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This is a story of triumph and bitter cold. A hope and a loss most profound.
It had been 10 years now, since the Ice Queen had perished. Prince Ralmar’s powers had grown quickly at first, when he’d taken the crown from her head, and the amulet too. It had been a crown of black twisted wire, bound in a circle, holding the ”7 White Jewels of the North”, and he had slipped it onto his head before the assembled lords and ladies, common folk and soldiers, after he had managed to defeat her.
And that’s when Frost and Winter had entered him.
When both the amulet touched his skin, and the crown settled on his head, the coils of the crown had flexed and pulsed, and contracted to fit only his head. The amulet froze itself into his flesh, and the 7 jewels lit up with a dark blue light that pulsed and spread frost across his body. He had held his arms up in some kind of prayer to the gods above to spare him, but the powers did not listen. It encased him in a pillar of ice for 9 months, long enough for spring and summer and autumn to pass, and on the first day of winter, the pillar had shattered, and he emerged as the new master of the land.
The Lord of Winter had possessed the young prince’s body during his entrapment in the cocoon of ice, and was now on earth, all part of the amulet’s and crown’s functions, first with the Lady, and now the Lord.
But he hadn’t counted on the craftiness of the Prince Ralmar, who knew the legends, and knew the nature of the Lord and Lady of Winter. He and his mentor, the Wizard Melanthis, had created the Thorns of Rime.
Moments after the pillar of frost and ice had shattered, revealing his transformed self, those thorns pierced the young body of the new monarch, and rooted themselves into the ground, draining the spirit of the Lord of Winter from the Prince’s body. It transferred and imprisoned it into the Tree of Frost.
This mighty old tree had been prophesied in long ago days to be the bane of the “One Who Is Waiting” but none knew what that meant until Melanthis had figured out the riddle, and devised the way to beat the Lord of Winter, and his Lady before him. And so the Lord of Winter’s spirit still resides in that old, frost rimed tree, until the End of Days, so the stories say.
And the young, eternally beautiful Prince Ralmar, now the King of Friezaldia, rules with benevolence, and grace. But it has been a lonely life, despite many suitors and would be concubines.
For none could withstand his gentle touch, as the frost within would rise and freeze those that would touch the Prince in his passions, what would become an icy embrace of death.
However, with the help of Melanthis, he had managed to keep the powers at bay, for some hours each day, and thus have some comforts of a normal life.
Power does not always grant one all that one wants. Eternal youth, if it is frozen in time, is still frozen, even if the heart is warm and pure. Being a monarch is a lonely task they say, but even more so for Ralmar.
Perhaps one day, the other prophesied one will come – The Prince of the Fae, riding a winged stallion from the Bright Lands of Lasia Phar, from on the Other Side of the Vale. Perhaps he will be the one to balance the Frost and endure the touch of the King of Winter. For it is written, that they have great work to do, and a world to save. It will only happen, if they together thaw of the King’s Heart, and drive the bitter breath of winter to the edge of spring.
Only time will tell. And so Ralmar waits, wrapped in his furs of white, sitting on his throne, waiting for his prince to come.
~~ Not The End, but a Pause ~~
Story By: Dehrynn Shepherd
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