Chapter Text
"Are we human because we gaze at the stars? Or do we gaze at them, because we are human? Pointless, really. 'Do the stars gaze back?', now that's a question." (Opening scene of Stardust)
The elderly king of Stormhold lay on his bed trying to bring air into his lungs through wheezing breathes. He was a fit man, well groomed and swaddled in an array of furs and fine silks from all corners of his kingdom.
And he was only an hour, at best from what his physicians were saying, from death.
He studied the five of his eight children in the room with him, frowning with that though prevalent in his mind. Standing over his bed were four of his six sons: Claude, Caleb, Pippen and James. Standing next the boys was one of his two lovely daughters: little Sophia.
His children were lacking in many, many areas. To be frank, they were total imbeciles, he thought gloomily. What a horrid predicament they'd put him in: on his deathbed with no clear heir with which he could entrust his throne. What was this foolishness? He had no such problems at their age and he'd had twelve brothers to deal with! They'd all been dead before their father felt so much as a cough, yet his sons couldn't even wheedle their numbers down properly. Still four out of the six standing, honestly.
Oh well, not everyone could live up to such a legacy, he admitted in defeat, exhaling the tension in his shoulders as he continued to study them.
But damn, despite all their flaws, he had some good looking children. His sons all took after him in all the right ways: well-trimmed, fit figures with dark, luscious locks of brown hair and deep brown eyes. All perfect figures for the image of a king. And his daughters, though utterly useless, were true beauties. Little Sophia, his youngest child, with her light hair and pretty green eyes, looked just a little too much like her mother. He could see some of himself in her nose and mouth, he supposed, and though she didn't have the elegance of the look of him and his sons, Sophia had her own beauty. There was, after all, a reason that he'd married their mother, even though that women was so disgustingly full of will and opinions. Yes, he mused, Sophia's light look sickeningly reminded him of her mother, but she was still quite gorgeous.
But his oldest child, Ana, was a true dark beauty. She had layers of hair that were the color of night and smooth, perfect skin that was like porcelain. She may been have been a prince, and therefore was rather below his attention, but she was almost like a mix of a very female version of him and a precious doll. By that extension, she was indeed beautiful, and worth her flaws through the bits of himself she reflected back.
"Father," Pippen spoke up, breaking the king from his thoughts with the annoying shrilled voice of his, "should we not see to the matter of succession?"
"Ana?" The king asked as he looked up at the boy, delirium projecting thoughts of his daughter onto his son.
Pippen scowled but put on a happy smile. If there was ever a time to suck up to his father, it was now—no matter how ill it made him to his stomach. Just think of the kingdom, he told himself firmly, keeping that smile in place.
"No, father. It's your son. Pippen."
"Oh," the king rolled his eyes, "And where is Ana? Where is your sister?"
"She's been missing for years, father. No need to start pretending to care now," Sophia said from her position near the head of the grand bed, her expression sour.
"Hold your tongue, you insufferable little wench!" Pippen snarled, raising his hand to strike his younger sister as he moved forward. Whether he cared about his father or not, no woman would talk to him like that in Pippen's presence.
Sophia cringed and cowered against the headboard, bracing for the strike. But before Pippen's hand could meet the girl's cheek, a steely grip locked around his forearm. As Pippen looked over his shoulder, his gaze met the seething brown orbs of his youngest brother.
"Keep your hands off her," James said with a growl.
"Aww, growing a backbone are we, Jamie?"
Jamie pulled his teeth back in a snarl, arching his back in an attempt to seem taller and more threatening to his larger brother. The effort only made Pippen laugh and he easily tore his arm out of Jamie's grip. He shoved the younger prince back and Jamie moved to hit him when the king interrupted them.
"Now, now boys," the king broke off with a hacking cough, his whole body trembling with the force of it. "Pippen," he mock scolded when he got his breath back, still smiling.
"What?" the older prince asked, his face alight with feigned shock.
"You know tradition dictates the throne can only be passed to a male heir," the king said with a small smile, focusing on his missing daughter rather than the small tussle between the boys.
"Yeah, I know. So why would you think I killed Ana? I still have these morons to take care of," he said with a wave at his brothers. Said morons all rolled their eyes in annoyance and insult.
The king laughed in approval, and Pippen sent a sneer at the other three princes. Score one for Pippen, he all but shouted.
The princess only rolled her eyes and edged away from the bed and the man lying on it with a scowl. She was surrounded by idiotic men and stuck with no power against any of it. Being a princess in this family sucked, she thought, not for the first time, with a sigh.
"Now, that brings us to the predicament of my succession." The four princes leaned forward eagerly, "As you know, we have not had a problem, such as this, in many generations," the king wheezed, breathe passing with more and more difficulty.
"Father, why don't you just rest? This can wait until morning," Jamie said.
No matter how cruel this man was to his children, how he had never shown even the smallest shred of affection to any of them and encouraged that his sons kill each other, he was still Jamie's father and the youngest prince loved him. To see his father put himself under such strain was difficult to watch, and knowing that he would die this night tore his heart to shreds.
"It cannot," the king insisted and Jamie silenced himself. "As we have not faced, a predicament such as this in such a while, we will solve this matter, outside of the restraints of tradition."
