Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Rocks, lava, rocks, ruins. No matter how fast or far the two of them ran, Múspell folded in on itself: everything looked the same, everything sounded the same. Everything even smelt the same – sulphur and soot and the thick, choking smoke that filled up Ylgr’s chest and made her cough. It was like a maze. Like a horrible, endless maze that was fighting against them, trying to keep them trapped. Trapped to feed its flames, to eat them up and burn them to bits. They had to keep moving, but Ylgr found it almost impossible to stop herself from stumbling – or much worse, from tripping over and crashing to a halt.

The only thing keeping her from falling down—from catching her foot on a stone, or the cracked, uneven ground—was the person pulling her along.

Princess Veronica wasn’t one for patience. When she’d noticed Ylgr lagging behind, gasping and spluttering and struggling to breathe, she’d offered the younger girl her hand. Then, when Ylgr hesitated, she pulled her by the wrist. Hard. Too hard, really; but hard enough to get her moving again.

She couldn’t see a thing. The smoke was too thick, too dark. But Veronica led her through it all the same, yanking her by the arm as they darted through the arches of another ruin and ducked under a half-fallen pillar.

“You’re so slow,” Veronica growled. “Do you want to die?”

“No…!” Ylgr gasped, narrowly avoiding a rock. “I just… I’m so scared…!”

“Good. That means you have common sense.”

“B-but… but I…”

“Stop crying. It’s incredibly annoying.”

They sprinted around a corner, skirting the edge of a wide, bubbling pool of lava that looked more like a cauldron. Ylgr kept glancing behind her, terrified that she’d catch a glimpse of that monster chasing her; but Veronica’s eyes were fixed firmly ahead, never looking back.

She had nothing to gain from taking Ylgr’s hand. It only slowed her down, putting her own life on the line in the process, and Nifl was far more an ally of Askr than Embla. She could have left the helpless little girl to the mercy of Múspell’s flames and worried about herself.

But she hadn’t. Instead, her hand drew down from Ylgr’s wrist, clasping the younger girl’s palm, and squeezed tightly. Unyielding. Even as Múspell’s heat grew more and more intense at their backs—even as Surtr was surely getting closer—she refused to let go.

Maybe it had been pity. Pity for the weakling who couldn’t do anything for herself. Pity for the princess who had lost half her family. Pity for someone her own age – someone who was lost and scared and had no-one else to help her.

Whatever her reason, Veronica had decided that Ylgr’s life was important enough to save.  And Ylgr, in turn, had decided there and then—despite her harsh tongue, and her scary looks, and her cold attitude—that the Emblian princess wasn’t a bad person.

Even so, the first letter had taken Ylgr by surprise.

It was an unassuming little thing. A dark piece of parchment sent to Nifl Castle in the night, folded neatly and sealed by a pretty pattern in wax, with the young princess’s name penned less neatly on the back in a yellow-gold ink. Still, the writer had done their best with the four letters of Ylgr’s name; tried to wrap the ‘Y’ into the ‘l’, tried to thread the ‘g’ with the ‘r’, tried to make it look neat and formal and respectable.

They hadn’t quite managed. But then, Ylgr knew she couldn’t have done any better herself. Just the effort was enough to warm her heart. More than enough, really.

And she’d never had a letter be addressed to her before. There had been letters sent to her mother, or to her siblings, or to the entire Nifl royal family – but this was the very first time she’d seen her own name written down like this. It made her heart feel funny; made something flutter and stir and go so nice and warm.

In the privacy of her room, with the door shut and the windows cracked just slightly ajar to let in the morning air, she sat on the end of her bed and opened the letter carefully, taking care not to tear the paper or scratch the wax seal. From the very first glance—from the messy handwriting and the scribbled-out words—she somehow knew who had written it.

And it delighted her.

To Princess Ylgr of Nifl,

I hope this letter finds you well. Bruno My esteemed brother tells me that, given our time imprisoned together three months ago, it would only be proper for me to check up on your wellbeing. I, personally, see little point to the exercise, given that my spies tell me Nifl is recovering alarmingly well from Múspell’s invasion. However, I suppose it’s true that the health of a nation doesn’t always reflect its rulers – and palaces can be such sad, lonely dull places with no-one else to talk to. Embla and Nifl have a strained relationship, but I trust it won’t prohibit me from being worried showing you at least some concern. We have, after all, shared a cell. Sharing a letter or two should hardly cause anyone offense.

For someone your age, the recent changes in Nifl must be taking a toll. Recounting the details seems meaningless when you have to live with them every day, but know that you have my deepest sympathies condolences. It can be difficult to have your family broken apart without warning. I wish I could lie to you and tell you that it grows easier with time.

