Wanderlust
by Positively
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DISCLAIMER: Hidekaz Himaruya owns the characters of Axis Powers Hetalia. "East of the Sun and West of the Moon" is a Norwegian fairytale, brought to my attention through Edith Pattou's novel East. And I've been reading too much of AozoraNoShita's fairy tale satire, because every time I start taking myself seriously I SLIP IN A SILLY PUN OR ANACHRONISM or point out a plothole or something. So…this fic is suddenly a lot less serious than it was before
Last chapter, Alfred used his dad's magic to spy on Matthew at night, cementing the curse, so now Matthew has to go marry the troll king Ivan. His palace is apparently somewhere that's "east of the sun and west of the moon," which, as far as informational directions go, is pretty useless.
.
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Alfred woke up with the sun on his face. It took him a few moments to remember why this was an unusual thing, and then a few more to remember why it was terrible.
"Matthew!"
He woke with a level of swiftness he'd never before accomplished, and frantically scanned his surroundings. Apparently he'd been using a beaten gray satchel as a pillow, which he recognized as the bag of belongings he'd brought to the castle all those months ago.
But what castle? There was no trace of it, not anymore. The sun warmed Alfred's face, and the birds chirped blissfully in the background as though there'd never been anything here but grass and trees and earth. But the castle had been inside a mountain. Where had the mountain gone? There used to be a mountain here. Alfred ran his hands disbelievingly over dirt and small rocks.
He suddenly realized how very strange this whole year had been.
It might have been minutes or hours he spent stumbling around blindly in the forest, looking for some kind of trace of the bear, a hint of where Matthew had gone. Eventually it became a search for proof of his existence full stop. Proof that Alfred's memories of the past year weren't just the product of a feverdream.
Defeated and utterly lost, Alfred collapsed on the forest floor and wondered which way was home.
Weeks passed. Alfred picked west, because he had to start somewhere.
Matthew's words had been "You'll find me east of the sun and west of the moon," which Alfred found irritatingly cryptic, even for a magical talking bear-prince. "I mean, would it have killed him to be a little more specific?" he asked a passing squirrel.
The environment was similar enough to home that he thought he might be near his family. Most nights, when he was cold and alone, his resolve to rescue Matthew from the Troll King wavered. Who was to say that they weren't already married? And even if they weren't, what if Alfred never found this unfindable castle? And even if he could, was that really Alfred's problem? He just wanted to see his family again.
And then what. Become a farmer?
No, no. Alfred was meant for adventure. Or meant for Matthew. Or both. Yes, definitely both. And it was his fault Matthew had been kidnapped in the first place. The thought of spending the rest of his life with Matthew—maybe exploring the land or navigating the sea, or maybe just sitting in a library reading to each other for half a century—filled him with a yearning he'd only felt before when looking at a map, or reading a really good book. It left a satisfied taste in the back of his mouth.
By the time he found the cottage in the woods, he was resolved. He would find Matthew or die trying.
"So you're looking for a polar bear?" the tall man asked skeptically. He was very good a skeptical. He had perfectly arched brows and a long nose to look down. He wore his hair long and grew a scruffy beard that was probably meant to look romantic, but rather suggested indolence and lack of hygiene.
"Well, maybe? At the moment, he's probably a prince. A human one."
"Named Matthew."
"Yes."
"Stolen by the Troll King."
This sure sounded crazy when spoken of aloud. "Yes."
"Then he should have been yours."
"Come again?" Alfred glanced up into the tall man's blue eyes, suddenly sharper than before.
"He should have been yours. You are the one who was supposed to have him. My name is Francis, and I know a little about your prince and the troll who kidnapped him."
"Oh. Well. I guess he…should have been mine. And I his. You know. Us each other's. Um. Can you tell me how to find him?"
Francis looked down at his long white hands. "No. I'm afraid the best I can do is lend you a few things. Come with me."
He walked around to the back of the cottage, wind whipping his wavy hair. The day was dark and cloudy in a way that raised the hairs on the back of Alfred's neck. Significant sky, ominous but exciting. The steely stark gray silence of a journey just begun. Behind the cottage grew what looked to Alfred like a green leafy wall. It was incredible how tall these flowers were, pushed up to the sky, round and yellow like little suns. "This is my garden," Francis said, reaching up to brush a few petals with his fingertips.
"More like an ocean," Alfred murmured in awe. It stretched further than the eye could see, this field of flowers. A maze as wide and sloping and deep as the sea. A gust of wind traveled through the field like a wave, whispering to leaves. Francis remained silent, staring at the darkened sky. Alfred waited for his dramatic pause to end.
Eventually Francis broke off one of the flowers, midway down the stalk, and examined its petals intensely. "This flower will never wither." He broke off two more and handed all three to Alfred. "Take these with you. They may be useful."
Alfred stored them in his satchel, wondering how on earth a few deathless sunflowers would help him find his lost love. Then again, the much sought-after Matthew seemed to be very skilled at getting himself trapped in odd situations. Some troll king wanted to marry him…then he'd somehow ended up as a bear…and to break the curse he needed only to sleep beside a man for a year…but if that man saw his face, he had to go back to the Troll King…? Magical sunflowers were actually pretty boring in the context of Matthew's life. Alfred fell a little more in love every time he thought about it.
