So fellow writers. You know that feeling when you say: "okay, I'm going to write until I reach this one certain event and that will signal the end of the chapter" and 8,000 words later, you're still nowhere near that event? Yeah, that's what happened in this chapter. So I cut it off here instead since it seemed like a good a place as any to stop.

"After all, I believe the nicest and sweetest days are not those on which anything very splendid or wonderful or exciting happens but just those that bring simple little pleasures, following one another softly, like pearls slipping off a string."

~Anne of Avonlea

Jokul's first memory was of his father's back. It was a broad back, lined with muscle and held tall. It was made broader by the thick, fur-lined, purple-dyed cape that adorned it. Jokul remembered thinking how heavy that cape looked, as if it held within its folds the entire world. Of course, his three-year-old assumption was not entirely wrong, for his father was a king and held on his shoulders the weight of responsibility for his entire kingdom.

Jokul never did know what his father was saying that day as he stood on the balcony addressing thousands of subjects. The boy simply stood, his mother bracing his shoulders, and watched as his father threw out his arms, cape flaring, and felt as his father's deep baritone reverberated through the toddlers body. He observed as his father turned with a flourish of his cape and walked past him and his mother without so much as a sideways glance. He followed his king into the halls of his palace.

That was Jokul's first memory, and it was similar to many subsequent ones. His father's back was much more deeply imprinted into Jokul's mind than his face ever was. The only thing he could remember of his father's face was the frown that was always there and the scar that blinded one eye.

When he was four, his mother told him about his name. They were sitting at a table on a balcony overlooking the inner garden, enjoying a late breakfast under the bright pre-noon sky.

"You are Jokul, son of King Frosti," His mother said in her signature silky smooth voice, "Jokul Frostison, First Prince of the kingdom Dalvík. You are named after the god of ice and snow, son of the wind.

"It is only suitable," she went on, quiet yet always demanding respect, "since you were born during the worst winter we have seen in generations. After you came, the storms calmed down. You tamed winter, and so you are Jokul Frostison, King of winter and future king of Dalvík,"

He was five when he got his first tutor. His name was Einar Helgason, and he was a scrawny old thing. Jokul couldn't see his face past all his wrinkles and his scraggly beard, and nothing could convince Jokul the man's eyebrows weren't living things. They were thick, bushy, and always moving. The young prince secretly suspected they were caterpillars stuck to the man's face by magic. Einar had no mind for practical jokes, and of course, that just make Jokul more determined to prank him. By the end of the first week of lessons, Jokul learned Einar hated cats with a passion, that if he snuck up on Einar's right side and shouted loudly, he'd always startle and fall over, and that Einar turned an astounding color of purple if Jokul dumped his scrolls in the well. Einar left before the next week was out, one of his caterpillar eyebrows conspicuously missing from his face. Jokul was laughing during the man's entire mumbled rant about, "The incorrigible brat." Many of the child's subsequent tutors left in a similar fashion.

Jokul was six when they found a teacher who not only handled Jokul's childish pranks, but bested the child at his own game. His name was Bertel Sveinsson, a general and close friend of Jokul's father. He was young, compared to all the other tutors, maybe early thirties. His face was clean shaven and tanned from constant exposure to sun. His blue eyes always held a mischievous spark that never quite went away, even when his smile was his most genuinely innocent one. Bertel was always grinning. He wore simple, undyed clothes, designed for convenience of movement rather than the opulent appearance that most other members of high society opted for. Under his simple shirt, he was lean built yet well-muscled. His first night at the castle, Jokul stuck a frog in his dinner.

At dawn the next morning, Jokul was woken by a bucket of cold water to his face and an announcement that lessons were starting. The heir sputtered, whined, complained, and all but frothed at the mouth at the treatment.

When he threatened to tell his mother, Bertel laughed and replied, "Our future king tattling to his mama! Tell me, prince, when you become king and an enemy threatens war, are you going to hide behind your mother's back then as well?" Jokul shut up and stared at the man before him. Whenever the young prince had snuck about the castle, he'd heard servants and castle workers muttering to each other about the immaturity of their prince, but no one ever had the courage to speak it to his face until now.

Jokul clenched his jaw and replied, "No,"

"Didn't think so. What are you going to do?"

Jokul tried to look for some sort of trick or secret to the question - his teachers often attempted to do that - but no matter what how much he thought, he couldn't figure the hidden meaning, so he replied, "I'm going to win the war,"

"Yes! You'll win the war!" His tutor exclaimed, a grin on his face. Bertel exuberantly swung an arm around and jabbed a thumb at his own chest, "And I'm going to teach you how!" With no further bravado, Bertel turned and left the room, not even checking that Jokul was following. The prince took after him, Bertel grinning down at him when he caught up.