You seem, at the very least, to be blessed with an admirable annoying sort of optimism. Such childishness is usually intolerable, and rarely befitting of a princess, but you have the benefit of being distant from the throne. Savour that. Be happy with who you are, and don’t spend your time worrying over your present situation. Politics make people ever so boring, and you—while irritating—are anything but boring. Your incessant chattering, if nothing else, provided a welcome distraction from that insult of a prison, so perhaps it could do the same for your brother or sister. They may even appreciate it.

This should go without saying, but this letter is for your eyes only. If you show it to your siblings—or worse still, the Askrans—I’ll pop their heads off like my dolls be very, VERY annoyed. As such, please reply as soon as you’re able. I must be sure that you’ve received it – and that it hasn’t fallen into the hands of someone I’d need to ki politely deal with.

I suppose I’d also be glad to hear that you’re in good spirits.

Yours sincerely,
Princess Veronica of Embla

P.S. My brother, upon quite rudely reviewing my writing without permission, tells me that I shouldn’t have mentioned ‘spies’ in an earlier passage, and has insisted that I correct it by way of composing an entirely new letter. But this one by itself really has been a long and tedious matter, and I’ve already made so many corrections that I’m in no longer in any mood to go over it again just to obscure the presence of people who already exist as open secrets.

Consider it a token of something. ‘Trust’, perhaps.

As Ylgr reached Veronica’s name, her heart leapt in such an odd way; and once she’d made her way to the very bottom, she found herself reading it again and again, revisiting every happy emotion she’d felt the first time through, soaking up every little bit of joy. Even the princess’s condolences—which had first sent a short, sharp pain like a reminder through Ylgr’s chest—seemed so earnest and kind that she couldn’t help but treasure them.  

Veronica had written to her. She’d really written to her! It didn’t even matter if it was at someone else’s insistence, or if it was so scruffy it was difficult to read, or if it was really trying too hard to be formal – it was something!

Oh, and it was such a relief, too. After they’d parted ways—after Ylgr had reunited with Fjorm and Hríd, and Veronica with her brother—she’d been so worried that they’d never talk again. Through the war with Múspell, Nifl had become an ally of Askr. If another war broke out between Askr and Embla, they’d have to take Askr’s side. Veronica would become their enemy, and none of Ylgr’s time with her would have meant a thing.

She’d hated it – hated the thought of fighting Veronica, and hated the thought of throwing away the princess’s kindness to her back in Múspell. But now, here was this letter. Proof that Veronica, even three months later, hadn’t forgotten their connection. Proof—as Ylgr read through the scribbled-out lines, giggling at some of her corrections—that she cared.

And Ylgr wanted to tell Veronica all that and more. She wanted to tell her that she cared about her, and that she was always thinking about her, and that she was so, so grateful to her for leading her out of Múspell alive.

If Veronica knew—knew how important she was to her—then maybe, Ylgr thought, just maybe, they wouldn’t ever have to fight.

She wanted that. Maybe Veronica would like it, too. Without wasting any more time, she grabbed a bottle of ink and a quill, rolled out some parchment across her desk, and sat down to write her reply.

But there was something intimidating about the emptiness of a blank page. A hundred-thousand possibilities all wrote themselves across it at once, like different words trying to fight their way into her thoughts. Where should she start? Where could she start? How could she tell Veronica how she really felt through a letter? Things that slipped out so naturally in conversation sounded a lot sillier when put down on paper. She didn’t want Veronica to think she wasn’t taking her seriously.

And what kind of tone should she use? Veronica had been formal, and a little stiff – but that made sense. It was the way she spoke, for one, and looking at the corrections, she’d also tried not to seem overly familiar. But Ylgr wanted to seem familiar. That was the whole point! They weren’t strangers, they were friends!

How could she show that while still sounding serious? How could she be friendly without sounding silly?

She tapped the quill against the table, lost in thought. Then, her eyes drifted to the dark letter at her side, flapping ever so gently as the wind slipped into her room.

Was she overthinking it?

Veronica had said to cherish her childishness. Maybe she was worrying too much about being someone she wasn’t. About coming off a certain way to Veronica when the princess already knew perfectly well what to expect from her. Maybe it would have been better to just write how she felt.

So how did she feel?

She drew a deep breath and held the quill in her hand. Then, finding the words, she dipped it in ink and began to write.

Wandering. That was all Ylgr’s days seemed to be recently: wandering from her bedroom through Nifl Castle’s halls; wandering from the kitchen through to the banquet hall; wandering from the gardens to the foyer to the empty throne room, which seemed colder than it had when she’d been growing up.

