Chapter Text
It had taken their parents a great deal of effort to forge ties with this northern principality. Hundreds of miles and several nations separated their lands, making the journey here an even greater challenge. All for a prospective alliance, a marriage between their daughter and the son of a local prince. Political and economic benefits, eternal friendship and blah, blah, blah. It's always the same.
It's hard to say that Simon is looking forward to going north. He hates the cold. He grew up at a warm seashore where snow was almost a legend – he'd only seen it a few times when they traveled. And he was fine with that. Besides, the journey was a long way, it took weeks, and even a perfect road with the most amazing views won't hide the fatigue and monotony of the trip.
Sara didn't have the same problem. She had spent most of the trip reading, though one would expect her to be all in a flutter about her upcoming wedding. The fact that his sister didn't share his nervous mood only made Simon feel worse.
“Doesn't it frighten you? Excite you?” he began to question her when she took a short break from reading to look out the window. “What if your betrothed is ugly? An uncouth barbarian like all the northerners? Doesn't that worry you?”
Sara gave him a look that said it all even without words, but in addition she decided to make it clear.
“I always knew one day I was going to get married and leave my home. It doesn’t scare me. And perhaps I know more than you think about my betrothed. We have been corresponding for several months now, and August is a very pleasant young man, well-mannered and well-educated. I have a portrait of him, though of course it may be embellished, I don't care. And northerners are not barbarians, Simon. You shouldn't talk about them like that.”
With those words, she turned back to the window, signaling her unwillingness to continue this conversation. Simon didn't try. After all, if it was true, and she was not at all concerned about the wedding, he could only be as happy as a good brother would be in this situation.
The town where they were to stay for over a month was unlike any they had ever visited. All houses were wooden, built of logs, with carved shutters and small figures instead of weather vanes. Even the palace where the royal family lived was wooden, yet it was one of the most amazing buildings Simon had ever seen. And everything from the ground to the rooftops of the palace was covered with a thick layer of fluffy white snow.
They were received without much pomp, but that was almost certainly due to local traditions. The bride and groom were not allowed to see each other before the wedding, so there were no joint festivities or entertainment. Their parents sometimes dined together, but never invited their children.
In short, the weeks leading up to the wedding dragged on unbearably long. It was so cold outside that you could freeze as soon as you stepped outside, even though the locals made it look as if nothing was happening. Simon watched their figures walking along the roads of the town, wrapped from head to toe in woolen and even fur clothes. The little children looked especially amusing, in their floor-length coats and oversized hats. How could they have fun in such cold weather?
“This is unbearable!” Simon complains again, stepping away from the window. He's a little cold even here indoors, despite the burning fireplace. The window is slightly drafty. “How can one spend all the time locked up in here?”
“We are not locked up, Simon. We can go for a walk if you want.”
There's nothing more outrageous than rational words spoken at times when all you want to do is complain. And some compassion would be nice.
“It's freezing out there!”
Sara just shrugs, going back to what she was doing before. Simon does the same, settling back into the chair by the window and continuing to watch. So exciting.
The dress fitting is probably the most exciting moment of their stay here. The servants bring two chests into Sara's room – one containing the dress, the other shoes and numerous jewelry. The dress is snow-white, trimmed with fur that resembles snow; silver embroidery on the fabric reminds of frosty patterns on the windows; the boots are white as well as the headdress, but the jewelry stands out. Besides pearls, there are lots of bright red beads, apparently made of coral. The wedding attire is incredibly beautiful, and probably just as expensive. The furs alone could cost a fortune.
“Okay, I have to admit,” Simon picks up one of the coral necklaces and walks over to the mirror with it to see how it suits him. “They may be a little weird, but they have excellent taste.”
The beads don't suit him, though. That color doesn't go well with his eyes.
“Stop calling them weird!” Sara resents him.
“Why? Are you worried your fiancé will overhear and change his mind?” Simon asks teasingly, smiling at his sister. “Speaking of which,” he steps closer to Sara on his way returning the beads to the chest. “Have you seen him yet?”
He could swear there was a blush creeping across Sara's cheeks!
“You know we're not allowed!”
“Yeah, I've heard about that. But still…?”
