Merry Christmas, everyone! :3

SO, uh, this is sort of a rush job, haha. Basically I was inspired to write this after seeing Disney's Frozen, which was... hmm, not that long ago, just over a week, I think. So I didn't leave myself an awful lot of time to start writing this! T.T

Anyway, this is a Christmassy/wintery fic, hopefully it'll just be a couple of chapters - though given my track record I'll probably end up finishing it in like July... It's a sort of mash-up of ideas from The Snow Queen and the Greek mythology of Persephone; while it was inspired by my seeing of Frozen, there is nothing from the film in this, it draws far more heavily on the original Hans Christian Andersen story.

Wonderful movie, though. ;)

Eternity

I

They left the Prince of the Summer at the edge of the world; a peace offering here where the earth was dry and pale, crusted over in the wake the forgotten season.

This was the first time he had been on the surface, having spent the entirety of his sixteen years in the Summer Palace in the sky, and he hadn't the clothes for it, the cold clawing at his skin through golden silk. The Summer Court had sent him as a sacrifice in all his finery, his waistcoat embroidered with gold suns and stars, his scarlet cloak fastened with a circlet of rubies and cat's eyes and amber, his crown set in much the same, fashioned as a twisted band of branches over his brow.

He was to be married off to the Prince of the Winter in a bid to bring to an end the century-old feud between the seasons; this was not his choice but his duty, and one which - after a flare of temper - he had accepted. If the union bore fruit, then the seasons would reconcile and so it might be that he would not have to spend the rest of his life beneath the earth's surface after all.

So he waited.

000

"Your Highness."

A gentle hand on his shoulder shook him awake; and he roused, shivering, from where he had taken shelter at the crooked roots of a dead tree. A young man with dark hair tied over his shoulder, pale-faced in robes of midnight blue, stood over him.

"Alfred, Prince of the Summer." The young man bowed. "I am Wang Yao, consul to the King of the Winter. I have been sent to escort you beneath."

Alfred nodded, too cold to speak, and allowed Yao to lead him to the carriage; black lacquer with silver detail and a coat of arms in blue. Within, folded on the leather seat, was a cloak lined with fur, which Yao pushed towards him.

"Wear this, Your Highness. You will be glad of it."

Alfred wrapped himself in it, curling up on the seat and huddling into its warmth. He had never felt fur or wool before, his homeland was much too warm to have need of either.

The carriage moved off, rattling over the hard ground, and he did not look back. He had never known any season other than Summer, only seen illustrations of the others - Spring, Autumn, Winter - in books; but he knew that the chalky, desolate wasteland in which he had waited was none of them. It was, in fact, the negative space that Winter had once filled - before the war, before the Winter Kingdom had been banished underground a century before.

The path to the Winter Kingdom was long, a slow spiral downwards into the bowels of the Earth; and ever-colder, so that his breath began to cloud before his face and the tips of his fingers went numb. The novelty of his frosted breath soon wore off and he curled miserably inside the cloak, watching the earthen walls go by. He, too, was now banished; sent away from his home of gorgeous glass walls and knee-deep fields of wildflowers and the sun, oh, the sun, in the hope that his sacrifice would placate the Winter Kingdom at long last (for every now and then there was still a bloody burst of struggle against their lot).

Alfred had never met the Prince of the Winter, nor seen a picture of him; all he knew was his name, Arthur. He had tried to imagine what he would be like and had come up with, at best, a silvery waify thing dressed in snowflakes - like the painting of the Snow Fairy in one of his books.

He slept, freezing and fitful, and dreamed of her in her blue dress and white furs and her grand castle made of glittering ice; and awoke with a jolt as the carriage came to a sudden halt, throwing him against the opposite seat. He righted himself, hurriedly fixing his skewed crown, as Yao came to the door and opened it for him.

"Your Highness," he said gently, urging him out with a pale hand.

Clutching the cloak around himself, Alfred stepped out of the carriage and onto the cobbles; looking up to find a line of assembled royalty and servants dressed in rich blues and furs. Behind them were great black gates of wrought iron and, beyond these, a monstrous Gothic castle with spires stretching to the greenish sky.