The two traversed through the castle's stone halls in silence until they passed the classroom, a fact which Jokul graciously pointed out.

Bertel just gave his signature buoyant laugh, "No, prince. I told you I'm going to teach you how to win your wars. One does not learn how to win wars in a classroom,"

"Then where are we going?" Jokul asked, confused. Bertel just continued to smile.

It turned out that they were heading to the courtyard. This particular courtyard lay in the center of the fortress-castle. It was spacious and filled with nothing but grass, pressed flat by the constant exposure to pressure. This was where the castle guard trained. It was empty today.

"What are we doing here?" Jokul wondered.

Bertel went over to the weapons rack, quickly lifting two wooden practice swords, one shorter than the other. He tossed the shorter one to Jokul, who fumbled before dropping it "We are learning. Weapon up, prince," That said, Bertel braced his practice sword with both hands and charged at Jokul.

Eyes widening, Jokul crouched on the ground and covered his head. The young prince gasped when he felt a sharp pain lance through his back as his instructor hit him once with his weapon.

"Ow! That hurt! What are you -"

"How do you win a war, prince?" Bertel asked, his usual grin wiped off, replaced with a serious frown as he looked down at the prince on the ground, "You don't win it with books and knowledge. You don't win with numbers and strategies. You win it with a sword in one hand and a shield in the other. You win it with your army at your back and your enemy's before you. You win by living when all your enemies lay dead. You want to protect your kingdom, prince? Weapon up,"

His instructor took a step back, the wooden weapon hanging loosely from his hand. Jokul shifted his gaze from his instructor to the wooden sword on the ground, before standing up and grasping his own weapon. He tested its weight, and he felt the dull pain throbbing through his back. He narrowed his eyes in determination and raised his sword.

Only then did his tutor's usual grin reappear, "Get ready for your first lesson, prince,"

Jokul retired to bed early that day, more exhausted than he'd ever felt. He was sore, and he knew he'd have bruises in the morning from all the strikes his teacher bestowed. He was sure he wouldn't be able to move his arms when he woke up. Despite all that, he easily fell into a deep slumber and he dreamt of an army of which he rode at the forefront.

The next day, he was once again startled into awareness by a splash of cold water. He glared at his grinning teacher.

"Time for your lesson!" He bellowed in a voice far too loud for so early, his hands - one holding the offending bucket - placed confidently on his waist.

"Is this going to become a habit?" Jokul groaned, even as he rolled out of bed. He was right: his arms felt like noodles, and bruises could be seen all along any exposed part of his body.

"Only if you continue to sleep in! Now come. It's time for your lesson," Again, his teacher turned and started toward his destination.

"Can't I get changed first? I'm still in my night clothes. And I want breakfast," Jokul complained as he followed his teacher, rubbing the remaining sleep from his eye.

"Bah, your night clothes are better than any of your others. Too heavy, too constricting. Pretty clothes don't win battles, but constricted movements will cause you to lose plenty. And you can have breakfast when you land a hit on me,"

Jokul's eyes widened at the evil man guiding him to his doom, "How - b-but I'll never be able to hit you! You're too good, and you're way bigger than I am!"

Bertel barked out a laugh, mussing Jokul's hair, "Size doesn't matter in -"

"In battles, I know!" Jokul finished, exasperatedly.

"Exactly. I once beat a man twice my size with one arm tied behind my back,"

"I'm never going to get breakfast," Jokul groaned, eliciting another good-natured guffaw from the sadist walking beside him.

The sun was approaching his zenith when Jokul threw down his sword and flopped back into the grass of the training field, "You are evil and cruel and I'm starving!" He shouted into the sky. His stomach growled as if to prove his point. His instructor sat down next to him, reclining back to stare at the sky.

"Well, I guess now's a good time as any for lunch," He pulled out a satchel, taking from it an apple and some jerky, handing the food over to the exhausted prince. The child shot up into a sitting position and took proffered items without any hesitation before he began tearing into the dry meat. It was tough, chewy, and bitter. It was the best thing he ever tasted. Bertel laughed at the prince's gusto before digging out his own apple and biting into it.

Jokul glanced at the swordsman and swallowed the bite then asked, "Why do you do that?"

"Do what?" Bertel asked after he swallowed his own bit of apple.

"Why do you always smile and laugh? Everything's not that funny," The prince looked down at the apple in his hands and thought of his father. He couldn't remember a single time his father had laughed. Or smiled at all really. Though since most the time Jokul could only see his back, he supposed he couldn't actually say if his father smiled or not. Perhaps he only frowned when he was looking at his son.

Bertel laughed, distracting Jokul from his thoughts, "Life's too solemn for me to take it seriously,"

The young prince's eyebrow's came together in confusion, "Huh?"

