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.
Well, here it is! The final chapter. This fic took me way longer than it had any right to, for which I apologize. If you need a refresher: Matthew has been taken by the Troll King to a land that's 'east of the sun and west of the moon.' Their marriage is scheduled for midwinter. The North Wind has agreed to carry Alfred to the Troll King's castle, where he intends to rescue Matthew.
(Note: for fun, read all mention of "trolls" as "internet trolls." I kept accidentally doing this while I was writing. Hilarity ensued.)
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Early the next morning, the North Wind woke Alfred with a gust of breath on his cheek.
"Young man, wake up. We must leave early, or we will not make to the Troll King's castle before nightfall. The cold dark would kill you this close to midwinter."
"Mmmkay," Alfred agreed blearily. They exited the house on foot. Outside, the sky was barely tinged with the gray hint of dawn; still the North Wind warned him that they would have to fly as fast as they could, and a bit faster than that, to make it in time.
"So you know where you're going, right?"
"Yes," agreed the North Wind, squatting to the ground for Alfred to climb onto his back.
"In that case, what does it mean, 'east of the sun and west of the moon'? What direction are you flying in? Are we going north? As far north as can be? Because even the North Pole isn't really—"
At that moment, the North Wind took off from the ground, and could no longer hear nor answer questions.
They flew faster than Alfred had ever gone before, faster than the polar bear and the other three winds combined. It was impossible to guess how much time passed. Alfred suspected that the North Wind moved faster than time itself, that he was going so fast that the sun had stopped in its tracks.
Below them, storms broke out and ripped trees and homes from their roots. The seas roiled and ships wrecked, and the North Wind grew drooping and tired. At one point, he dropped so low to the ground that Alfred's feet brushed the tops of the trees.
"Are you afraid?" asked the North Wind.
As always Alfred replied, "No."
Finally they reached the frozen shores of the troll kingdom, and the North Wind fell wearily to his knees. "I am very tired, young man. I will stay here and rest for a while. Do you see the Troll King's castle?"
"Kind of hard to miss," Alfred admitted, staring north at sweeping walls and towering spires that seemed to pierce the blank grey sky. Unless he was mistaken, the whole thing was carved entirely of ice.
"Then you know what to do. Good luck. Take back what is yours."
Alfred shook his head in consternation. "I don't want to take him. I think everybody's had enough of being taken and stolen and owned. Don't you?"
Getting into the castle was going to be a bit of a problem, Alfred realized. Its walls were, in fact, made of slick smooth ice. There were a few windows (which were really just holes cut out of the iceberg), but it seemed that the only doors were behind two massive gates of stone. These were probably guarded by trolls or maybe even magic spells. For Matthew's sake, Alfred was going to have to be a little more circumspect than just straight up asking to come in.
Matthew. It had been nearly a month since he'd been taken by the Troll King. What if they were already married? What if Alfred was too late? He needed to think up a plan quickly, before Matthew's prediction came to pass. You will find me too late or never.
From his hiding spot just beneath one of the castle windows, Alfred could see that a lot of people— trolls?—were entering the castle today. He wasn't sure if this was a normal thing or if they were gathering for something—maybe a wedding—but in any case, he thought he might use it to his advantage.
But how? He drew one of the three sunflowers that Francis had given him from his worn satchel. Supposedly they were going to help in this quest somehow. Maybe he could pretend to be a sunflower vendor or something.
"Hello down there!" called a voice from the window above him.
Gods curse it. Maybe he's talking to the people coming in through the gate…?
"Hello, golden-haired man! With the pretty flower!"
Alfred looked up, trying to ignore the growling dread in his stomach. Or maybe that was hunger. He hadn't eaten in a while.
"Your flower is very pretty! I will be down presently!"
And suddenly the tall man—No, Alfred corrected himself, troll—was standing right in front of him, as though he'd been there the whole time waiting to be noticed.
"I am Ivan, known as the Troll King. This is my castle you stand beneath."