"May I present His Highness Prince Alfred of the Kingdom of the Summer," Yao said, bowing; and all but one of the assembly bowed in response.

Alfred looked to the man who had remained straight, singling him out as the King of the Winter. He was huge, broad-shouldered, with ice-pale hair and a long nose and eyes the colour of lilacs. He wore no crown, no mark of rank whatsoever, but was regaled in fine furs and buffed blue wool.

"Your Highness," Yao went on, dropping to one knee before this large and melancholy man, "I present His Majesty King Ivan of the Kingdom of the Winter."

"Your Majesty." Alfred knew his place and dipped his head in acknowledgement.

"Welcome, young prince," Ivan replied; he had a soft, lyrical voice, accented. "We humbly accept you into our fold. I hope that you will be happy here."

Alfred nodded, shivering; he doubted it. The sight of the imposing castle, straight out of the book of illustrated horror stories from his childhood, was enough to make him want to get back into the carriage and live there instead. Certainly this was not what he had been expecting: in his picture books, Winter had been shown as a soft blanket of shimmering white over the land, with rivers and lakes freezing solid and able to accommodate skaters and carriages and fairs. He had studied at length, between pages, the silver intricacies of snowflakes and blood-red berries of holly and the clear, crisp light of the winter sun. The nightmarish vision before him, attended by black skeletal trees in rows like soldiers, was far worse than what he had braced himself for.

Yao, however, was kind and attentive, taking him by the elbow and leading him through the gates.

"I agree," he said, "it's not much to look at on the outside."

"I thought it would be made of ice," Alfred replied, looking up at the twisted spires.

"That wouldn't be very practical," Yao said patiently. "Not even for the Winter Court."

"...I guess not." Alfred hesitated at the first of the damp steps, watching Yao ascend them to the huge steel doors. This, he understood, was to be his prison.

"Come." Yao seemed to sense his hesitation, turning to him as the doors bellowed open. "I trust you don't want to stand out there all night."

Alfred tugged the cloak tighter around his shoulders, taking a deep breath. He didn't have much choice. His own kingdom had sold him for peace, had abandoned him at the edge of the world to be taken, and he had no way back.

He dropped his gaze to the slabs and slowly made his way up the steps, passing Yao in silence; he flinched when the doors boomed shut behind them, the echo bouncing off his back. He looked up.

It wasn't as terrible inside as he'd been dreading. Certainly it was rather bare, stone walls with a few paintings here and there, but an impressive chandelier alight with hundreds of tiny candles hung from the ceiling and there was a blue carpet underfoot.

"I asked that a bath be prepared for you on your arrival." Yao was brisk now, business-like; he took Alfred by the arm, pulling him along. "It will warm you up; and of course the wedding is tomorrow-"

"Oh. Yes." Alfred glanced at Yao. "Where is this Arthur, anyway? I at least get to meet him before I'm packed off with him, right?"

"The prince is out at the moment, I expect." Yao sounded rather weary. "He is seldom in; and if he is, he's usually holed up in the library. I ...hope he does not forget about the wedding."

"...He's forgetful?"

"Yes; and flippant, too, that's the true danger. He stays gone for days, even weeks, at a time, without a thought of his duties." They started up the staircase. "Regardless, don't expect to meet him tonight."

"I can't marry someone I've never met!" Alfred exclaimed. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever-"

"I'd advise you not to think of it as a marriage," Yao interrupted. "Think of it as a business transaction. You'll spare yourself a lot of pain."

Alfred frowned.

"...What do you mean? Do... do you think Arthur won't like me?"

"He won't be interested in you," Yao said calmly. "It's not your fault and there's nothing you can do to change it. He isn't interested in anything."

"...Oh."

"My apologies." Yao looked at him. "You've been handed quite a bad lot."

Alfred shook his head.

"I should have known... what to expect."

Yao left him in the bathroom, grand in granite tiles, with the bath steaming, welcome, and a change of clothes set aside. He bathed, the heat seeping all throughout him; he hadn't felt this warm since leaving the Summer Palace and he enjoyed it, more his natural state of being. He was tanned, of course, with hair the colour of honey and eyes the blue of the summer sky, so very unlike the white-skinned Winter Court, shut up under the earth.