She still wasn’t really used to it. The emptiness of the castle. The absence.

Her mother was gone. Gunnthrá was gone. Even Fjorm had left to join the Order of Heroes, eager to repay Nifl’s debt to Askr in full. Hríd was the only one left there with her, but the duties of leadership and the daunting task of rebuilding Nifl took up almost every waking hour of her brother’s day. The training grounds—the courtyard Hrid had practically lived in during happier days—were now as quiet as the rest of the castle, and there weren’t enough soldiers left to fill his very loud absence. Mealtimes, too, were usually taken alone; and on the few days he could find to eat with Ylgr, he always looked so exhausted that she didn’t want to bother him with any more than a few words or a smile.

She didn’t hate him for it. She couldn’t. Her brother was the strongest, smartest, most sensible man she and Fjorm knew. He was doing his best.

But the whole situation would have made anyone feel lonely. And Ylgr couldn’t do lonely.

That might have been why she took such joy in Veronica’s letters – those dark pieces of parchment with her name written in gold, more neatly each time, that arrived from Embla almost weekly now. For just a little while, they helped Ylgr’s room feel like a much warmer place.

In her second letter, Veronica had seemed surprised, despite her insistence, that Ylgr had replied at all. But the sweetness of the younger girl’s words seemed to have surprised her even more, and that second letter had been one of the longest the Niflese princess had ever seen addressed to anyone. She’d offered up another reply, just as cheerful as the last, which had encouraged Veronica to write a third letter, and a fourth; and now the two of them had been exchanging letters constantly for almost four months. Even Ylgr, who kept each of the letters arranged so neatly along her shelf to revisit whenever she felt lonely, hadn’t noticed the time go.

But time had gone all the same – and with each letter, there’d been a wonderful kind of change between them. Whether it was in Ylgr’s happy, outspoken cheerfulness or Veronica’s reserved, sometimes tactless monotone, they found themselves taking more and more opportunities to express their budding affection for each other.

Veronica’s writing, too, had become so much neater. Now that she was writing by choice—or at least, without her brother pestering her—she seemed to take things much more seriously, being thoughtful with her words and making her lettering so neat and elegant that Ylgr could tell she was trying to show off. In one letter, she revealed that she’d gone through two drafts before reaching the one Ylgr had received. In another, she let slip that she’d taken as many as five.

Each letter was full of small surprises like that – little revelations about Veronica, whether she’d realised or not, that made her seem all the more wonderful to Ylgr. Less harsh, less scary, less cold; and more normal.

And they really talked about everything. Veronica wrote about her brother, about the different regions of Embla, about her room and her toys and all the different sorts of food she liked; and Ylgr told Veronica all about her siblings, and Nifl, and her dreams of finding love and settling down with someone precious to her.

Sometimes, their conversations turned solemn. Ylgr let out her sadness at the way her family had been torn apart, at the distance she felt from Fjorm and Hríd, at the way she’d been too weak to do anything when Múspell invaded; while Veronica, in turn, confessed all sorts of things that Ylgr had never expected – from her deep loneliness to her fears. The fears surprised Ylgr the most. She hadn’t thought Veronica, so brave and stoic back in Múspell, could have been afraid of anything.  

They tried to help each other through the moments of sadness. Veronica, clumsy as she could be with her words sometimes, always managed to reassure Ylgr that she was doing fine, and that she was being as strong as anyone could be in her circumstances. Ylgr did her best to match her thoughtfulness, even if she wasn’t sure what the Emblian princess meant when she said she was scared of her cursed blood, and being hated by the world, and the voices that sometimes told her to do horrible things.

As she wrote, she could sometimes imagine Veronica sitting there at the other end of her desk, reflected in the clear, icy walls of her room; could imagine talking to her as if she were really there, as if their letters weren’t letters at all but proper conversations like they’d had back in Múspell. She could see those dark red eyes, red as the gems on her headdress. She could see that pale skin, white as the freshly-fallen snow. And she could see—just for a second—that gloomy expression of hers light up with her best attempt at a smile, like a joke only they could understand had soundlessly passed between them.

Then she’d blink, and she’d be all alone again, quill in hand and ink blotting the page.

This week’s letter, Ylgr noticed, was oddly light. The folded parchment was thin, nothing like the small books Veronica had sent in recent weeks; and when she broke the seal and opened it up, she was disappointed—almost sad, really—to see that it wasn’t any longer than a page. She briefly wondered if she’d said something to upset Veronica, or if she was unwell.