This was the Troll King? He was broad-shouldered, well-muscled, and stocky despite his impressive height (one that Alfred, at nearly six feet and completely shadowed by the king, could hardly believe). But while his body was a paragon of intimidation, he wore a bright soft smile and a charming scarf. He wasn't yelling at Alfred to go back south (or north or west or east or whatever) where he belonged. He wasn't shouting for guards to come kill the outsider. In fact, his tone was downright accommodating when he asked, "What brings you here, softskin?"
"Um…" Alfred couldn't very well admit that he planned to steal the king's bride beneath his large nose to the king, could he? "Well, this flower has very special properties. As you can see, it's still fresh even though I have travelled a great distance to bring it here. In this land, no living thing will grow in the cold and ice. I have brought this flower…to…"
"Sell? I will buy it right now! Name any price."
Alfred thought fast. "I won't sell it for money."
Ivan frowned, looking thoroughly put-out. "Please. I could give you a title, lands, a noble wife."
"What would I want with any of those things? Nothing grows here. It is almost too cold for me to live! I expected too much out of this place. I must return home with this flower…"
"Wait! Please, young softskin. Tell me what you will take for this." The king looked so earnest and heartbroken that Alfred almost felt bad.
"Well, if I try to stay out here in the night, I'll surely die of the cold. Is there a room in your castle that might be warm enough for a human—a softskin—to sleep in?"
King Ivan frowned. "There is one, but my betrothed sleeps there." At the use of the word "betrothed" instead of "husband," Alfred nearly collapsed into a relieved puddle of tears. He tried very hard not to show it.
"But I'm afraid I can't allow you to stay there with him—"
"Then I guess I'll be on my way home," Alfred said sadly, stuffing the sunflower back into his satchel.
Ivan allowed him to walk away for a few terrifying moments, in which Alfred worried that he really was going to freeze to death in the night. But finally he heard Ivan shout, "Fine! I will lead you to my betrothed's chamber tonight, when he is sleeping. You may not touch him or speak to him." Alfred turned to face the king, silently cheering.
A small smile spread across Ivan's face. "If he is hurt, you will die screaming."
"D-duly noted." So maybe the Troll King was as scary as the stories made him out to be.
That night, after Alfred was graciously fed with leftovers from the dinner spread, one of the Troll King's servants found him shivering in the music room (there were a few instruments there, but they had the barely-used look of decoration).
"Are you the softskin flower-vendor from the south? I am to lead you to the room of furs and fires," the young troll told Alfred.
"Thank you. Out of curiosity, how much warmer is this room than the rest of the palace?"
"The king's betrothed seems to like it quite a lot," the servant told him. They crunched along merrily through the halls of ice, and Alfred noted that trolls didn't need to wear shoes. It was certainly a sight to see, all these courtly almost-humans in fine dresses, wandering around barefoot like peasants. "His lips don't get blue in there, the way yours are now."
"Oh. Very good."
He could hardly stand the anticipation of seeing Matthew human again. Would he be angry still? Because Alfred sort of did get them stuck in this mess. And maybe Matthew wouldn't want anything to do with him anymore. That was fair. But would he at least let Alfred jailbreak him? It was only right.
"Here we are. Me and my brothers, Raivis and Eduard, will be staying in the room next door." Alfred knew a threat when he heard one. "Do not hesitate to call us if you need anything."
Alfred pushed with all his weight on the heavy ice door until it swung inward. The chamber was dimly lit by a fire in the "hearth," which was really just a hastily arranged campfire over a pile of stones that prevented the fire from melting the chamber floor. The room was a good bit warmer than what Alfred had been subjected to all day; the walls even glistened a little with icewater. What would really hit the spot were a few blankets and a bedmate…
The bed was as big as the one in Kumajirou's castle and piled high with furs and quilts. And they were stirring faintly.
"Matthew?" Alfred inched closer to the bed. "Matthew, are you awake?"
There came no answer.
"Matthew. Hey, Matthew. Kumajirou?" He shook the lump under the blankets, and when that didn't work, he started trying to peel them away.