"Well, think about it, prince. The one fact of life: You live, therefore you will die. Everything else is subjective. I live happily so that when I inevitably face death, I can face it with a smile," Jokul thought on that for a minute, gazing at his teacher. He didn't really get it, but Bertel didn't seem like he was going to say more, so Jokul figured it was another complicated adult matter.

He took a bite into his own apple as he stared at the field before him, deep in thought.

"Okay then," His teacher stated, standing up and brushing off some stray strands of grass, "Time for your next lesson,"

"Noooo," Jokul groaned.

Another morning, another bucket of water to the face.

Jokul glared as Bertel gave his best innocent grin, "Lesson time," He turned and marched out the door. Jokul rolled over and fell back asleep. When he woke back up, he immediately regretted his decision. He was going to get scolded. He was going to be punished. Something bad was going to happen. He just knew it. He fretted as his servants dressed him. He practically tip-toed to the dining table. He cringed when he saw his tutor sitting there, but Bertel just grinned and passed the young prince the syrup when tentatively asked.

Encouraged by the nonchalance on his teacher's part, Jokul proceeded through the rest of his day with his usual mischievous ways. He snuck into the kitchen and stole some crumpets for lunch. While eating his pilfered food, Jokul stole a handful of sugar, dumping it into a sack attached to the belt at his waist. He strolled toward castle's storage, and bypassed the guard who was half-napping there. When Jokul found what he was looking for, Niter, he smiled, stuffed some into his sack, and snuck back out. He headed back toward the kitchens as he ran his plan through his head, a grin spilling over on his lips. Upon reaching his destination, the child made sure the kitchen was clear of servants before he stoked a small fire and hung his sugar-niter mix over it.

This trick was something he learned accidentally a half a year ago while one of his professors was trying to teach him how to not blow himself up with science. As it turned out, Jokul was very good at not blowing himself up. His teacher was not so lucky. He left the palace smelling of smoke and coughing up a storm. Jokul never learned why this mix did what it did, but loved that it did it. Eventually, the boy's compound became a gel, and he pulled it out of the fire, sticking a bit of twine in it and shaping the mass vaguely into a ball as it hardened in the cool air.

Grinning at his creation, Jokul made his way over to his teacher's quarters, avoiding any witnesses and anyone who might otherwise tattle. He pulled up to Bertel's door, and placed his ear to it. Silence was all he heard. Excited, Jokul opened the door and lit the fuse on his smoke bomb, tossing it into the bedroom. He closed the door and ran around the nearest corner before he let himself look at his final product. Thick billows of smoke crept out from under the door, and Jokul knew that soon the room would soon be filled with smoke so thick that no one would be able to see an inch in front of their face.

Two passing maids noticed the smoke and screamed, "Fire!" They turned and ran to get help while Jokul chuckled and walked away from the crime scene. He grinned the rest of the day whenever he thought of how his evil teacher must be panicking. Perhaps this would be the final straw. Perhaps he would also call Jokul insufferable - whatever that meant - and storm out of the castle. Perhaps this time his parents would realize he couldn't be tied down to a tutor and give up on him too...

That night as Jokul headed to his bedchambers, he froze when he saw his teacher smiling at him from in front of his door.

"Hello, prince. It's time for your lesson," He said with the same enthusiasm as that morning, and dread settled in Jokul's stomach as he followed his teacher out into the courtyard. He learned many things that night. Firstly, Bertel wasn't lying when he said it was much harder to move in his regular clothes. Secondly, training at night when he was already tired was considerably more difficult than training in the morning. Lastly, he thought as he dragged his sore body into his bed an hour before dawn, he was never going to skip out on a training session again.

Dawn just broke when he was brought out of blissful sleep with a bucket of water to the face. Jokul didn't even bother to open his eyes as he groaned and mumbled, "Don't you ever sleep?"

"Perhaps," His teacher replied cheerily, "but my room is currently smoked out, so what better way to wait for it to clear up than to train? Wake up, Prince, it's time for your lesson,"

Tired, sore, and regretful, the prince dragged himself out of bed, muttering unintelligibly the entire way to their training ground. He was still in his day clothes, not having bothered to change when he collapsed on his bed not an hour before. He caught his training sword and rose it into defending position by mere reflex.

Jokul didn't realize it until that day, but his teacher had been going easy on him. Very easy. He barely saw his mentor twitch and the next thing he knew, he was disarmed, a wooden sword at his throat. He stared, wide-eyed at his teacher, all thoughts of sleep erased from his mind.

"Today's lesson, prince, is that actions all have consequences," Eyes closed, smile open, and dawn sun behind him, Bertel looked more terrifying than anything six-year old Jokul had ever seen in his life.

Jokul all but crawled into his bed just after noon, convinced that he was going to turn completely purple by the number of bruises covering his body. This time, he made sure to get a servant to dress him in some night garments before he collapsed into sleep for the rest of the day.

