer of darkness—threatening to swallow her whole—that transfixed her.

"Are you prepared to take a life, Lady Jane?" he whispered, holding her upright by his gaze alone. "Are you truly prepared?"

After some difficulty, Jane was able to move her jaw.

"To protect my Kingdom," she slowly spoke, "I am prepared to do what is necessary."

Victor started grinning again, amusement tinted his eyes.

"Ever the dutiful servant, Lady Jane?"

He stepped closer, reached out his arm, and gently grasped her blade with his blood-coated hands.

"Do it then," he dared, pressing the sword to his pale neck. "Fulfill your duty and slay me."

Jane's mind reeled back in a whirl of confusion and utter surprise.

This has to be a trap; Lord Victor will not willingly give up … would he?

The snow continued to fall; Jane could see the fire behind Victor in the distance. Jane knew she should take this chance, she knew in her heart that horrible things would happen if she did not. If she could not do what was necessary, if she could not take his life now, all the terrible things that will follow at his hands would be her fault. All of Victor's sins would be hers to bear. To protect her Kingdom, to fulfill her duty she must do this. She had to kill him.

And even with these thoughts in her mind, she still struggled to move her hand.

Why am I making this so difficult? she chastised herself.

The wind blew, and with it carried the cries of her burning Kingdom.

He is a murderer, and the slayer of my people, she rallied. I have to do this to protect them.

Salvaging her courage Jane thrust her sword arm forward.

She felt her blade slowly move, she saw the tip break the delicate skin of his neck as Victor calmly watched on. He was not smiling and his blue eyes were not sneering. He looked at Jane in a way she has never been gazed upon before. It could be described as a sincere consideration, watching her in rapt attention, and unending patience. As if he was waiting a lifetime for an answer—a confirmation—to something he knew a long time ago.

As red blood trickled from his wound, he closed his eyes, finally breaking their contact.

In that fleeting moment, he moved, in a blur of blue and black he sidestepped and disappeared from his position in front of Jane. Before she could even gasp in shock he was behind her, his blade drawn, his sword arm snaked around her shoulders as the bladed edge lay horizontally upon her neck, ready to behead her in one fluid strike.

Victor slowly bent his head closer to hers.

"I thank you for your answer, Lady Jane," he whispered. His warm breath tickled her ear and sent shivers shooting up her spine.

Jane's mind reverberated loudly with a cacophony of questions, but one in particular stood out.

"What answer?" she breathed, aware of the hard-pressed steel nipping her neck.

He smiled tenderly, longingly.

"If I deserved death, my dear Jane."

She was not expecting that answer, and it genuinely surprised her, but what astonished her the most was his tone. It was no longer playful or condescending. It was sincere, serene, and sad.

She felt another tremor creep down her back.

Why was he being so frank with her? He had no reason to, did he? Nevertheless, Jane saw a greater problem at hand—her imminent death. She has to stall him, so she could think of a way to free herself.

"And how did I do that, my Lord?" she spoke, louder this time, but instantly regretted it since the blade bit into her fragile neck, drawing blood.

He sighed; his breath kissed her hair and created a puff of white air in the cold.

"I do not care for the judgments of those with stains in their hearts, but you," he wrapped his left arm around her waist and pulled her closer, much to her alarm and dread. He shifted his head and placed his chilled cheek against her own. "I have yet to see a heart as pure as yours," he closed his eyes.

"Flawed, yet flawless."

Jane's heart skipped a beat; she was left stunned and speechless.

This was all so strange to her; she was crushed with a flurry of emotions that confounded her to no end. Just when she believes she has him figured out, he reveals to her a part of himself so boldly that changes her perception of him entirely.

In his arms, Jane felt both warm yet cold, both safe yet in danger, both alive and on the precipice of death—both cherished and hated, all the while being held by he who has everything yet has nothing.

"If one as pure of heart as you, my sweet Jane," he whispered, "could condemn me to die and sacrifice that purity in the process," he opened his eyes, an untold exhaustion seeped from those pale-blue orbs. "Then I truly deserve death."

His tone, his voice—both were laced with that which she could not place. He spoke to her as one who meant the world to him, as if disclosing a deep-buried secret, as if he bared his heart for only her to see—and it set her own aflutter.

"Why are you telling me this?" she breathed.

He turned his head slightly and caught her green eyes in his azure gaze.

"Because you asked it of me."

And she saw it again.

In that instant she saw those haunted blue eyes that seemed so familiar to her, as if she saw them in a dream, in another lifetime, in her forgotten memories. She saw that which she could not place.

"Who are you?" she questioned. "I feel … like I know you …"

He beamed; his eyes alight with dark delight.

"I am a murderer, a conqueror, a destroyer, but what I am to you," he leaned in and tenderly pressed his warm lips against her frozen cheek. "You will have to uncover for yourself."

Victor untangled himself from her, and stepped back from a petrified Jane.

"Farewell, my dear, sweet Jane," he drawled. "Until we meet each other again."

She whirled her head just in time to see the pommel of his sword fly towards her and smash against her skull. Jane was swallowed up by darkness before her body hit the snow-laden earth beneath.