When he saw that startlingly beautiful face again, he shrieked a little and dropped the blankets. "Gimme a break, I'm really keyed up right now," he muttered to no one. But Matthew's sleeping face was so peaceful and perfect. It was overwhelming.
"Matthew, wake up."
He pulled the corner of the covers away, and suddenly the reversal of the situation struck him like a ton of ice-bricks to the head. "This is pretty funny, isn't it Matthew? Now it's me sneaking into your bed at night."
No response.
But Matthew was breathing, at least; he wasn't dead, just sleeping. And for some reason he wouldn't wake up. Maybe he was an extremely heavy sleeper? Alfred blinked tears from his eyes and continued to beg Matthew to wake up.
Kind of loudly.
He shook Matthew and cried and called his name, but nothing could rouse him. Eventually exhaustion overtook Alfred, and he fell asleep with his arms around the prince. He dreamt the white cold yearning nightmare, but every time he opened his eyes, Matthew wasn't awake to comfort him.
At the break of dawn on the following day, King Ivan woke Alfred with a stone-hard ice-cold hand. "Your night is up, softskin," he said quietly. Alfred blearily noted that Matthew was still asleep beside him. He probably hadn't woken up. He probably didn't know Alfred was here to save him.
And how was that going to happen anyway? Alfred realized that he didn't really have a plan for that yet. He spent his day under the window again, plotting and mostly getting nowhere. Just in case Ivan was prowling around, he took out another one of the everlasting sunflowers to play with.
He was not disappointed.
"Softskin!" came the call from the window. "You have another of those flowers? I wish to buy it, too."
"Not for gold or money," Alfred sang.
Ivan scowled. "Surely you would prefer something else to a single night of warmth."
"Well, if you're offering both I'll take it. But living through the night is more important than anything else you could give me."
Of course he agreed again, and again Alfred was led to Matthew's chamber in the night. "Remember," the servant said pointedly, "my brothers and I are in the room next door. If you need anything…"
"Do you have a foghorn?"
"A what?"
"Never mind," Alfred sighed.
For Matthew was sound asleep again, and no amount of shouting, crying, or shaking could wake him. This must be some kind of foul enchantment, Alfred realized. Before he drifted off to sleep, he noticed both of the immortal sunflowers in a vase by the bed.
The Troll King was actually really sweet, he thought to himself. Up until the moment Ivan burst in at dawn to drag him out of the bed before Matthew woke up.
The next day passed in exactly the same fashion, with one notable exception:
"What do you mean the wedding is tomorrow?!"
Matthew woke several hours after dawn, feeling well-rested but melancholy. "Oh, Toris," he sighed to his manservant. "I was having the most wonderful dream about a boy I used to know—he'd snuck into my bed, and he was so warm. He told me he was here to save me."
Toris dropped the breakfast tray.
"N-no need for you to help me, Your Majesty. I can clean it up."
"Oh, don't worry about it."
"You're to marry the king tomorrow, Your Majesty." He smiled good-naturedly up at Matthew. "It isn't proper for you to kneel on the floor—"
"Proper, schmopper. I spent the last hundred years as a giant polar bear, did you know that? I shed. And ate raw meat without silverware. I haven't acted the proper prince since I was a little boy."
They cleaned in companionable silence for a few moments, before Toris suddenly grabbed Matthew's wrist with one hand and made a shushing motion with the other. "I need to tell you something."
Matthew blinked at him. "Okay."
"That wasn't a dream."
Matthew's heart tripped up and then tripled its speed. "What?"
"There's been a human. He came last night and the night before. My brothers and I could hear him calling your name from the next room. He was trying to wake you up."
"Alfred," he breathed.
"Yes, that was his name." Matthew stared at him with wide eyes, suddenly comprehending. These past two nights, Ivan had given him a draught to "keep out the cold." But in reality it must have been a sleeping potion to make sure that Matthew slept soundly through Alfred's visit! That bastard.
Though the thing with the sunflowers was really sweet.
"Thank you, Toris," he whispered. "I owe you one."