He still felt tired when he felt the now-familiar feel of water on his face the next morning. He sat up silently, tears gathering in his eyes. He was tired and hurt and hungry! He didn't want to do this anymore. It was evil and cruel!

He felt his bed shift as Bertel sat next to him, but he ignored his mentor. Why wouldn't he just go away like the rest of them do? They all figured out that Jokul wasn't worth the effort, so why did this one just continue to stay and smile and make his life so horrible?

"What's wrong, little prince?" Bertel eventually asked, concern lacing his voice.

"Why are you here?" Jokul asked back.

Without a beat the reply came, "I'm here to teach you how-"

"To win battles and wars and stuff. But why are you still here?" The young prince stared at his hands folded in his lap, "Why haven't you called me incorgable and intolerbal and stuff and left yet?"

His head shot up when Bertel bellowed out a laugh, "What's so funny?" He yelled angrily. This was serious!

"Oh, prince," The adult murmured when he finally managed to calm himself down, "If you think you can drive me away with some reptiles and a little smoke, you're sorely mistaken. I'm afraid it'll take a lot more than what you can dish out to get rid of me; stubborn as a mule, I am. So, you're stuck with me, prince.

Jokul stared at his mentor, astonishment flooding his mind, until, eventually, he had to duck his head and wipe away his tears.

"You're horrible and I hate you," He murmured through his sniffling.

Bertel gave a soft chuckle and mussed the boy's hair saying, "Of course you do, I wouldn't be doing my job right if you didn't,"

Eventually, the child calmed down and when Bertel stood up and left, Jokul followed without a word. They made their way to the courtyard where his teacher took a seat at a small table at the edge of the clearing. The prince stood at the entrance to the courtyard for a full minute before he realized that his mentor wasn't going to throw a sword at him.

He walked up to the table as well, taking in the black and white checkered design and rows of small figurines placed on it, "What's this?"

Bertel gestured for the prince to take a seat and explained, "This is your lesson for today,"

Sitting across from his teacher and behind two rows of the intricately carved, black pieces, Jokul replied, "Yeah, but what is this?"
"I take it you've never heard of chess then?" The young prince shook his head, "Well, this is the ultimate game of strategy and any self-respecting person knows how to play it,"

"Hey! I don't," Jokul sulked.

"No, but you will learn," And with that, mentor went about teaching his student how each of the pieces moved and the object of the game. It took a better art of the morning for the child to simply learn all the basic movements of the pieces and when his mentor began castling his rook and king, the young prince threw his hands up in the air in defeat.

"What's the point of this anyway? I thought you said strategies don't win wars,"

His teacher opened his mouth to speak, then paused and tried again, "I did, and I wasn't lying; strategies don't win wars, but having a good strategy and a strong mind never hurts. So, your move,"

Jokul grumbled about cheating teachers and stupid knights, but, he thought at the end of the day, the game had been fun.

It was another week before Jokul started waking up without the need of cold water, and a week after that one of his teeth were knocked out during a training session.

When he saw his tooth on the ground, the young prince panicked, to which Bertel chortled and said, "Relax, prince, this is normal. It happens to everybody. In fact, if you stick it under your pillow, the Tooth Fairy will be sure to leave you a prize,"

"The Tooth Fairy?" The six-year-old enquired.

"Yeah. She goes to the homes of children who lost a tooth and takes the tooth in return for a prize," The prince stared in horror. Who would steal teeth? And someone was going to break into his home tonight? He placed his tooth in his satchel, planning to capture this thief in the night. The two continued their sparring while the prince concocted his plan. That night, he placed his tooth under his pillow and lay down, fully intending to stay awake all night night to see this thief for himself.

When he woke up the next morning, the first thing he did was lift his pillow to find a coin in place of his tooth. He picked up the gift, confused, while his teacher guffawed at his stupefied expression.

Finally the boy spoke up, "She really came! She came and I missed it!"

"Of course you did. No one can stay up to see the Tooth Fairy when the Sandman makes sure everyone is asleep when she arrives,"

"Oh, now there's a man of sand too? Why hasn't anyone told me any of this before?"

"Of course the Sandman exists. Why do you think you have to rub the sand from your eyes when you wake up in the morning?" Instead of lessons, teacher and student spent the morning discussing the various fairytales of the world. Jokul thought that a jolly man who kept a list of every child in the world and delivered presents to the nice ones and a bunny who hid eggs throughout the world seemed far-fetched, but his teacher had never lied to him before, so this had to be true, too. After all, the Tooth Fairy was obviously real.