Emerging from the bath, he carefully folded his fine silks and pulled on the warmer layers left out for him: suede, fur, wool, heavy against his skin. They smelt of wood and spices, not unpleasant. He carried his Summer clothes over his arm but put his crown back on, the gold cool against his damp brow.

He did have some pride, after all.

Yao returned, taking his folded clothes gently.

"His Majesty awaits," he said. "He requests that you dine with him."

"The king?"

"Yes." A pause. "It will just be the two of you."

"Very well." Alfred was happy enough to go along with this; he was starving and, that besides, perhaps King Ivan would be more forthcoming about the absent prince than Yao, who seemed to have written him off as not worth talking about.

A serving-man in a grey uniform appeared to take him down and Alfred followed in silence, his limbs weighted down by wool as they weaved through long hallways and empty rooms. They passed by a large, high-ceilinged chamber - within, to Alfred's delight, was a large tree, a pine, and all manner of servants flurried around it with bright streamers and glinting baubles of coloured glass. He stood at the door, watching them in fascination, until his escort firmly called him away.

"But what is it?" Alfred bounded along after him. "We have trees in the Summer Palace but never evergreens - and we don't decorate them-"

"It's the Christmas Tree, Your Highness."

"Christmas tree?" Alfred frowned. "What's that?"

"A yearly tradition here at the Winter Court." They had entered the dining hall and the serving-man brought him to a seat on the corner of the long table. "I rather think that His Majesty the king will be better equipped to answer your questions on the matter."

"Oh." Alfred sat, watching the serving-man bow and exit. "...Alright."

It was perfectly clear that no-one really wanted to be bothered with him, that he was seen as a nuisance that had been thrust upon them quite out of the blue; this served only to make him more miserable than ever, fiercely aching for his home of the Summer Kingdom - for his brother and his friends and his freedom. Had he only the means of doing so, he would return home in a heartbeat and never give this dreadful place a second thought-

"My apologies! I hope I am not disturbing you!"

Alfred jumped, looking up. The Winter King, Ivan, was standing over him, looking perplexed; and Alfred scrambled to stand in his presence.

"Y-your Majesty!"

"Please." Ivan waved his large hand at him. "I am not partial to that sort of thing. I do not think that you are, either." He gestured to the chair. "Please sit."

Alfred did so, watching Ivan as he sank into the splendid carved chair at the head of the table. A few servants entered with plates and trays and goblets, setting the meal out before them.

"I expect you are hungry," Ivan said gently. "I hope that our food will be satisfactory."

"It will be, I'm sure," Alfred replied faintly; frankly he was so hungry that he didn't care what they put in front of him, he would eat it.

Incidentally, while the food was very different to the offerings of the Summer Court, he liked it well enough; roasted meat dusted with rosemary and spices, served with vegetables unlike anything he'd ever seen or tasted before. Ivan explained that the long orange ones were carrots and the pinkish mash was turnip and said he wasn't surprised that they didn't have vegetables like that in the Summer Kingdom.

"We do live in two very different worlds, after all," he said. "We are below the ground, so root vegetables are a reliable harvest. I expect you have a great many things that we do not."

Alfred chewed thoughtfully for a moment, remembering the sorts of things that he had always had in abundance.

"Strawberries?" he ventured. "Hey, how about peaches? Mangoes? Oranges?"

Ivan shook his head.

"We certainly would not have such things. The conditions down here are very harsh. We are able to grow very little."

"Not even flowers?" For the Summer Kingdom flourished with them, wild in all colours, and he could not imagine empty streets.

"I wish it was not the case," Ivan said sadly, "for I am very fond of sunflowers. I have not seen one in a great many years."

"Oh." This made Alfred miserable. "...You know, if you, uh... had some soil, I could grow you one."

Ivan shook his head.

"That is very kind," he said, smiling, "but I could not subject it to a life down here. There is no sun, you see. I could not be so cruel."

He looked at Alfred very pointedly all of a sudden.

