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A long time ago, back when warm lands were warm, and cold lands stayed cold, there was a kingdom just below the line where it was too cold for humans to dwell, with castles of stone and ice perched on the mountaintops. There, the kingdom sat, keeping to itself and growing strong by way of word and of strength. The soldiers were truthful and stronger than bears, the chiefs were loyal and cunning, and the king, who all swore fealty to, was a wise ruler with a heart of gold and a face of ice.
The kingdom had a custom, whenever visitors from the south would brave the icy winds and ferocious beasts to ask a favor, where after the king had heard their request, he would tell them to ask his daughter for ways of keeping warm, and then to camp somewhere on the mountainside until the morning, where he would have an answer to give them.
Most who came up the mountain would camp nearby, leaning against the castle walls to block some of the biting wind, but a few would camp in the valley below the mountain, where no trees grew despite the sun's ability to warm the ground. If the visitors had camped there, the king would bring some of his bravest knights to come down the mountain to invite the visitors up for a mug of spiced ale and warm food.
Then one year, with the cold slightly less toothsome, had a prince travel up from the southernmost kingdom, for his illegitimate brothers wanted a claim of the throne, and the prince was not willing to barter with his most hated kin. And so, he went up the north-lands, up the mountains, and knelt before the king,
“Sir King!” The prince cried, “I wish for you to lend me your armies so that I might cast out my treacherous brethren, who seek my throne,”
The king looked down at the prince, with his finery and jewel encrusted sword, and frowned. Still, as custom demanded, he bade the prince to ask his daughter for advice on how to brave the cold.
The prince, instead of asking advice, asked for the daughter’s hand in marriage. The daughter was less than impressed and left the prince behind, snubbed.
The prince, now without advice and snubbed, rushed out of the castle. He had heard of the stories where if a visitor camped down in a treeless valley, the king would send his noble knights to fetch the visitors for drink and food.
Obviously that is a sign of the king’s favor towards the visitor to brave the cold so far away from a windbreak, thought the prince, and he ordered his caravan to the bottom of the mountain and in a circle he had arranged his elephants, his tents, and his servants, with him at the center in a tent made of the finest silks.
That night was especially cold, with the wind piercing through the southern robes and freezing fingers, toes, ears, and nose. The prince huffed and sneezed around an anemic fire when he noticed just how quiet the camp has gotten.
“Something must be wrong!” The prince exclaimed, jumping to his feet before falling to his knees yet again that night. The action caused his plates and platters to fall off the table, clanging noisily on the ground, but for once the prince didn’t care. Instead, he walked out of his tent to find the fire dying, and all his servants and animals laying on the ground, huddled together and deathly still.
Enraged, the prince struck one of his servants, but the servant did not stir, even when the prince began to beat him. Panting and sweaty, the prince now looked around with fear.
“It must be a curse,” The prince spat, and he left behind his servants and animals and fine silks to rush up the mountain, but it felt as though his body was leaden, and burning with a strange fire that seared even when the prince tugged his robes off, leaving him in his undergarments.
The prince tried to rush up the mountain, fighting tooth and nail to ask for help against the curse that one of his bastard brothers doubtlessly hired a witch to cast against him, fearful of the help he shall gain with the king’s favor and the princess’s hand.
The prince’s strength failed and he fell, cushioned by the freshly fallen snow, accursed as it is.
“Tis no curse,” The king’s gravelly voice intoned, “Unless you count the curse of stupidity that your father surely struck you with; to not ask for advice, but a marriage from an unwilling hand. That was the start of your fate,”
The prince would have cursed, begged, offered all his gold and silks to be saved, but instead all that left his mouth was a wheeze and through his dimming vision, he saw the king shake his head at him, the bone and horn crown rattling alongside the wind.
“The lesson to be found, is to take advice wherever you can find it...and never camp where there are no trees in a valley.”
THE END.