It was another month before Jokul landed his first hit on his teacher. Bertel wasn't hurt, of course, and got a laugh out of the dumbfounded expression on his student's face. When the prince finally processed what just happened, he dropped his sword and threw a fist in the air, whooping. His teacher, as a reward, cancelled lessons for the rest of the day, and nothing could wipe the grin on Jokul's face. It stayed even through the next day, when his teacher disarmed him seven times in a row and then won their two rounds of chess.

A half a year after that, Bertel decided that Jokul could practice with real swords without danger tripping over his feet and impaling himself. His teacher was careful, making sure to only hit his pupil with the flat of his blade, and their lessons went much slower, Bertel stopping the sparring immediately when he noticed Jokul holding the sword wrong or placing his feet in a compromising position.

One day, frustrated as his teacher once again went about pointing out the minute flaws in his stance, Jokul asked, "If I'm so bad, why don't we just stick to toy swords?"

"Metal blades are heavier than wooden ones," Was his teacher's cryptic reply.

Jokul frowned at the sword in his hands. True, he had to readjust for the new weight and balance of the sword, but it wasn't so much heavier than his wooden one. He pointed that out to his mentor.

Bertel looked at Jokul, his face lacking his usual care-free smile, and the prince knew he said something wrong. His mentor grabbed the blade and lightly shook Jokul's sword.

"When you hold a sword, you hold the responsibility of the life of your enemy. You decide if your opponent is going to live or die. If that does not feel heavy to you, you are not fit to fight," He let go and walked out of the courtyard, leaving the prince to stare at the blood dripping off the blade of his sword.

After that, Jokul made sure to keep a sure grip on his sword during lessons and pay special care whenever his teacher - with his bandaged hand - pointed out a flaw in his stance. He wasn't sure how, but the sword did seem heavier than he thought before.

It was a month after that, on Jokul's seventh birthday that he met his fiancé. Her name was Margret Audardottir, first-born princess of a neighboring kingdom. All he could remember about her was that her cheeks were too pudgy and she was too loud and that he'd much rather be training with Bertel than baby-sitting a two year old. When the castle guests finally retired, he went to his teacher's quarters and complained all about his day. He didn't want to marry some girl. He was going to be a great general and lead armies! He was going to be the world's best strategist and astound people with his amazing tactics! He was going to be the world's best king! When the prince finally tuckered himself out from all his imaginary conquests, he sat on his teacher's bed and yawned.

"Well, that quite a future you got there," His teacher said, patting the boy's head.

"Yeah," Jokul replied, perfectly serious.

"I hardly doubt a wife's going to be able to stop you, but if you're going to do all that, you're going to need your own sword,"

Jokul's head shot up as his teacher pulled out a case, sturdy and held shut by two metal clasps. It was much longer than it was wide; Bertel handed it to the boy. The prince gaped at the package laying across his lap, mouthing imitating a fish's before he stared at his teacher.

"Go on, open it,"

With no further hesitation, the boy undid the clasps, and reverently opened the case. Inside lay a sword. It was in the design of a falchion, slightly curved and single-edged on the inner side. The metal gleamed in the dim light of the room as Jokul removed it from its case. His fingers fit around the hilt perfectly, as if it was made for him, which, he realized, it probably was. The design of the hand-guard was simple but practical and the trap located at the base of the blade was sturdy enough to break even the strongest broadswords. The sword was obviously well-crafted, and even though he'd been holding it for only a few seconds, Jokul could tell the sword was well balanced.

He began bouncing up and down on the bed, "This-this is..." He launched himself at his teacher and hugged him as tightly as he could, "Best. Present. Ever,"

"Woah there. Careful with that thing," Bertel exclaimed even as he gave the child a side hug in return. Jokul pulled back, embarrassed that the first thing he did in his enthusiasm was almost impale his teacher.

"Can we go practice?" The young prince asked.

"It's late. You can try out the sword during lessons tomorrow," Jokul nodded and carefully placed the sword back in its case before leaving the room with a, "Good night,"

"And may the Sandman visit you tonight," His teacher replied in their customary nightly ritual. Jokul grinned and ran back to his room, excited for tomorrow to come.

He was already awake and bouncing on his toes by the time Bertel opened the door and pronounced, "Lesson time,"

"Finally!" Jokul exclaimed before he darted out and toward the courtyard, the sword's case in his arms.

From that day forward, Jokul practiced with his own sword. As he got better, his teacher decided to teach him other useful trades, like how to play the fiddle.

"Music enriches every life," Bertel explained when Jokul asked why his was forced to learn an instrument. The prince soon found that he enjoyed the instrument, and when he wasn't playing it, he was using the bow as an imaginary sword whenever he explained his grand conquests to his teacher.

Much to his dismay, the young heir was also forced to learn how to read. It was almost as mind-numbing as learning common chess strategies, and he couldn't figure out the purpose of it.

"Aaargh!" He screamed intelligently as he dropped his head onto the his desk, the scroll he was trying to read slipping from his hand onto the floor.