Tonight he would give his sleeping draught to the floor.
Well, this is it, Alfred thought. Tomorrow is the wedding, and I don't have a plan to flee with Matthew, and I don't even know if I can wake him up. As the troll servant led him to Matthew's chamber, he considered the possibility of carrying the sleeping prince over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Could he possibly get away in time?
He wriggled underneath the covers, cold fingers seeking out Matthew's warm stomach. He peeled away furs, needing to see that beautiful face just one more time—
The eyes were open.
He let out a little yelp and jerked back. Before the amused grin on Matthew's face could even halfway form itself, he'd surged forward again to gather him to his chest.
"Matthew, Matthew. Are you really—"
"Shhh." Matthew pulled Alfred closer to his chest. "Gods, but you're cold. Be quiet for now, let's warm you up a little. We can worry about everything else later."
Alfred spluttered, "B-but, Matthew, your wedding, it's tomorrow, we need to get going, we—"
"No, really. Shhh. Didn't I just say shhh? It's the first time I've had the chance to say it to you. I really wish you'd listen."
Alfred took a deep breath and tried to focus on the miraculous fact that Matthew was awake and just a few inches away.
"Alfred. There's nothing we can do about the wedding at this point. It's too late for you to save me. No, stop. Hush. It's not so bad, and King Ivan is actually sweet! Have you seen the sunflowers he bought for me? He seems to genuinely want me to be happy. This isn't as bad as I thought it would be."
"You can't just give up because things could get worse!" Alfred shouted, not caring if the whole castle heard.
"And why not?" Matthew's eyes narrowed. "It's my life and my hand to give as I please, and both of us would be much safer if I just gave in and went through with the wedding. And anyway, this was the contract that my parents agreed to when Ivan cast this spell on me! He would heal my older brother with magic, and if I couldn't manage to sleep in silence beside a stranger for a year, Ivan would take me as his…bride. Groom. Whatever. Backing out now would kind of make us the bad guys."
"I didn't know that," Alfred said sadly. "About your parents."
Matthew looked away, uncomfortable. "Well. It happened. They needed an heir, and I was a weak alternative…the point is, I should marry Ivan. I just should! Why are you so against it?"
"Because I want to marry you!"
The declaration echoed in the silence for a few moments. A troll coughed in the next room.
"Alfred, I'm really glad you came here." Tears filled Matthew's dark blue eyes, and Alfred knew what he was going to say before he said it. "I'm really glad I got to see you one last time. But you should go."
"No."
"Alfred—"
"What if I told you…" he said slowly, making it up as he went along, "that I have a plan?"
Dawn, the day of the wedding. King Ivan arrived to escort Alfred out of the bed while Matthew slept soundly on. "This is the last night I will allow this, softskin. Matthew is to marry me this day, and after that his nights belong to me."
"Might I stay and see the wedding?"
Ivan looked him up and down. "Would you not feel underdressed? I ask only because I know that this is a very unpleasant feeling, to be wearing inferior clothes. You may sit in the back of the hall, where many peasants will be dressed like you."
Alfred looked down at his shirt, which happened to be the finest he owned. Peasant?
When the time of the ceremony drew near—it was to be held at midnight—the exhaustion from plotting through most of the previous night had begun to take its toll on Alfred. There was no possible way to be sleepy at a time like this, but he was running on adrenaline and fear. I need to keep a clear head, he thought to himself. Oh look, that troll has twins.
The great hall was an enormous, echoing, multi-storied cavern, carved from ice and snow as was the rest of the castle. There were balconies near the ceiling, ones that reminded him of the place where he used to go to look out the window in Kumajirou's castle.
The ceremony was unlike a human wedding in that both Matthew and Ivan had been standing on the...altar?...for as long as the crowd had been gathered there. One of the heralds cleared his throat to speak, but Matthew quickly cut in.
"Before we begin, I would like to make a request of my husband-to-be." His voice was small and squeaky. Alfred allowed himself a swallow and a hard little smile. So it begins.