His sister eyes him for a few long moments, lips pursed in annoyance. He stares back. It turns into a brief game of staring until Sara gives up, sighing irritably.
“Fine, yes, we've seen each other,” she admits to her brother's triumphant exclamation.
“I knew it!” Simon exults. He's shaking with excitement, and it seems like just a little more, and he'll start tapping his feet on the floor like a child. “Tell me everything! Is he as you imagined him to be? Not ugly after all?”
“He's… good-looking,” you can easily tell by the way she smiles embarrassed that Sara has a much better opinion of her fiancé. “We haven't really had much time to talk.”
Simon gave an exaggeratedly indignant sigh.
“To talk? You sneaked out for that? What, you didn't even ki-”
The rest sounds muffled as Sara covers his mouth with the palm of her hand, looking back toward the door almost fearfully.
“Hush! What if mom hears you?”
“She will hear everything if you don't answer my question!”
Sara tries her best to look disgruntled, but she finds it hard to contain the smile and dreamy expression on her face. God, thinks Simon, she's really fallen in love! That smile, that sparkle in her eyes. The girl takes a breath, gathering her courage, and finally whispers a quiet confession.
“He kissed me.”
Simon lets out an undignified squeak before covering his mouth himself with a palm while Sara slaps him on the shoulder unhappily. A kiss! Although Simon had kissed before, it was only out of curiosity to see what it felt like, what all the fuss was about. He had never kissed someone he was in love with and was sure it felt different, somehow special.
“You are so lucky, Sara,” he says with a note of envy in his voice. “I hope your fiancé continues to make you happy. He better do it!”
Simon gladly accepts her embrace as Sara leans into him, wrapping her arms around his torso. For a while they are both lost in thoughts of how their lives are about to change. Sara will now be officially an adult, a wife, and soon a mother. Simon, on the other hand, will be back where they grew up together, and he will have to get used to that special kind of loneliness that only those with siblings know. He dreams of falling in love, but he can't imagine a future in which he can make a marriage with someone he will truly like. Not because it will be impossible for him to love the bride his parents choose for him, not at all.
He will never be able to love any girl the way a husband should. It's not normal, it's unacceptable, Simon knows all this, but he can't help it.
As if reading his thoughts, his sister starts talking again.
“You'll find your happiness one day, Simon,” Sara briefly squeezes him tighter before pulling away and looking into his eyes. “I know you. You're going to turn everything upside down, get everyone around you in a heap of trouble-”
“Hey, what's with the accusations?”
“— but you will be with someone who will make you happy. Trust me, you will.”
The closer the big day gets, the more frantic the castle gets — every corner needs to be cleaned, the rooms need to be decorated, the silverware needs to be cleaned, and there are a dozen other items on the list of things to do to get ready.
Sara seems to be finally catching up with the pre-wedding excitement. Even though she is careful to hide it, Simon still notices all the little signs that give away her anxiety. The constant bustle around her only makes it worse, so Simon can't think of anything better than to suggest that they go for a walk. They could use some fresh air.
The only problem is that it's still freezing outside. The entire place is covered in snow. In the south, where they'd grown up, snow was only seen in the mountains, and if it did fall in the city, it quickly turned to a muddy mess underfoot. It wasn't like that here. The snow here was white, crunching underfoot and glistening in the sun. It was beautiful, no doubt about it. But it was very cold. The frost was biting their cheeks and noses, and Simon was beginning to understand why the locals hid their faces behind woolen shawls or knitted scarves.
The road inevitably leads them to the lake, alongside which the palace stands. The lake is surrounded on all sides by buildings, docks stretching along the shore, moored boats bobbing on the water. The water is covered with a thin layer of ice near the shore, but the whole lake never freezes.
Simon looks around; his attention is drawn to a group of men on the opposite bank. They are tying up a boat, which makes them look like fishermen, but their clothes suggest that they are servants of the prince. The boat doesn't look like it can hold all these men, or even more than one. From this distance, Simon notices the long, elongated bow of the boat, with some sort of creature carved into it.
“What are they doing?” he turns to look questioningly at the servants accompanying them.