"Come on, head up," Jokul could tell his teacher was grinning by the tone of his voice, "How can you be a good king if you can't read your enemies' surrender terms?"

"I'll just tear up the letter and convince them to surrender without any terms with good old Icicle here," He said, patting his trusty sword, which he always kept by his side.

"That's good and fine, but what if you want to write a love letter someday?" Jokul merely scrunched his nose and stuck his tongue out at the thought.

"O-okay, but reading is useful, trust me," Bertel said, a smile on his face and finality in his voice. Jokul picked his scroll back up.

It was three months before the boy's eighth birthday when his mother told him the news, "Dear son, you're going to be an older brother," She said, holding her stomach. It had a small bump in it, and for the longest time, Jokul couldn't figure out why she was smiling so fondly at the bump. He watched as the bump grew into a small bulge over the next month, and he finally realized that was where the baby was.

"B-but, I mean, how did the baby get there?" He asked his teacher in a panic shortly after his epiphany, "Did mother eat it? And how are they going to get it out?"

Jokul wasn't sure he'd ever seen his teacher laugh as much as he did that day as he explained that no, the queen did not eat the baby, and they have ways of getting the baby out that Bertel was not going to tell the child right now.

"Well, when are they going to get the baby out then?" The young prince asked when he realized his teacher wasn't going to reveal anymore about the mysterious process of retrieving the body.

"Hmm, good question. I think about half a year, based on how she's showing,"

"That long?"

"That long,"

"That's forever from now," Jokul groaned.

His mentor grinned and patted his head, "It won't seem like very long when you're holding your new sibling in your arms,"

It was a month later when everything went to hell.

It was late into the night, and Jokul was dreaming of defeating pirates and stealing their ship when he woke up. At first, he couldn't tell what woke him up. It was a new moon and he could barely see anything in the dark of the night. He was about to call out to Bertel to stop hiding when his instincts screamed at him. Without a second thought, the child rolled off the bed. Not a second later, a sword was buried in the pillow his head was resting on moments before.

Jokul scurried backwards as the assassin pulled the weapon from the pillow. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see the grin on the man's heavily scarred face as he stared down the scared little boy.

"So the little princeling got a lucky break huh? Well, not again," The man prowled around the bed, taking his time knowing he was between the boy and the only exit from the room. Jokul pushed himself against the wall as the man got closer. What was he going to do? He was trapped and this man was going to kill him. He didn't want to die!

A glint of metal caught his eye, and just before the man made to grab the prince, he lunged and grabbed Icicle, standing up and facing his attacker. His hand was shaking so he held the sword with both hands as he stood against the assailant.

He choked out a humorless little chuckle, "The boy princeling and his toy sword. Cute. Now come here boy, and I'll make this quick,"

"Icicle's not a toy," Jokul replied and was pleased that his voice held steady.

The man just gave a sneer and charged at the child. Immediately, Jokul's training kicked in and he rolled away from an overhead swing. His teacher's voice rang through his head.

Size doesn't matter, if an enemy is larger than you, use his size against him.

The man snarled and turned to face the boy, now coming at full speed. Jokul ducked down low last minute and leapt out of the way. The attacker slammed into the wall before rounding on the flighty child.

"Stay still you brat!"

Enemies will underestimate you and think you weak; let them think they're right.

Jokul backed away into a wall as the assailant ran forward, quickly building speed. The prince braced the sword with two hands spread apart and when the man cam within range, he pointed the blade at him.

Falchions are primarily cleaving swords, but if all else fails, the point has a blade designed for stabbing. When used with enough force, it can go right through bone.

The adult coughed blood as he impaled himself on Icicle. Jokul felt as the blade first pierced skin, then muscle, then bone distinctly. When his opponent grew limp, the prince pulled the bloody blade from his chest and scooted along the wall away from the dead body. Blood was pooling along the floor and he could feel the warm liquid splattered across his face.

Dropping his sword, Jokul ran to the farthest corner of the room and proceeded to throw up all of yesterday's food. When he finished he curled into a ball and shivered so violently, he was sure an earthquake was rumbling through the castle.

He killed somebody. Blood was on his hands. He thought he understood when his teacher told him how heavy a life was. He was wrong. He was so, so wrong. It was so much worse than he could have ever imagined. He didn't know about the smell, and the look of pained shock in the man's face. He didn't know he could literally watch as life left his eyes. Blood was on his hands and he'd never be able to get it off. He never wanted to kill again.

A scream resounded from the hall, and Jokul stood back up. He didn't know what was going on, but he couldn't stay here. Resolutely, he grabbed Icicle, pointedly not looking at the body laying nearby. He walked over to his door and cracked it open, looking into the hallway just in time to have a maid stumble in and fall down dead, a sword in her back.