"You may do so," Ivan said, sounding curious but not angry or embarrassed.
"In the land where I was once a prince, my people held one skill in regard above all others." The crowd murmured in confusion. Alfred knew nothing of troll culture, and had no idea whether they would grow angry and violent at the breach in tradition. Matthew hadn't known either; they'd briefly discussed the possibility of a riot, then dismissed it with a mutual shrug.
"This skill was considered to be a measure of one's worth as a person of noble birth, and of desirability," Matthew continued, stepping down off the altar. ("You have to build some conversational momentum," Alfred had told him last night. "You have to ham it up, like a big villain would."
"Are we the villains in this story?" Matthew had wondered.
"I'm sure the trolls will say so.")
"But Matthew," Ivan asked right on cue. "What is this skill you speak of? If you require a demonstration, I will perform to the best of my abilities."
"The skill," Matthew said, turning sharply to face the hall at large, "is music. I would like to hear you play the harp for me."
A dramatic silence filled the hall. Nobody moved, except for a couple of restless troll-children in the back with Alfred. This is a good sign, he thought to himself.
"Um. Okay."
Matthew deflated a bit. "Thank you for indulging me in this. Toris, could you go fetch a harp for us?"
The young troll crunched down the center aisle. Alfred gave him a wink as he passed.
The crowd murmured in a mix of interest and impatience: many of them, especially the trolls sitting in the back with Alfred, were more excited for the afterfeast than the wedding itself. "Nobody told me there was music involved," muttered the she-troll beside Alfred.
"I wish you had brought this up before the day of our wedding," Ivan sighed to Matthew.
Toris returned, wheeling one of the decorative harps that Alfred had seen once before. It was a heavy, blocky sort of instrument, closer to the models that Roderich sold in his music shop than the elegant one in Matthew's castle. But Alfred's fingers ached to play again; he only hoped that Ivan would not be a skilled player.
"Then I shall begin," Ivan said, looking nervous. He leaned down and whispered something in Matthew's ear; the prince didn't respond or even look at him. What does that mean?
Ivan sat gingerly and stared very hard at the strings. Alfred held his breath.
"I do not know how to play this instrument," he admitted finally, when it became obvious that he could not defeat the harp in a staring contest. Defensively, he continued, "It is not considered proper for a king to learn music when he might be learning of diplomacy and domestic affairs."
Matthew affected an over-the-top tragic expression. "This saddens me greatly. There should be music at a softskin's wedding. That is how my people once lived in the green lands. But if there is no one here who can play the harp…"
Alfred stood. "I will play."
The boots he wore marked him for a human, and a huge murmur went up through the room, from the lowest level to the highest balcony, as he crunched to the altar. He shooed away a startled Ivan and primly took his seat.
He was the greatest harpist he knew, better even than Roderich and certainly better than Ivan. There was no doubt that he would impress the audience. But he was going to have to give the greatest performance of his life if he wanted to take back—no, rescue—Matthew from this place.
He put his fingers to the strings, closed his eyes, and he was back in Kumajirou's castle, playing for the huge white bear who had saved his sick brother and his starving family, who towered over him apologetically, who saved him from falling, who asked him to read fairytales. And he played for the boy, Matthew, who had been prince of his own kingdom, who was beautiful as a god and cuddlesome as a cat, who slipped into his bed at night and held him as he slept.
And so Alfred played his favorite melody, one of the ones that came from the oak cabinet in Kumajirou's castle. The harp was unfamiliar in his hands and a little out-of-tune, but Alfred breezed through the notes anyway, deciding that he would call his trip-ups "stylistic imperfections."
He began quiet and soft and smooth, then built up to a crescendo, then drew back some, then built up more and more and more and drew back again and again and again, each peak growing louder and more complex than the one before, until his fingers blurred over the soundboard and not a single thought could fit in his head for the music there.
When the end finally came, the last few notes echoed in the hall of ice, seeming to almost soften the hard edges of the cavern. Following that was a full measure of silence.