They're hardly servants, though, more like companions (overseers, Simon would say) assigned to the foreign guests to make it easier for them to familiarize themselves with their surroundings. One of them was a man, tall and broad-shouldered, a few years older than Simon. Marcus, if he remembered the name correctly. The other is a girl, Inga, who always looks like she doesn't like what's going on. She's not much of a talker, so it's not surprising that Marcus ends up answering.
“Preparing the boat for the ritual, Your Grace.”
Simon frowns, casting a quick glance at her sister before turning back to the man.
“What ritual?”
Ritual sounds creepy. The word never bodes well. When you know little to nothing about local traditions, it's even worse because you don't know what you can expect or how crazy the ritual will be.
“It's part of our wedding traditions. This is how we honor our ancestors, pay tribute to the past. It is especially important for the royal family, Your Grace, as they are descendants of the Dragonslayer.”
Oh no, Simon thought. Not dragons, not again.
In his time here, it was hard not to notice how this mythical creature had impacted the locals. Here and there were drawings of a dragon, the kind drawn by pagans worshiping their deities. Though the locals don't really worship dragons, quite the opposite, they hate them. They still fear them. They draw ancient runes on the doors of their houses and embroider quaint patterns on their clothes, which they believe will protect them from the serpent.
Simon wasn't the kind of man to judge other people's beliefs, but sometimes the seriousness with which they talked about dragons annoyed him. He did not, of course, believe in the existence of dragons, nor did he believe in the existence of unicorns, fairies, dwarves, and other folk legends and myths. Simon looked at the prince's story of how one of his ancestors killed a dragon as he would any other legend. It was a fascinating story to tell children (or adults over a glass of beer), but he wouldn't take it at face value.
“Did you know about this?” he turns to his sister.
Sara shrugs uncertainty.
“It was mentioned a couple of times…”
Rolling his eyes disapprovingly, Simon turns to the servant again.
“Tell me about it,” he demands.
The man hides a chuckle poorly. Well, he can think whatever he wants about their guests not knowing anything about their traditions, it's of little concern to him.
“For centuries, our ancestors had to perform a ritual to extend a deal with dragons. A peace treaty, if you will. In exchange for a peaceful life, they were forced to give up what they held most dear,” with those words he looked at Sara.
Simon had the urge to claw the man's eyes out as soon as he realized what he was talking about.
“You mean they were making human sacrifices?!”
Several heads turned to look for whoever had shouted it out. Again, Simon didn't care about their reactions. Didn't care if they thought he was rude and ignorant. They ‘honor their ancestors’ by replaying the sacrificial ritual! Who is the ignorant one here?
“This is a relic of the past. The dragon is gone, and we've only kept part of the ritual. There's nothing to worry about.”
“You got to be kidding me,” Simon mutters, shaking his head.
Suddenly, the maid, who had stayed out of the conversation until then, intervened. She had been frowning at Marcus all this time, and it was painfully obvious that she had something to say.
“The ritual song is no good,” she says meaningfully. As Simon, who thinks he has found someone sane here, asks her what she means, Inga continues. “The song hasn't been heard here since the dragon was still alive. And it better remain that way.”
“That's just a sheep's superstition, Your Grace. The dragon won't come back to life because of that damned song!”
“Damned it is indeed!”
They are totally mental here, now Simon doesn't have the slightest doubt about that. He turns to look at Sara, but her gaze instantly makes the anger rumbling in his chest subside. She doesn't look shocked, or angry, or upset – his sister looks at Simon the way adults look at a child who is about to be told the most trivial and obvious thing in the world.
“You're making a mountain out of a molehill, Simon. It's not that serious. And you don't even believe in the dragon!”
“Well, of course I don't, but they do. And they are still ready to do this to you. It's madness!” Simon exclaimed, drawing attention from random passersby again.
“No it's not. It's a harmless tradition. I'll be in a boat, August will pull that boat out of the water. That's it, nothing bad is going to happen.”
Simon frowns as he looks at his sister, struck by the calmness in which she defends this nonsense. Of the two of them, Sara had always been the more rational one, so where had it gone now? Was she so enamored with her fiancé that she was willing to turn a blind eye to this creepy wedding tradition?
“You know, maybe I'm worrying about nothing. It seems like you are going to fit in just fine.”