"...I suppose you find that statement ironic," he said.

Though he had been nothing but polite to Alfred - kind, even - the prince saw now, in this instant, that Ivan was not one to be trifled with. There was a hardness in his eyes, glinting behind the smile.

He decided not to lie.

"A little," he agreed. "Am I worth less than a sunflower?"

"No, no, so much more!" Ivan seemed delighted by his honesty. "That is why you were sent!" He paused. "...Quite against your will, I expect."

"The Winter Prince doesn't seem to be too interested, either," Alfred replied defensively. "He didn't come to meet me."

"That does not surprise me," Ivan said. "You will come to understand this."

"Are you related to him?" Alfred asked this cautiously; he knew that not all of the seasonal royal families were related by blood and wasn't surprised when Ivan shook his head.

"It is a political arrangement," he said. "The prince is the head of the Navy."

"Did... he agree to the marriage?"

"He seemed indifferent." Ivan pursed his lips. "I have taken to accepting that as yes."

"...I see." Alfred's visions of a waify snowflake of a prince had been replaced by that of a hulking tattooed sailor, all bristle and cold salt.

"Tomorrow will be a joyous occassion, all the same," Ivan went on. "You see, your wedding is to take place on the day of the Winter Festival, which we celebrate every year in December."

"Oh!" Alfred brightened. "Is that why you have the tree?"

"Ah, you have already seen the Christmas Tree." Ivan smiled warmly at him. "Yes, we have taken many of the customs that were part of what they called 'Christmas' and other winter celebrations many years ago. We decorate the tree with colourful baubles and small candles; and we have music and give gifts and have a feast-"

"Why?"

Ivan tilted his head.

"How do you mean, why?"

"D-don't get me wrong, it sounds wonderful," Alfred said hurriedly, "but why? We have Midsummer's Night but it's really only a lot of drinking and revelry in the night, we don't have decorated trees or presents or any of that stuff."

"It is hard to say, exactly," Ivan said, frowning. "We only have so much information. Many of the traditions are written down in surviving books, although the origins are not. Yao says he thinks the word 'Christmas' comes from 'Christ', or 'Christianity'."

Alfred frowned.

"What's that?"

"One of the religions humans used to follow. We do not have many details on it." Ivan gave a sad smile. "I am not even sure what we are celebrating - but we need some cheering up down here, I'm sure you will agree."

Alfred nodded.

"It's true what they say, then?" he asked quietly. "You really have been down here for a hundred years?"

"I cannot set foot on the earth's surface," Ivan agreed, looking at the ceiling. "Arthur has more freedom than I do. The seas, at least, are his."

Alfred looked at his plate.

"If... if the marriage reconciles," he said, "then... perhaps one day you will be able to walk on the surface again."

Ivan didn't look terribly convinced; his smile, though genuine, was paler than before.

"I look forward to that day." He closed his eyes. "I hope that it will be as beautiful as I remember."

He had never seen fire caged before; he had the power of it in his fingertips and knew it only only as a form of fun, aglow in the midsummer night. He had never known it to be used for warmth, never seen it safely behind a grate.

It was past midnight and he couldn't sleep. He had been put into a small, sparsely-furnished room for the night, with Yao's assurance that he would be moved into Prince Arthur's chamber with him once they were married. His wedding clothes, in the greys and blues of the Winter Court, were hung over the back of the plain wardrobe.

He would be permitted to continue wearing his own crown.

The bed was comfortable but cold, even with the layers of heavy wool blankets; and he was used to sleeping near-naked with a single sheet in the hot thick nights. So he sat instead near the fire, his fur cloak bundled around his shoulders, and watched the flames leap and dance.

The castle had gone quiet, with everyone retired to bed. He could hear the rush of the steel seas against the shore far beneath, the creak of every oak beam in the ceiling. His breath clouded on the smoke, his fingers numb on the fur.

He had no escape.

A key clattered in the lock; and he started, his heart pounding, as metal scraped on metal and the lock turned. He scrambled up, dropping the cloak as the door swung open, his power hot in his fists.