"This peasant is to be my husband," Matthew declared, his voice loud and certain.
Alfred looked down at his best shirt. Peasant?
A huge roar rose from the crowd of assembled trolls, and Matthew entertained the notion that perhaps he and Alfred should have worried more about the possibility of a troll riot.
"I am sorry, Matthew, but that possibility was not on the table." Ivan's smile was a little strained, as though he didn't suspect his intended of treachery but of stupidity. "The agreement between myself and your parents did not involve a test to prove my worth, or musical skills. I am afraid that his talent has little to do with anything."
"But…I want—"
Ivan gave him an incredulous look. "Do you not recall the circumstances of our betrothal? What you want is regrettably a non-issue."
Alfred jumped up from the bench and put an arm around Matthew. "Look, King Ivan, you seem like a pretty okay guy for a kidnapping monster but—gods be good!" This last expletive was a result of the burst of flame that Ivan aimed over Matthew's shoulder.
"He will not be stolen away again," Ivan said dangerously. "This wedding has been decided nearly one hundred years ago, and cemented when you failed to break the curse. The prince will wed me today, and he will live with me until my dying."
"Over my dead body!"
"Alfred! Are you stupid?" Matthew tackled him to the ground before Ivan could make good on Alfred's declaration. "It's over. We lost." A tear dripped down his nose and landed in Alfred's eye. "At least you tried, at least we can both still make it out of this alive. Don't be stupid. I know that's hard for you but—"
"Listen to me, Matthew, you listen hard and well. I'm about to run out of this room, but I'm not done trying, okay? I need you to get out of this room. Do you understand? Run from this castle."
"Alfred—"
"I'm not afraid," Alfred said, pushing Matthew off of his chest and standing up.
"Do your worst, Your Majesty."
"Alfred—!"
Ivan gestured at him, wearing a thunderous expression, and more flames shot from his hand. Alfred ducked and heard a huge hissssss from behind him: the walls where the fireball struck were melting and steaming.
The few trolls who hadn't already ducked out the back doors began to scream and sprint for the exits. Alfred followed them.
Ivan and Matthew stared expectantly at the door for a full minute in silence.
"Well," said the Troll King happily, "Looks like we can resume the—"
"HEY! UP HERE!"
Alfred was jumping up and down on the highest balcony seats, waving his arms around. Even from a distance of nearly one hundred feet, he thought he could hear the sound of Matthew smacking his forehead.
From the floor, Ivan growled and released another fireball in his direction. It hit the cavernous ceiling with an almighty bang, followed by the hiss and pop of melting ice. Alfred sprinted along the length of the balcony, calling down mostly incomprehensible insults, one of which sounded an awful lot like "popsicle-cock."
"What in all gods' names do you think you're doing?!" Matthew screamed, and Ivan's next shot hit just above the ice balcony.
"Matthew, what did I just tell you?! Out! OUT!" Again and again Ivan cast his magic spells, aiming for Alfred and always just a bit off. Matthew couldn't leave; he needed to stay and help. While Ivan was distracted he could incapacitate him with…with…gods, he could not think for all the sound echoing in here! The room was filled with the hiss of steam and the crackling of ice.
The crackling was growing loud and ominous, and the truth of what was about to happen struck Matthew just a little too late.
He sprinted for the exit, even as he heard the rumble and boom of the icy room collapsing in on itself. The doorway was twenty feet away, ten, five…
And then he heard Alfred's scream as the balcony separated from the wall. But before he could even call his name in despair, a chunk of ice struck him upon the head, and darkness filled his vision.
His last thought was for Alfred, and the library in his old castle, and the peace they shared at least for a moment.
"Alfred."
Alfred slowly became aware of his surroundings, the way one does after a long and fitful sleep. He was freezing everywhere, in pain almost everywhere, most especially his head and leg. Curiously, he felt the wind on his face, and he wondered how he'd managed to fall asleep in the open. His father would not be impressed.
"Alfred," Matthew choked. "Please wake up."
"Okay," he agreed blearily, and opened his eyes.