With that, Simon turns around and walks away towards the palace with a quick stride. He had enough walking for today. He had seen enough, and heard more than he wanted to.
They barely speak until the evening. It's silly and childish even, but maybe that's to be expected since they are, in fact, very young. Simon was sitting alone in his room, for the first time glad of the fact that the women's and men's quarters were in different parts of the palace. After a couple of hours, when the initial anger cools down, he begins to regret his reaction a bit. Sara is probably right, there is nothing terrible or demeaning about this tradition with the boat. Though, he still thinks it's weird to “honor the past” that you hate and fear. Wouldn't it be better to turn the page and forget about it, like a bad dream? Perhaps it's not for him to judge.
A knock on the door interrupts his musings. Simon does not hesitate to give permission to enter, only to be surprised to see Marcus at the door. What is he doing here?
“What's the matter?” he asks, puzzled.
“Prince August invites you to join him in the dining room, Your Grace. He is holding a small celebration in honor of his forthcoming wedding, with a strictly male company, and would like to have you as his guest.”
That is… unexpected, to say the least. Simon had seen his sister's fiancé a couple of times, but they haven't talked yet. This is no surprise; even though they'll technically be part of the same family, it's unlikely they'll have to communicate much with each other. Perhaps many years from now, when they both take their fathers' places, they will have to cooperate as the pact between the families dictates. They don't need to know each other well to do that, though; they don't even need to like each other.
But Simon knows better than to refuse an offered hand, so he accepts the invitation.
He follows Marcus, and before they even enter the dining room, the sounds of celebration can already be heard. Keeping in mind what has been said about “strictly male company,” it's no wonder the talking and laughter in the room is so loud.
August is surrounded by at least a dozen men, all about the same age as him. Most of them look like military men, and they probably are. Simon had heard how warriors, masculinity and brute force were valued here. They wouldn't like it in the south.
“Ah, there's my future brother-in-law!” August exclaims as soon as he notices his presence.
He nods to Marcus and the man takes a seat among the guests, confirming Simon's assumption that he was no ordinary servant at all.
“Come in, have a seat. Be my guest!”
“I am grateful for the invitation, Your Highness,” Simon bows, but tentatively, since he and August are technically in the same status. They are both eldest sons, heirs, but Simon is a guest, and that alone puts him a step below.
They shake hands, and then August, quite unexpectedly, pulls Simon closer, putting his arm around his shoulders.
It's much closer than Simon had expected to be, and he doesn't know how to react yet. He just stands there while August turns to the other guests.
“Gentlemen! Let's welcome Simon to our ranks. Bring him a drink!”
The hand on Simon's shoulder holds him in place, which doesn't sound much like a friendly gesture, but who knows? August is smiling and looking welcoming, and this unsolicited embrace may be a display of friendliness. Where Simon comes from, it's considered normal to kiss each other on the cheek as a greeting. Might sound weird for other people.
They bring him a mug filled with some kind of drink. It smells sweet, which is reassuring – at least it's not beer. Simon isn't going to say it out loud, he knows what reaction he will get, but he doesn't like beer or any hard liquor. If anything, he likes red wine better.
“Let’s raise our glasses,” August lifts his own mug into the air, “To family.”
Guests follow his lead, some raising their mugs so fast that the drinks spill, but no one pays attention. Everyone seems to enjoy the evening.
Simon is introduced to other guests; he was right, most of the men present are connected to the army in one way or another. However, they are all of noble origin, not just some common soldiers. That was to be expected; the heir of the royal family would not make friends with random people.
“So, Simon,” he is addressed by one of the men, another tall blond man (northerners are definitely seen from afar) who sits right next to August, “how do you like it here?”
“Oh, well,” Simon shrugged. “It's quite frosty out here.”
Several men laugh as if he had told some joke. Most likely they are already drunk; in that state, almost everything seems funny. Simon tightened his grip on his mug, taking another sip.
“We saw you today,” the other guy says. “By the lake.”
“Ah yes,” August suddenly perks up, “Marcus told us about it. It seems like our traditions confused you?”
So the 'servants' assigned to them were indeed watching them. Simon wasn't even surprised. It is a normal practice at court to keep an eye on foreigners, even if they are potential family members. In politics, family ties matter a lot less than some people think.