But as she read down the message, her eyes lit up.

Dear Ylgr,

I can’t begin to tell you how bored I am. My brother and Xander have left the palace to deal with something important, and it’s all been so insufferably quiet here without them. I’ve no-one to talk to except the guards and the servants, and they’re no fun. They never want to play any games, and they always try to stay away from me. I think I must frighten them. The worst part is that I think I understand why.

I should be used to it. It’s been this way for most of my life. But even after all these years, I still can’t stand it. I hate it. I hate how nothing ever changes, and how no-one ever wants to talk to me, and how there’s never, ever anything to DO. It’s like I’m stuck in that cell all over again. This time, though, there’s no-one else here with me.

Back in Múspell, I thought that they couldn’t have possibly locked me away with a more annoying person than you. But I’m starting to realise that I’d rather be trapped with someone a little annoying than with no-one at all.

It’s been a long time. Seven months, I think. So, if we’re friends, like you’ve always told me, then I want to do something with that. I want to meet you again. I want you to come to Embla and keep me company for a while.

We’d have the palace all to ourselves. We’d be able to do all the things that friends do in books. I could show you around, and we could have tea in the gardens, and we could play all sorts of games. You could even stay the night, if you wanted; or two nights, or three, or a week, or even longer. I wouldn’t mind. And if anyone else took issue with it, I’d snap every little bone in their body until they learned their manners.

In several days’ time from now, on the 15^th, a carriage will arrive in the Niflese village of Eisekkur. If you go there, look for a woman with hair as blue as ice. I’ve told her to bring you safely to my palace just across the border.

You don’t have to come. I won’t hold it against you, and I don’t want to force you like I might force someone I cared much less about. But I really, really want to see you.

Please, Ylgr. You’re the only person I can ask this of.

You’re my only friend.

With affection,
Veronica

As Ylgr reached the end, the letter all but fell to her lap. Her heart was racing – beating again and again and again with happiness.

She could hardly believe it. An invitation. Veronica wanted to see her…! She really, truly, honestly wanted to see her!

And the 15^th… Goodness, that was tomorrow! It was the afternoon now, so if she was there for the morning, then – then she could be with Veronica in less than twenty-four hours…!

A thrill shot through her like lightning. She sprang from her bed and scrambled around her room, gathering up as much as she could cram into her small shoulder bag: her folded nightgown, her scarves, her comb, her favourite book of Niflese fairy tales, a pretty change of dress – and ooh, maybe her telescope! Veronica was always talking about how clear the night skies were in Embla, so Ylgr could only imagine how much she’d love to see them up close. She could point out the constellations, and tell her all about the different stories they had about them in Nifl, and—

She realised, between all her excitement, that she had no idea how Hríd might react to her going off at a moment’s notice. She still hadn’t told him about her friendship with Veronica. She hadn’t wanted him, like the worrywart he was, to prevent her from talking with a girl who could have been their enemy.

And now here she was, a princess of Nifl and an ally of Askr, packing her things for a trip to the Emblian palace. All without his approval.

It’d be lonely for him. Lonely without his little sister. Lonely without anyone else to talk to. Lonely like Veronica was.

But Veronica needed her; had asked for her. For the very first time, she’d even called her a friend.

Hríd had pledged Nifl’s support for Askr in honour of their aid against Múspell. He understood that friends had a duty to each other. So maybe, if she explained everything to him when she returned, safe and sound, and it was clear that Veronica didn’t mean her any harm, he’d also understand why she’d gone to Embla. Maybe he’d even approve.

Even as the thought passed through her head, she knew how unlikely that last bit was.

That night, Ylgr slipped a small note onto her brother’s desk as he slept. It was shorter than she would have liked, and she’d had to write it in a hurry – but it said enough.

Brother,

I’ve left the castle to visit a friend who really needs some help. They don’t live too far away, so I’ll probably only be gone for a couple of days. I’ll tell you more when I get back, so please don’t worry.

See you soon,
Ylgr

P.S. There’s still a few iced buns left in my room that I didn’t eat last night. They’re really yummy, so don’t you dare let them go to waste!

She left his room, shutting the door just gently enough not to wake him, and then took a deep breath, watching as it condensed in the cold air.

She’d made sure not to pack too much. Veronica had made a good choice with Eisekkur—it was close to both the castle and the border with Embla—but it was still a few hours away on foot. A few hours trudging through the heavy snow, and crossing the icy fields, and passing through the white, frosted forests.

But a cold night was nothing to a princess of Nifl. If anything, it was the sort of adventure she’d craved for years.