"Tell me the story again." He makes his request as the pitcher of water pours its contents over his head. He's temporarily pulled into darkness and the suds gently cascade down his face and into the water he sits in. To him, the story he has requested is better than any of the others that he can understand, the ones in his books that line the walls are too complex, too dense in their wording and he loves it when his father tells it to him. Nails tease his scalp and he shivers at the sensation, and he shakes his head, pulling away as it becomes too strong to bear. Above him, his father scolds him and he turns to look up at his father, neck arching sharply as he looks up and back, pushing the hair the color of a magpie's wings from his face.

"Father!" He whines, his pale skin is bright against the dark color of the water that he sits in.

"Alright, alright, little one turn around." says the man in the chair who was unlike the child in the bin has hands the color of a pale plum. With a grin of triumph the child faces forward in the bathwater. The elder plunges his hand into the water and when he withdraws it, a thick hank of hair in his palm. He begins to brush the hair as he begins to recount the story.

"Your father was a King. A King made of Ice and Snow and that no one, no matter who they were, always feared. He was a King that was respected, who knew no honesty, no compassion, no love. All he knew was war and snow and to his people, he was terror in the night wind. One day, he grew tired of his ice and snow and considered, why not the land of the elves to the north? They had trees, and earth and mountains and his cousins of the mountains lived there as well."

"So he became greedy and brought winter."

"Aye, but do you want me to tell the tale or would you like to tell me?" His father asks and the plum skin hands pick up the submerged pitcher and pour it over the thick middle of section of hair he is currently combing. The child becoming restless twists around and is quickly scolded.

"Do not move, or do you want to stay in there all night?"

"No!" The water splashes and hugs the rim. "Tell me about the war!"

His father sighs and lets go of the hank of hair to forcefully turn the child's head foreword.

"You and warfare. There is more to war than unorganized running and stabbing. There are other, better, ways to do handle it-"

"The war!"

"It was a terrible war." He sighs in frustration and his child is delighted."Those to the north were unsuspecting of it but they rallied quickly. Those of the forest, elves, and those of the mountain, trolls, came forth and fought valiantly." The plum fingers begin to braid the hair quickly, his child docile. "But it was after many months, did the King realize, though both the trolls and the elves were fierce warriors that his war might be lost. So he sent a courier on a task: find the King of the Aesir, for he must help them. So the courier ran-"

"How did he run?" Excitement lines the words in the princeling's tone.

"He used the Roads. Bridges that can cross the sea of stars, to other worlds, to other times. The courier left the throne room of his King and one step he was in his world, and the next he was amongst the stars. Bright balls of light and fire, filled with various peoples and creatures. He ran across the worlds on his Bridge until he reached the brightest of them all: Asgard. When he reached the home of the Aesir, he was met by the great vanir Heimdall-"

"Who had stars for eyes!"

"- the All Seeing -yes, who had stars under his helm, Ikol stay still- and when he approached Heimdall, he was not greeted but barred. The great guardian of the Brifrost, the grandest of all Bridges would not let the courier pass. So the courier, who had been denied, did what any good courier would do: he went around his impasse. Instead, of travelling across the Brifrost, he traveled another Road, one hidden even from the eyes of the great Heimdall. Following this hidden Bridge he came before the King of the Aesir, Odin. Odin was furious that the courier had gotten passed Heimdall and had entered his great hall but the courier pleaded, 'My people are dying, help us.' But Odin, the who had deemed himself Allfather, told him no."

"Because the elves and the trolls could handle this all their own!"

"Yes, because they should have been strong enough to hold off the Jotun, all alone. Come." He lifts the child out of the bath and with a wave of his hand, the water pulls itself up and out and flies out a far window. Ikol escapes his slippery fingers and runs to watch, the water cascading down, down, down until with a wet slap, it greets the earth. The child stands on his toes as he looks out, not mindful of the still wet braid that drags on the floor like that of a tail, his excited breathe coming out in a puff of mist the further out he leans. His father wipes his hands on a fur and he calls for his son to come and the little boy leaves the window, covered in skin as pale as milk and with eyes glowing like emeralds, to sit by fireplace and to beg more of the story as his father begins to dry him.