“It doesn't matter,” Simon waves it off. “I was only worried about my sister, but if Sara doesn't mind it, so do I.”
At least that's what he had been telling himself for the past few hours. It is her wedding, her future husband, and if Sara is not bothered by this strange obsession with dragons, neither should Simon. And he shouldn't be so protective. Sara is not a little girl, she can fend for herself. And in a few days she would be married, and it would be her husband's responsibility to look after her well-being.
“Sara is a smart girl. She understands.”
In August's mind, this obviously sounds complimentary. Of course, he thinks what makes a girl 'smart' is the ability to agree with a man and not contradict him. To be 'understanding'. That is how they raise their girls up here in the north. It would be a lie to say people in Simon's country were very different, rather it was his parents who were open-minded enough to raise their children in a more free-spirited manner.
So one has to respect the fact that Simon barely refrained from rolling his eyes. He takes another sip from his mug, and in the meantime, someone keeps refilling it with a drink. It's starting to take its toll. Simon feels his head getting lighter, he begins to feel sleepy, as alcohol always makes him feel.
“Yeah, she is.”
From Simon's perspective, his first response was quite definitive, but it's unlikely that August agrees with him as he continues to push on.
“But you tried to talk her out of it, didn't you? Called our traditions mad.”
Well, shit.
“I shouldn't have said that,” Simon sighed. Sara had warned him to be careful with his words, but did he listen. Not that he's recanting, ritual sacrifice is still madness, but he's ready to admit he should have worded it better.
“No. No, you shouldn't have.”
August is no longer faking a friendly smile. He is looking at Simon in a way that makes him uncomfortable. The atmosphere in the room changes too; the talking and laughter stops, all attention is focused on them. On him. Simon is beginning to feel extremely uncomfortable.
“Listen, I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry that the idea of my sister being ‘pretended’ sacrificed bothers me.”
He doesn't make the situation better. Good news is that nothing he said, be it even the most sincere apology in the world, was able to change August's intentions. At the same time, it is bad news, as well.
“You're sorry? Well, I'm afraid it's not enough.”
He signals to his men that they have clearly been waiting for, as Simon doesn't even have time to look away when two men materialize beside him.
They grab his arms and pull him, forcing him to stand up. Behind them, a chair topples over with a clatter.
“What the hell are you doing?!” Simon tries to break free, but the odds are not evenly matched. Even if he was lucky enough to handle these two, there are still at least half a dozen men around him who are ready to carry out any order August gives.
“We respect traditions here, Simon. I want you to learn that,” August rises to his feet as well. “You disrespected me, tried to turn my wife against me–”
“She's not your wife yet!”
“— and I could turn a blind eye to it, you know, as an exception. We're practically family," he makes the word family sound like a mockery. “But you offend the memory of my ancestor, the man who killed the dragon. That I will not tolerate.”
August stands right in front of Simon, looking down at him. His gaze is the best way to tell that this man is not normal. He is crazy. Simon was absolutely right to call him that, but he hadn't even realized how bad it was.
“And what are you going to do? Order your underlings to beat me up?”
“Beat you?” August snorts. “Why would I do that? No, I have a better idea.”
Precautionary, they tie Simon's hands and stuff a handkerchief in his mouth (he manages to bite someone's finger in an attempt to fight back) to reduce the chance of him attracting someone's attention along the way. This, however, is unnecessary because the palace turns out to be ridiculously empty. It's quite late, most of the inhabitants of the palace are asleep, and the path they have to travel is rather short. They go downstairs, walk down a long hallway, and find themselves in a semi-enclosed room by the water. A quick glance around makes it clear that this is part of the wharf at the foot of the palace; of course the royal family would have their own secluded launching area. There is already a boat at the dock, which Simon recognizes – it is the same boat that was being prepared “for the ritual”. Up close, it looks even smaller, and more like a raft than a full boat. Very narrow and without crossbars, it can barely seat more than one person. Simon looks closely at the bow of the boat and almost rolls his eyes. Of course, the creature carved on it is a dragon.
“So, you were concerned about this little tradition? How about we check and see if it's safe? You wanted to make sure your sister wasn't in any danger, so go ahead!”