"… ane?"

"… Jane?"

A fallen Jane was slowly rousing from her forcefully, and rather violently induced sleep.

"Jane?" a distorted voice called. "Are you all right?"

Jane groaned, and with a great effort opened her eyes. Her vision was blurry, she blinked, and things slowly came into focus. She saw a strangely familiar shade and pattern of blue in front of her. She blinked again and saw a familiar face.

"Jester?" she croaked.

"My goodness, Jane," he sighed, his worried gray eyes were taunt. "What happened to you?"

She suddenly realized that she was on the ground, and that her head ached fervently while a certain blond flashed into her mind's eye and Jane shot upright.

"Victor!"

She swiveled her head left and right, surveying her surroundings and winced at the stabbing pain that radiated from the side of her head.

"Jane, do not move," Jester called, taking her shoulders and trying to gently lay her back down. "You are wounded, your head, it is—"

She wriggled free from his grip and struggled to her feet.

"Jane," Jester pleaded, standing up and quickly caught her when she wobbled and nearly fell. She gingerly gripped her head, moaning softly at the pain, when she felt a warm liquid on her fingers she extracted her hand to see it caked in blood.

"Jane," Jester started, his voice rising in outrage. "Did Victor—"

An explosion cut him off, both turned their heads to see the flames rise up even higher over the northern side of Kippernia. Jane's eyes narrowed in cold fury. She had failed to kill the murderer of her Queen, she had failed to fulfill her oath to protect Kippernia's citizens, the sounds of slaughter, and crackling flame reached her ears. She was unconscious while her Kingdom burned. Jane tightly balled her hands into fists, and swung to face her old friend.

"What has happened, Jester?"

Jester knew what she meant, and he wanted to dissuade her from doing what she was about to do, but once he saw the fixed determination in her eyes; he knew there was no room for persuasion. He wanted to know what happened to her, and why she looked so distraught. He promised himself he would ask her later, but for now, he sighed and relayed what he knew.

"Sir Ivon and Sir Gunther are marching the Knights and infantry to counter Lord Victor's attack," he looked off towards the reddening horizon. "Sir Theodore just rode off to join them … The Queen …" his gaze lowered.

"Does she still live?"

"I do not know," he quietly murmured.

Jane looked at Jester, and noticed that he was scared—scared for his Queen, his Kingdom, himself, and for her.

"It will be all right," she soothed.

Jester's head snapped up and regarded her carefully.

"I should be the one telling you that," a flash of self-hatred entered his eyes, and then vanished. "I am not the one about to march off into battle."

Jane gave him a wry smile, sheathed her fallen dragon blade, and began to move towards the castle gates. A hand gripped her arm and stopped her.

Jane turned to Jester's pleading face.

"Please, Jane," he whispered. "Be careful."

"I will," she responded with a nod.

Jester reluctantly relinquished his hold on Jane, and watched her run off towards death and destruction as the snow fell and as flames rose—and as a Dragon's shadow scoured the chaos below.

The Kingdom of Kippernia had two massive stone walls, one enclosed the Castle and the second wrapped around a wide perimeter of Kippernia's Castle Town. However, many people lived outside Kippernia's walls—all of whom were peasants: farmers, and herders by trade. They lived on the land their King lent them in exchange for a percentage of their yearly yield. The peasant farmers and herders were a tightly knit community, they lived a relatively close distance to each other and because Kippernia's lands were fertile, many people populated the outskirts of the Kingdom to live in relative ease since King Caradoc was not a cruel King, his taxes were not unbearable.

A once happy community that at one time was filled with the sounds of laughter and music now ringed with a song of sorrow and death.

Their cries cut through the thick smoke that erupted from their burned homes as Lord Victor's army pillaged, raped, and destroyed Kippernia's peasants and livelihood.

The surviving peasants ran for their lives, towards the safety of the Kingdom's walls and there is where Kippernia's Knights now stand. Mounted on battle horses and flashing steel they rode forth covering the Kippernian's retreat. Their goal was simple—to protect the villagers, but nothing is truly as simple as it sounds.

The peasant population was huge, some lived far away from the Castle's perimeters, and Lord Victor's army was large and fanned out to inflict massive damage to their resources.

Sir Theodore, Captain of the Knights Guard, had to make a quick and painful decision—to save what they could they had to abandon many to their fate. Even if the Knights tried to reach those on the outskirts, they would arrive too late and sustain heavy losses.

His weathered, gloved hand tightly gripped against the reins of his horse as he charged northward towards the fires, and smoke, against the heavy tide of bloodied and screaming villagers as the infantry followed close behind.

As Jane passed the Castle's walls that were situated on a hill, with the glorious ocean to her right, Kippernia's Castle Town opened before her to reveal the horrors that befell it. The smoke she had seen exiting the Throne Room had been small compared to the raging inferno that engulfed the farmer's lands.

The Kippernian Castle Town gates were open, and she could see the figures of refugees filling into the Town Square.

A sudden crashing boom startled her; she turned and gasped as she saw flames licking the Castle's Walls behind her.