"So the courier returned to his King and the courier told the King what he had learned. The King was furious that Odin had turned his back on them. Enraged that his courier had been barred from even seeing him, the King of the Aesir became known to the elves and trolls as Odin All Liar and Odin Liesmith, for how he had promised to help but turned his back. Without Odin's aid, the King of the Elves pushed on, daring his subjects to question him. If Odin believed that they could win without his help, why shouldn't they? Odin's great lie, that the elves and trolls could push back the Jotun without his help, came to fruition. The elves fell and the trolls fled and the Jotun took this land for their own. The King of Ice and Snow rejoiced! For many days they feasted and to celebrate this victory he set his eyes on his next conquest: Midgard. It was the jewel of Odin's eye but had he not just taken down the elves and the trolls with ease? So your father's men packed up their things for war."

Ikol kneels in the front of the fire as his father clothes him in a night shirt and the elder settles on his chair. The heavy braid slick with moisture dampens the cloth on Ikol's back immediately and he moves it to lay in front of the fire. Steam begins to rise immediately from it.

"...and oh, how Midgard trembled under your father's gaze. The mortals trembled at his steps and no matter where they ran, winter chased them. The finest warriors, the greatest generals stood no chance against the King and they all began to fall under his sway. But this time, your father did not win the war. Odin the Liesmith descended upon the Jotun with lightning and spells that blinded even the most stubborn of Jotun, with thunder that deafened the most defiant. With his men, Odin and the Aesir matched on the King of Frost's men and vanquished them as if they were nothing but vapor. But what did Odin call them when he demanded an audience with King Laufey? Criminals. Why? Because the King of Frost had torn Midgard asunder but Odin did not bring up the case for Svartalfheim. Odin did not even broach the topic of the fallen elves and trolls, the Liesmith was furious that Laufey had dared to harm his preferred realm and cared not for the plundered world he had ignored. And do you know what the Liesmith demanded?"

"Me." Ikol answers with anticipation and the father palms his son's cheek. "He asked my father what his most precious thing was and my king-father said, me."

His father opens his arms and the little prince willingly settles into his lap, the long tail of the braid falling off of knee, and Ikol mindful of the coals quickly tugs it outside of the reach of the mouth of the fireplace and he looks up to his father, pride shining.

"Yes, Laufey's most precious possession was his son. Odin demanded both you and the great Casket of Winters and Laufey withdrew. He would give up the Casket but give up you? He would do no such thing. Such an uncharacteristic show of emotion slowed Odin's pull for you but did not stop him. He approached Laufey this time but with a different bargain: he would hold onto you. He claimed you would be a prince of Asgard, and your father, the King of Frost and Ice relinquished you. Believed you to be kept alive and safe as the living truce between two Kingdoms but what did Odin do?"

"He threw me away." The little prince whispers, his pride submerged by sadness. His tiny fingers clinging to his father's sleeve.

"Ah, He tried to throw you away," Algrim's voice is soft. "But I found you. Odin had thrown you to his dogs and you lay tiny, weak amongst the hay. He had tossed you away as he had just been brought another son, tiny and golden and not of his queen's womb. Your cries had mixed with the baying of his hounds who called for your blood as they could not reach you. But I found you, and I spirited you away. You were too precious a jewel to toss, swaddled in stained cloth, I brought you here to protect you from the Liesmith's wrath."

"What did Odin do?"

"Odin cared not for you as he had his own son to preoccupy his thoughts. His queen had cared even less now that the new son had made its presence known. But your father? When King Laufey had gotten word of what happened to you, he was furious. He called upon the spirits of his forefathers and when day came, winter came to Asgard."

"Is it still winter there?"

"Aye, there hasn't been a summer in years."