"Thank you," he guessed.
"No, I should be thanking you." Francis looked at him solemnly. "I cannot do much else but lend you my horse."
The horse's name was Francois (because his owner was a narcissistic bastard), and Francis said, "Ride to the east, as far as you can go. There you will meet the east wind, and he might be able to help you. Oh, and when you are finished with the horse, he will know to return to me. Good luck."
"I'm going to save him," Alfred declared. "I'm going to rescue Matthew."
Francis shook his head. "You'll get there too late or never."
"Way harsh," Alfred complained as he was borne away on the horse's back.
"Is it to your liking?"
Matthew said "Yes" with a swiftness that startled him. It was odd to be able to speak so freely again. For the past dozen-odd years, his human voice had been buried deep inside an animal's body; it used to take time to find its way out.
He remembered how deeply it had frustrated him to be so inarticulate around Alfred during the day, and then bound to silence by night. He used to cautiously hope for a time when he could speak as a human with Alfred, a day when he could tell him stories of his travels (how Alfred would have loved them!), and tell him his theories on magic (Alfred…probably would have been bored), and mention that Alfred could be real moron sometimes, and did he know that?
What a masochistic little fantasy. All for the best, he told himself bravely. Time to let go of all that. The Troll King is not so bad.
The king was tall and broad, with sandy hair and skin as cold as the ice of which it was said to be carved. He kept a cold, rough arm over Matthew's shoulder as they toured the palace. Matthew tried to ignore the building sense of claustrophobia that bubbled beneath his ribcage, taking up space and making him short of breath.
A horrifying thought struck him: was this how Alfred had felt as his prisoner?
And what if Matthew was like him and grew so homesick that he would not eat and wasted away? It wasn't as though the Troll King would let him leave this icy palace to visit home for a month. Matthew didn't have a home anymore, and he didn't have Alfred anymore, and how was he supposed to live like this?
Here the whitish-blue ice-walls glowed dimly, as though lit from behind. The ceilings were high and cavernous like the ones in Matthew's mountain-castle, but there were no crackling torches to abate the cold. His breath escaped him in clouds. Maybe I'll freeze to death before the wedding, he hoped.
"Here is your room. I would have you in mine, but it is much too cold for a softskin like you."
Matthew sidled out from under the king's heavy arm to inspect the bed.
"There are…so many blankets."
"I was afraid that you would be cold in the night. Does it not please you?" For the first time, Matthew looked up to examine his captor's face. The king was smiling, but his brows were drawn uncertainly. His nose was not nearly so unfortunate as all the old legends about trolls would have one believe.
"Not at all. I mean, yes! I mean, thank you, it's very nice."
The Troll King—he'd called himself Ivan—smiled brightly. "I am glad. Would you like to sleep, or perhaps to eat?"
"I think I'd like to sleep now."
Ivan kept smiling, lingering in the doorway to watch Matthew awkwardly tug off his boots—he was not used to feet and shoes and these scratchy clothes! And he would miss his fur in this palace, to be sure.
The mountain of furs and quilts proved too heavy for him to lift, so he began to peel them back one at a time. "Allow me to help, my prince," Ivan murmured, reaching his arms around to lift the pile easily. His cold body pressed against Matthew's back; he tried not to shiver.
"Thank you."
He wriggled under the covers. Ivan clapped his hands and the walls stopped glowing. The weight of the blankets sat upon Matthew's chest, a cruel reminder of the soft arms he once fell asleep between every night.
With horror, he realized that there were bear skins in here.
Matthew stared at the ceiling and trembled.
The night before he met the east wind, Alfred dreamed of Matthew.
The dream—memory?—unfolded slowly, soft around the edges, the opposite of vivid. Warmth enfolded Alfred everywhere but on his stinging face. Contrast made the heat that much cozier, like a winter night burrowed in blankets.
There was an arm curled over his side, palm pressed against his spine, rubbing soft circles and counting bones. A memory of Matthew, then! Alfred could almost feel the soft skin in his hands, could almost smell the old books and fur. M-A-T-T-H-E-W. He soaked himself in contained joy and utter satisfaction: because this, yes, this was the way things were meant to be.
He opened his mouth to say so, and the warmth disappeared. No! Alfred shouted, but that too was wrong. Matthew, Matthew.
You will find me too late or never, a voice whispered in his ear. I am in every place the searcher has not come. I am in every place that the searcher has left.
That is almost as useless as "a castle east of the sun and west of the moon," Alfred tried to say, but the air passed through his throat soundlessly.
When he woke up, a silver-haired man sat across the remains of his fire.
"I'm the East Wind," he said in a bored tone.
"I'm Alfred," Alfred said.
The East Wind's red eyes flashed back and forth between something in his hands and Alfred's face. "Did you ask for me?" He was carving, Alfred realized, a small bear out of ash-wood.
"Yes. I need to find a castle that's east of the sun and west of the moon."