Why…? How…?

Another explosion sounded, and that is when she saw it—Victor's warships that peppered the waters were equipped with catapults and were hurling lighted caskets of tar.

The soldier's screams rent the air as Jane ran back to the Castle and took the task of retaliation, seeing as both Sir Theodore and Sir Ivon were leading the charge.

Quickly taking control, Jane ordered their own catapults to be set and loaded as she oversaw the soldiers's work from the parapet above.

As the oncoming flaming projectiles whizzed past Jane, she took aim of the enemy ships and aligned burning tar caskets of their own.

"Fire!" Jane bellowed, thus sending a blazing counterattack.

Their bombardments sailed the air and all landed on their targets, critically hitting the warships and sinking them to the icy waters below.

Jane smiled, training under the tutelage of a keen-eyed Dragon had its merits, and it paid off well. Her smile soon faded, and she ducked as a burning casket flew dangerously close to her head. It made contact with the training grounds below and set half a dozen soldiers in flames.

She had never heard such piercing screams of utter agony, and it chilled her to her very bones.

A rumbling crash knocked her off her feet as the impact collided with the wall she stood on. Chaos reigned as the warships bombed the Castle's walls unmercifully, unrelentingly. The ranks broke as the soldier's gave way to panic—all scrambling and fleeing for their lives. Jane grit her teeth and her fists in rage, she stood up, held her shoulders back, her head held high and commanded order in her voice alone. She gave the soldiers courage with her commandeering presence as they returned to their post, and continued to aim and fire their catapults.

As Dragon soared, the snowy skies above he could see all the carnage from his lofty height. He has witnessed many battles in the over 300 years of his existence, mostly from his travels, but he has never taken part in any of them.

Dragon just watched from afar and wondered. Wondered why these short-lives would be so set on destroying each other—he always considered it foolish, if not slightly and darkly amusing.

He could not understand those battles since, at the time, he did not understand the concept of a home. He never did have a home of his own. He was always moving, and rarely stayed in one place for long periods of time. It was only until he met Jane that he had found a home, the place in which he was born—the Kingdom of Kippernia.

A strange feeling of déjà vu took over, and he understood then, those kingdoms that he had seen all those years ago, all the bloodshed and destruction—all that was happening now—they were just defending the right to have a place to which they can belong to. And that was why he was fighting now, of his own will. Dragon was never in His Majesty's Service, he always did what he wanted, he helped because he wanted to, or because he was forced to by his red-haired best friend. He gave a wry smirk.

All this happened because of one little short-life?

He surveyed the area below; Sir Rusty Legs gave him specific orders so they could use his aerial abilities to the utmost advantage.

He was to assist the areas of heavy conflict, making priority to the skirmishes that were losing to the enemy forces. Due to his impenetrable scales, this tactic of weaving in and out of where he is needed most was working perfectly and the tide was slowly turning in their favor.

Dragon had assisted the archers on the parapets, the soldiers on the ground, and the Knights in the front. His torrent of fire had burnt enemies, his raking claws had tasted blood, and his swinging tail had crushed ranks. All was done to protect his homeland, to be of help to Jane.

Jane.

He was worried about her.

Dragon had not seen her since their reconnaissance mission before the break of dawn. He had seen Theodore, Ivon, and even Gunther, but not Jane. He wondered what had happened to his best friend, he feared the worst, but hoped he would see her soon.

As the raging din reached his ears he recalled the one who started this all. A certain Lord Victor.

The Master and Lord of Politeness, Dragon scoffed.

He never trusted him from the beginning. Something about him was off-putting, and strange. He smelled of something, that with which he could not quite place, but after crushing the enemy's forces, it came back to him. A scent he had long forgotten but soon remembered. Victor smelled faintly of blood and death, and it scared him. Dragon was rarely scared of anything; the only thing that frightened him was losing his best friend. Jane told him that he was being absurd, that Lord Victor was a fine nobleman, the incarnation of chivalry. But Dragon knew there was something else beneath the surface, something very old, dark, and sinister. Beneath those aqua eyes was something that should not be in this world. And the paralyzing glares those icy eyes sent him brought shivers creeping up his spine, but he was ever more worried when those glances were directed at his beloved friend Jane—since she could not see, could not smell, could not feel what he could.

A shocking thought ran through him.

If that bloody short-life lays one finger on her, I swear—!

He stopped short when multiple explosions sounded, and turned in that direction.

He was both relieved and worried, happy and shocked, when he saw a certain head of scarlet hair that he recognized instantly as Jane. Her body was lying amid the rubble of the Castle's southeastern wall. Dragon breathed again when he saw her stir, she was slowly scrambling to her feet when his sharp eyes caught a flaming mass soar towards his cherished companion.

"JANE!" he bellowed, as he tore through the sky and snow to reach her in a race against death.

O0oo0O

The next chapter will continue on with all the battles, this chapter was meant to be longer, but I thought this would be a nice place to stop.

Do you like the changing viewpoints? Tell me your thoughts on this chapter in a review! :D

Happy Holidays and Happy New Years!

Until next time! :D