He quickly backed into the shadows of his room, but it was too late. The maid's attacker already noticed him. He was more slender than the other assailant, with a bow resting on his back. He smirked at the boy, reaching to pull his weapon from the maid. Jokul didn't give him a chance to get back up. He bashed his hand-guard into the man's nose. The adult went down howling.

Jokul didn't want to kill, but he didn't want to die either.

The child darted from the room and down the hall, dodging around the bodies littering the floor and sneaking by the castle intruders when he could. He was forced to cleave one man's ankle, and pulled the impalement trick on another.

By the time he made it to his teacher's room, his clothes were more red than their original white and the blood was drying on his sword. Bertel's door was busted down and so Jokul saw just as his teacher hacked the head off of the last of his three opponents.

The prince stood there, catching his breath for a moment before he stumbled into the room asking, "Bertel? What's going on? What's happening?"

His teacher whirled around, sword at the ready, until he realized who was talking, "Prince? What are you doing here? Are you okay?" He patted down the boy checking for any serious injuries. Jokul wasn't hurt except for a couple of nicks on his arm. Bertel then noticed the bloody sword in the boy's hands, and his expression went from frantic to tragic as he realized what the boy had to do to get here.

"I-I no, no I'm not okay. Where's everybody? What's going on?"

"The King and Queen are probably in their bedchambers. Come, we must see if they are unharmed," He turned and ran, Jokul following behind. They wound through bloody corridors, passing by rooms on fire and ignoring the screams ringing in the distance. When they came across any of the invaders, Bertel quickly disposed of them. The boy prince could see many of the things that were happening as if they were happening in slow-motion, each individual lick of flame, each swing of a sword, each drop of blood arcing through the air as swords clashed. He noticed every time his mentor glanced at him from the side of his eye to make sure he was still there. Jokul wasn't sure he was, not fully.

When they arrived at his parent's bedroom, it was to the sight of his father fending of five assailants at once. Bertel immediately went to help while Jokul stared at the scene and walked over to his hysterically crying mother sitting on the bed.

"Oh, Jokul, Jokul my precious son. You are alive! Thank the gods!" She exclaimed dragging him into a tight embrace. He hugged her back.

Bertel and King Frosti jogged over, the five attackers easily dispensed between their combined efforts, "These are more than just barbarian invaders. These are trained men," Bertel reported, "This was a carefully planned assault. Most of our ranks were decimated before they even woke up. The town is up in flames,"

"It's time to go," His father's baritone commanded, and Jokul immediately listened. His mother rose as well, calming herself, holding the baby in her stomach with one hand and holding Jokul's hand with the other.

Even though he'd never used it before, Jokul knew of the secret passage hidden in the fireplace in his parents room; so he wasn't surprised when his father pulled a book on a nearby bookshelf and the back of the fireplace disappeared, revealing a dark staircase. The four crouched through the opening and it sealed back up behind them, effectively cutting off any light to see with. The sudden transition from seeing too much too clearly to not seeing anything at all left Jokul disoriented and nauseated. He almost fell down the stairs when his mother began gently tugging him forward.

"Jokul? Is something wrong?" His mother whispered. His furrowed his brow, trying to filter through the million things that were wrong right now to answer her question coherently.

"I think he may be in shock," Bertel explained when Jokul decided he just couldn't dignify her question with an answer, "He's been through a lot for one so young,"

Silence fell over the group again as they descended into the black depths. Jokul's eyes were attempting to adjust, but no light could be found and no matter what the boy did, he could not see his hand an inch from his face. He could still see the eyes of the men he killed though.

When they reached the bottom of the staircase, his father took a torch from the wall and lit it. The dim flame illuminated the dank tunnels before them. Everything here was wet and covered with grime. The uneven stones that made up the walls and roof cast menacing shadows that danced with the torchlight. This place was ancient, built before his ancestors' ancestors took over the castle and made it their own. These halls have seen more death and despair than the prince could hope to imagine; Jokul could swear he heard the murderous screams of spirits long passed echoing in each of his footsteps. Or perhaps they were the terrified screams from the castle above, just warped and twisted by the memories these stones held.

The four continued on.

The layout was convoluted and complicated, and one wrong turn could lead them to a slow death lost in the tunnels, but his father led them through confidently, the correct path long since impressed into his mind.

Jokul was aware of the weight of the sword in his hand. It felt heavier than ever before. Of course, that could be his weariness setting in. Exhaustion hit him with leaden weight and he felt as if he could fall asleep walking.

Still they marched on.

He had no way of telling how long he was traversing the tunnels. It could have been minutes or days, by the way time passed in the haunted halls. His bare feet hurt, and they were probably bleeding from the various pebbles and sharp stones he stumbled over. His stomach, stubborn as ever, made its hunger known through twisting pains and low rumbles. When they finally reached the end of the tunnel, Jokul was surprised to see that dawn was just barely breaking. Normally, he'd be waking up right now and heading toward his daily lesson with his teacher.