"That doesn't make any directional sense," the East Wind pointed out, gesturing with his carving knife for emphasis.
"I can only agree. But I met a man named Francis who directed me to you."
He smirked. "Well, I am a very knowledgeable entity. I could tell you all about my travels to faraway lands. I could take you to a country where they go naked in the summertime. I could take you to a land where the sun rises at night and sets in the morning. I could show you the tops of mountains so high they touch the stars. But I can't take you to a palace that's east of the sun and west of the moon."
"Please? It's really important."
"Say please all you want, kid," he said, sounding annoyed and a lot less majestic now, "but I have never seen or heard of such a place. I could take you to my brother, though."
"Your brother?"
"Yes, the West Wind. His company is not nearly so pleasant as mine, but maybe he is familiar with your castle-that-cannot-be-found."
And so the East Wind gathered Alfred up on his back and tore across the lands. It was a little like riding Kumajirou's back, but faster and colder. The East Wind had no fur to bury one's face in. And whereas Kumajirou's muscles had jumped and sprang rhythmically with living movement, the East Wind simply glided. Alfred missed Matthew with a force and guilt that burned him from the inside, as though he'd swallowed a piece of fire.
Eventually they came to a stop so suddenly that Alfred flipped over the East Wind's shoulders and landed in an undignified sprawl on the ground.
"Who is this?" asked a sharp voice somewhere above his head. Alfred tried to find his way out from under his own legs.
"Albert or something. He's looking for a castle that is 'east of the sun and west of the moon.' Which, as far as informational directions go, is pretty useless."
"Then you were the one who was supposed to have him." The West Wind's face came into view. His countenance was stern; where his brother was loose and breezy, the West Wind was tight and controlled. Alfred took in his composed appearance for a few seconds before his words registered.
"You know the place?"
"I've heard of it," the West Wind said cautiously. "But I have never flown that far. I have only heard rumors from the North and South."
"Nobody tells me anything," the East Wind complained. He was soundly ignored.
"Please, take me to them. I really must rescue Matthew."
The West Wind crouched so that Alfred could cling to his back.
"Okay, but why are we even helping this kid? What do we care if he finds his prince?" The East Wind and his logic were ignored once again.
When they reached their destination, the West Wind came to a stop a great deal more gradually than his brother had, and helped Alfred climb off his back. "I should warn you. The South Wind…does not like being disturbed."
"No, I'm a really charming guy," Alfred explained. "Nobody can hate me."
"Who the hell is that? What the hell are you doing here? Blast you both! Get off my property! Nobody likes you, you west-blown bastard!" The shouts were punctuated by hot, angry gusts of wind.
"I hope you are right," the West Wind sighed.
"Just out of curiosity…" Matthew began, seated across from his soon-to-be husband.
"Yes?"
"When is our wedding?"
Another difference between this mystical castle and Matthew's old mystical castle was the help. Everything had seemed to run itself by some magic back in his old home; here, there were servants everywhere. Cooking, cleaning, shrinking away from the king…They rarely met Matthew's eyes. He couldn't discern whether it was fear or pity that made them look away. Probably pity, he decided, reflecting on the baskets of warm bread he sometimes found on his pillow. Ivan ate chilled or frozen food exclusively; he either didn't know or didn't care that humans had somewhat different tastes.
Ivan crunched on his frozen fish. "I hope to have a large ceremony. I have invited trolls from all parts of the Ice-skin Kingdom to bear witness, but many will not be able to arrive until midwinter has passed. There will be feasting…"
He continued to blithely describe his plans for their hostage wedding, but Matthew had stopped listening after "midwinter." That meant he had at least two weeks to either escape, kill himself, or…
Or what? Wait for Alfred to come save the day? It couldn't be done, and he'd do better to just forget about it.
But he couldn't.
"And don't ever let me see your sorry face at my door ever again!" The South Wind disappeared in a swirl of air and leaves.
"Sorry about my brother. He is just so very shy!"
Alfred nodded. "Shy. Yes. Okay."
"Tell me, why have you come here?" The North Wind was surprisingly sweet-faced and space-cased, and Alfred found that he liked him best of the four brothers.
"I'm looking for a castle that can only be found east of the sun and west of the moon."
"Ah. Then he should have been yours."
"That's what they tell me."
He sighed. "I have only seen it once before. I blew an aspen leaf there, just to prove I could! But for many days afterward, I was so exhausted I could not even summon a breeze. It is a long way, and hard."
"I don't care. I'll do anything to find it. If you can't take me there, just tell me how to find it! Please."
"I will take you. But we need to have the whole day before us, or I will tire before the end. You may sleep in my bed, but I'm afraid I have no food."
That night, Alfred dreamed of Matthew again. But he was freezing to the touch, and melted when Alfred tried to warm him. Too late or never. Dream-Matthew was always such a downer. "You're wrong," he said, and for once his voice emerged loud and clear.
I DON'T EVEN HAVE AN EXCUSE FOR HOW LONG THIS TOOK
I don't even have an excuse. Massive props to anybody still hanging around. I think there should only be one more chapter after this one? Which will not take eight months. Promise.
Reviews appreciated!