Matthew sobbed and clutched him around the waist. He was as cold as Alfred, as cold as ice. "You're an idiot, an idiot, a huge stupid idiot, why the hell did you do that?" he chanted into Alfred's neck. If only he were still a bear. Then they might survive the night.
It was long past midnight, and the ice palace was a ruin around them.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, and then, "I think my leg is broken."
"It is," Matthew confirmed without checking.
"Are we going to die here?"
The words spilled from his mouth and hovered like a stain between them. Matthew drew him tighter into his arms, trying to muffle his sniffles unsuccessfully.
"No, of course not," Matthew said when he could speak. "Of course not. We just have to last through tonight. As soon as the sun comes up, we'll be saved."
Alfred's teeth chattered. "Well, at least all the ice is numbing my leg."
"There you go. Always look on the bright side of life. We'll get out of here tomorrow, and—and you can go back home and I can…well, I can do something."
"You can come back with me."
Matthew wriggled closer, drew his head under his chin. "Do you want me to?"
Alfred shoved at him. "I didn't steal you from the Troll King. I meant to free you. To make your own decisions. So you can come with me, only if you want to."
"Don't be stupid, Alfred."
The starlight struck and scattered off the steam of their breath. "Did you know that tonight is the best night to stargaze? During the whole year? I mean, it's the longest night."
"I'm not sure if it being a long night is such a great thing," Alfred murmured sleepily. Matthew felt his heart sink, told Alfred to flex the toes of his good leg and listen closely.
"Listen. My brother and I used to watch the stars. I always fell asleep first, but Francis—"
"Francis?"
"That was my older brother's name. The one who got sick."
"I thought…I thought you were a prince a hundred years ago. I thought you'd…been stuck as a bear for a long time."
"I was," he said sadly. "My family has been dead for many years, I am sure."
"I met your brother, though. If—if we get rescued, I'll take you to him."
Matthew dashed at the tears before they could freeze his eyes shut. "I know your leg hurts, Alfred, but we need to move. You aren't thinking right. You need to move, or you'll freeze."
"No, you won't," said an angry voice. Matthew tensed, fearing angry trolls, fearing Ivan—though maybe Ivan could make another fireball, Matthew might agree to marry him just for that—
Alfred's eyes widened. "South!"
Matthew struggled into a sitting position, and turned to see four young men standing in an arc. All were dressed inappropriately for the bone-biting cold, but none appeared to suffer for it.
"We've come to help," the pale-haired one said. "North insisted."
When the four winds dropped them off at Francis' cabin, hair snarled and cheeks chapped, Alfred noticed immediately that there was something off about the place. "He's not here," Alfred said, not really understanding how he knew. "I…he was, though. He gave me those sunflowers, the ones that I used to save you."
Matthew nodded skeptically. After making Alfred a splint and a makeshift crutch, they toured the place. Predictably, they found no one. The sunflower field was nothing but grass.
"Well, that was eerie." Alfred clapped his hands together. "Now what?"
"I'm sure you want to return home, to see your family."
"I can introduce you to my father! And we can all laugh together about how wrong he was, thinking that you were the troll in this situation."
Matthew smiled. "That sounds nice. And after that?"
"Adventure," Alfred replied with relish.
"No happily ever after for us?"
"Don't make it into one of your little fairytales," Alfred mocked, chucking him on the shoulder. "But we can stay together forever. If you want to. As long as you agree that I haven't stolen or taken you in any way, shape, or form."
"Afraid I can't agree with that." Matthew heaved a sad sigh. Alfred gulped and prepared his "you're free to go" speech. "See, you've stolen my heart."
"Really," Alfred asked flatly.
"Shut up and kiss me," Matthew growled, and pulled him forward to do just that.
THE END
Notes: This ending is a lot different from the actual fairytale, in which, I quote, "the old troll queen flew into such a rage, she exploded on the spot, and the princess with the long nose after her, and the whole pack of trolls after her - at least I've never heard a word about them since." Like…I don't think so.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I did writing it!