The four of them found themselves in a back-alley near the outer edge of the capital city. Jokul glanced up and saw his castle standing proudly in the middle of the fortress city even as flames licked at its marrow.

"Come, there's a port nearby. If we're lucky, we can get a ship," Bertel said, leading the group through the city. It was in no better shape than the castle was in. Thatch roofs invited fire like an old friend and soldiers carrying flags with an insignia of a lion wrapped in thorns stormed through houses, dragging out victims. While passing a window, Jokul caught sight of a soldier tearing the dress right off a women before his mother covered his eyes and buried his head in her stomach.

"You don't need to see this," She whispered.

The harbor was chaos incarnate. The few ships still operable were being fiercely guarded by the few remaining soldiers. People left and right were being cut down, and Jokul couldn't even differentiate between friend and foe anymore; they all bled red. When the quartet reached the ships, Bertel and Frosti stopped at the edge of the plank.

"Your Majesties," A soldier exclaimed, "You survived!"

"What are you doing?" Jokul's mother exclaimed to her husband, "We need to hurry! Come!"

"No, I must stay," His father said, simply.

When Jokul figured out what was going on, he dropped his sword in favor of clutching Bertel's tunic.

His teacher crouched down and asked, "Are you scared?"

Jokul nodded, "Good," His teacher replied, "This is your final lesson. Fear war," He picked up Icicle and wrapped Jokul's fingers around the hilt, "for it only brings tragedy," He stood back up and smiled, "And remember, life's too solemn to take seriously," He turned to face the fray, Jokul's father turning after him.

"Just like old times, huh, old friend?" Bertel said, patting Frosti's shoulder. The king smirked back, and the two charged into the battle in the streets.

His mother screamed, tears streaming down her face, reaching for them even as a soldier held her back,.

"Come Your Majesty, Your Highness. The ship is finished loading; you need to get on it," The soldier from earlier said, gently tugging them onto the ship. They stowed the plank just as Jokul touched the ship. His mother gripped the side as the two watched their country slowly shrink into the distance.

Jokul's first memory was of his father's back as he addressed his subjects, and his last memory of his father was of his back as he howled a furious war cry and charged to protect his subjects. He continued even when a javelin pierced through his shoulder even when his wife screamed for him. Jokul stared over toward his country long after he lost sight of any land, long after his mother quieted down, long after everyone else had curled up on the ship and attempted to get some sleep. He didn't think the Sandman would be coming here tonight.

The next day, his mother came up to him and told him about his name, "Listen, child, our old lives are dead. We shall never speak of it again. From now on, you are Jackson Frost, hear me?"

Jackson nodded, "Yes mother,"

Whew, wow, okay. That was a doozy of a chapter.

Thanks to those that reminded me of the story i mentioned last chapter. It's called the Brightest Light. Excellent story, go read it.

Fun Time!

Thanks to all those who favorited/followed this story!

AyameKitsune: Hope it continues to be interesting for ya!

shiru mokeru: Thanks! I hope you continue to like this story. It's... hmm, kinda different from most rotg fics I've read...

Baylee1100: Consider this story updated for awesome people like you.

Goddess-of-Genius: Yeah, I never have either, and that's what prompted me to write this story. Too many, Pitch-kidnaps-Jack-and-is-all-powerful-and-kicks-everbody's-ass-and-gets-revenge stories. don't get me wrong. Those are fun too read too, but just once, I'd have like to see a story where Jack is like, "fuck you," and takes control. I mean, I've read a couple sotries like that, and they were epic, but they were one-shots and just didn't fill my craving. About why Jack did that to Pitch... well, it's gunna take a while to get there... After all, I have Jack's entire. life. to go through and I'm barely at eight years old...Woah... this is gunna be a huge project... (No, I don't think Typhon will. He's mostly just for the back story and justification of them looking into Jack's memories)

Emily: Here ya go! XD

Eternal She-Wolf: Thanks for the info. Fun fact: I actually started this story before the other one. That one's been putting off this one. Either way though, I'll probably just work on this one when I'm out of inspiration for the other. Dire Wolves - gotta love them.

IWilNeverStopFangirling: I'll do my best!

Guest: Wow, indeedy. I'm glad you liked it, and hope you continue to do so.

Dark Miko: Well, this is where I went, hope it keeps you hooked.

LadyPsycho16: Wow. I'm glad you think my writing's that good. I will do everything in my power to keep it up. My mind's feeling slightly mushy after writing out this entire chapter so... um - yeah, I'se braindead right now. Thanks for the review!

Jackiefrost: I need a new chapter? I didn't know that. XP But here's a new chapter for all ya'lls