There was a young man in the doorway, the key cold in his gloved hand. He wore a long Naval coat, royal blue with gold fringing, and had blonde hair shot through underneath with purest white; and his eyes were greener than anything Alfred had ever seen in the Summer Court. His expression was weary, however, complacent, exhausted.

"My apologies," he said flatly. "I was not aware that this room was being used."

Alfred couldn't help himself, drawn towards him.

"You're... Prince Arthur," he realised, more to himself.

"I am." Arthur came into the room, closing the door behind him. "Forgive me, I shan't be long."

He didn't spare Alfred a second glance, crossing the room to a small, half-filled bookcase against the far wall. Alfred followed him.

"Don't you want to know who I am?" he asked incredulously.

"You are Prince Alfred," Arthur said blandly, "of the Kingdom of the Summer, sent to wed me on tomorrow's morn."

He was going through the books rather languidly, pausing every now and then to open a volume up and scan down a page or two. Alfred pushed in front of him, placing himself directly in his line of sight.

"Doesn't that bother you?" he asked.

"Not really." Arthur simply stepped around him. "As long as you stay out of my way, it won't make any difference."

"It will make a difference!" Alfred said crossly, fed up of being pushed away and dismissed by these people. "You and I will be bound together by-"

"Not my decision, I assure you." Arthur seemed to have found the book he wanted, flipping through it quickly. Alfred could see the faded old washes of maps on the yellowed pages.

"You don't seem to have protested much!" Alfred snapped; he could feel his temper beginning to flare.

"I tend not to. I have other priorities on which to expend my effort." Arthur waved his hand at him. "Please, don't let me distract you. Go back to bed."

He walked away. Outraged, Alfred bounded after him.

"Y-you can't just go, we haven't even...!" He took a deep breath. "Look, we don't even know each other-"

"Of course we don't," Arthur said dully.

"W-well, do you really want to marry someone that you don't know?!"

"I don't care." Again, Arthur neatly side-stepped him. "Do you mind? I'm terribly busy."

Alfred stopped.

"I... I thought we could... you know, talk for a little while," he said lamely. "Get to know each other a bit-"

"I don't think so. I'm very busy." Arthur opened the door. "Goodnight."

"W-wait!" Alfred sprang after him, catching his arm as he started to leave.

Arthur simply looked up at him for a moment before tugging. Alfred held on.

"Please," Alfred said softly. "I-I've been sent away from my home to marry you and nobody asked me what I thought and nobody asked you what you thought and I... I just figured that we have that in common and since we're going to be married, maybe we could-"

"Don't think of it as a marriage." Arthur pulled his arm free. "You are of no use to me."

He graced Alfred with a curt nod.

"Goodnight," he said again; and he swept out of the room without a backwards glance, the door moaning behind him.

Alfred stood staring at the door for a long moment, stunned; and then he turned and sank back against it, sliding down the wood. His heart thundered in his chest and he felt suddenly terrified and claustrophobic. Despite what they had said about Arthur, Alfred had found himself nonetheless thinking of the other party in all this as his ally; he had expected to at least like him, to find sympathy in their shared plight-

He realised now that he was utterly alone, fallen from the heavens and banished to Hell, the single ray of sun that existed beneath the Earth.

The Christmas Tree was magnificent; ten feet at least, bedecked in thick twists of white tinsel and glimmering glass balls all colours of the rainbow and candles alight on every branch. They were married before it - by Yao, a man of many talents - and Alfred spent the ceremony gazing up at the star crowning the evergreen's topmost branch.

He didn't look at Arthur, who stood by his side and recited his vows without a shred of emotion; and who looked every inch the part, with a blue sash in gleaming silk across his chest and his crown of silver thorns and studs of blueish frost. There was nothing in his eyes, nothing in his voice, and when he put the ring on Alfred's finger, he didn't meet his gaze.

Alfred hated him.

But he knew his duty, if nothing else; and so he spoke his vows and accepted his ring and allowed himself to be bound to the Prince of the Winter for all eternity.

TBC, of course! ...One day. T.T I'd make promises but I never keep them.

Hope everyone is having a very happy Christmas! Can't believe it's here (and almost over) again!

xXx