Simon is fighting back, but he still has no chance. By the time they manage to get him into the boat, he has already managed to get wet from all the splashing water caused by his desperate attempts to fight. One of August's friends tightens a rope on the bow of the boat, whereupon it is pushed away from the shore.
The night is cold and clear. Some locals had said that a clear sky heralded frost, and tonight it was quite true. The full moon shines brightly in the dark blue sky, the stars are visible so well that you can easily trace each constellation. It's beautiful. But Simon would rather see it from the window of his room than lying in a boat in the middle of the lake.
He is not afraid of this “ritual” because he simply does not believe in it. Yet, he is horrified at the thought of how long he will have to stay here until August decides that he has “learned his lesson”. With a weary sigh, Simon closes his eyes. He hates this place. Once he has his feet firmly on the ground, he is going to his parents that very minute, and he will do everything he can to make sure this wedding doesn't happen. Over my dead body, Simon thinks. There's no way he's going to let that psycho marry his sister, and he's going to make sure Sara doesn't stay here. It doesn't matter how beneficial the union is, it doesn't matter how long their parents have been negotiating. These people are insane.
Suddenly he hears voices, and only after a few moments does he realize what it is. They are chanting the song. He can't recognize the words from here, but he's not interested. In the silence of the night, the chorus of male voices sounds eerie, but Simon refuses to be afraid. They will not scare him. The only thing that gives him goosebumps is the cold.
The voices fall silent, and somewhere you can hear windows slamming. This little performance must have awakened some townspeople. Simon hopes that this will piss off someone important enough to get these idiots to pull him out of the water. He's starting to freeze.
A strong gust of wind doesn't make things better. It rocks the boat and throws snow flurries in his face, forcing Simon to squeeze his eyes shut again. But something has changed. Voices are heard on the dock, they sound concerned. Simon opens his eyes, looking around when movement catches his eye.
In the sky.
He must have fallen asleep, and he's only dreaming. Simon can find no other explanation for what he sees. There is a creature flying in the sky, from the sea. It's huge. One beat of his wings makes the water go in circles. A dragon. Its yellow eyes stare straight at Simon.
“Pull!”
A panicked shriek echoed around the area, the boat jerked violently as it was pulled by the rope tied to the bow. The effort is commendable, but utterly futile. The boat is too far from shore.
A dragon only needs two beats of its wings to fly up to the boat. Simon stares at him wide-eyed, his scream muffled by the handkerchief in his mouth. Now he can see why the boat looks so much like a raft. The low sides of the boat make it very easy to grab the person in it.
That's exactly what the dragon does. As its monstrous claws closed around Simon's body, the boat submerged for a moment. He barely managed to hold his breath, but some water still got up his nose. Almost immediately he felt himself being pulled upward, and now the dragon was already soaring back into the sky.
Gusts of cold wind don't pair well with wet clothes, but the piercing cold is the least of Simon's problems at the moment. He feels a sharp pain in his side, assuming the creature is digging its claws into him. An icy wind mixed with snow blows into his face, which now feels like hundreds of small ice flakes. He doesn't even have a chance to shield himself from the wind, as his hands are still tied behind his back. Damn it. How is this even real?
He doesn't know how long the flight lasts. He probably passed out a couple of times along the way. But now the snow turns to rain, and the wind is no longer so piercing. The dragon maneuvers, slows down, and then dives into the cave. He freezes over a certain spot, and then something strange happens to him. The dragon fidgeted, as if fighting something, and unclenched its claws.
The moment the dragon releases him brings more pain than one would expect. Simon falls, hitting the rocks, and feels himself continuing to fall – rolling down the gentle slope until he is on the edge of the cliff, clinging to the rocks with something. With his last strength, he tries to crawl away from the cliff, but his feet only slip on the smooth stones on the ledge. His movements continue to cause him to slip. Simon is horrified to realize every second of his fall into the darkness.
The young man lies on the floor of the cave, happy in his unconsciousness. He'd blacked out on the fall, and now he has these blissful minutes without the pain and fear that the previous hours had been filled with. But it won't last forever. Soon he would wake up, and reality would come crashing down on him like a snowstorm.