The king paused again, trembling as death closed in on him. Determined to see this through to the end, the king forced his quivering hands to unclasp the ruby that hung low on his chest from the golden chain draped around his neck. The gem had been an heirloom of the kingdom for five generations, belonging to the very first king of his bloodline. Every king since had worn it, and so it seemed fitting that the stone should solve this particular problem. Forcing in air into his lungs once again, the elder mutter a spell over the gem, watching the beautiful deep red color drained from the ruby. With the now transparent stone hovering in front of his face, the king drew in what he knew would be his final breathe.
"Only he of my blood can restore the ruby. And the one who does so, shall, be, be the new king, of Stormhold." With the last of his breathe, the king blew over the stone, cementing the spell as he went limp and fell into death.
For a moment the room was silent, the four princes staring at the hovering stone in awe. It was encased in golden light, hovering over the body of their dead father like it was waiting for them. Pippen was the first to make a grab for it as the necklace suddenly dashed for the window. Claude stopped him with an elbow to the throat that knocked his older brother to his knees. Caleb shoved them both aside and Jamie dashed past them only to have Pippen latch onto his leg. He fell to the ground, pulling Caleb with him, then all four men were clambering over each and dashing after the stone as it zipped out the window and out of their reach, soaring ever higher into the sky as it flew across the kingdom.
"Well, what happens now?" Claude asked, leaning out of the window so he could gaze up at the sky to follow the stone.
Pippen scowled at the younger prince, rubbing his sore throat. Then his grinned, moved closer to Claude, and positioned his hand to hover over the small of the younger man’s back.
"Now it's a race to the stone. May the best man win." With that he shoved his hand into Claude's back, sending his brother over the edge of the window with a scream. And he laughed as he watched Claude's form disappear as it fell from the tallest tower of the castle.
Pippen smiled at his two remaining brothers, who had darted away from the window and safely out of reach. The two stared at him warily as he continued to laugh, "For my throat," he said down to where Claude had vanished, spitting to emphasis his distaste.
Then he gazed back up at where the stone was now just a streak of light in the sky. The other two princes flanked him to do the same. Pippen only looked their way to send Caleb a warning look as the man timidly lifted his hands to push him out, as well. When Caleb cowered appropriately, he directed his gaze back to the sky above. The three stood watching as the streak of light that was the stone became dimmer and dimmer.
#
In the heavens above, the stars watched. Observing the world below them was all that there was to do, after all, and the death of a king of Stormhold was always a spectacle. As such, it drew the attention of almost every star in the sky.
And so, almost every star witnessed the king's last act and saw the royal gem soaring toward them, wild magic pushing it far into the heavens. Unfortunately, the only star not watching these events was the only one the stone was hurtling toward. The brothers and sisters of this star could only watch in pity and horror as the stone continued its path of collision.
#
The young star was watching the other side of the world when the king of Stormhold took his last breath. Below him, there were children playing in the snow, having fun as they laughed and played. It was nothing overly amazing, nothing world changing, mundane and ordinary but he was a young star; he'd hardly seen three hundred lives of men, and he liked to watch the simple things. He loved to watch children play, and families love. It filled him with great happiness that was, sadly, lost to many of the older stars. He never saw the stone as soared toward him, never knew to be afraid.
When the stone struck him, at first he wasn't sure what happened. All he knew was that it hurt, and jerked his attention away from the fun below. He found that very annoying. But when he turned his attention to the source of the pain, a light that was brighter than anything he'd seen, even as a star, flashed around him. Then, he was torn from his place in the sky and he felt utter fear as he realized he was Falling. The sky around him warped, blurring around him in a streak of white and purple light. He watched in a detached kind of terror as the ground rapidly came closer.
After a time that was both much too long and too short, he struck the ground. As the pain wracked through him, he saw the Earth shoot upward in a plume that blocked out the sky.
The light that had surrounded him dimmed slowly, pulsing from his chest for a moment longer before fading all together. When everything cleared, the last of the light and the dust, he blinked up at the sky, where the stars looked down at him. And he had to laugh, because nothing ever looked down on him; that was his job.
The longer he sat there blinking, the more clear everything became. And the clearer it became, the less he wanted to laugh and the more he wanted to cry. His laugh died away and he choked on tears, afraid and confused and hurting from his collision with the earth. To keep the tears at bay– because he didn't know much about this new life, but he knew he didn't like crying, at all – he focused on his surroundings.
He looked up at the stars, at his family that he was so abruptly cut off from and that didn't help with his plan of not crying. So instead, he focused on him. If he turned his head to the side, he could see his hand, he had hands that was so weird! He couldn't force that hand to do anything though, it just stayed there, laying just a little higher than his head.
It was cushioned in a fabric that was soft and silky to the touch, billowing and much like the color of a stormy day, turned up toward the sky with fingers that were curled into the palm ever so slightly. Frowning at that, he turned his focus else-where, thinking. It only made since that if he had a hand, he had a body that went with that hand, which was also very weird. But he couldn't see that body, because his head – head head head he had a head! A head complete with hair that was like moonlight and hanging in his eyes– wouldn't work any better than his hand. His body wasn't working at all so it was actually really boring, and he couldn't bring himself to look at the sky he'd been tossed out of. So, overall, his fight against crying wasn't working to well as he'd hoped.
He forced his head to the side – and hey, that actually worked!—to do something to not cry. And there just next to him, was a necklace. Deciding to keep his mind on that, he managed to force his hand to move and grab it, and he was very proud of that accomplishment. He grabbed the necklace and pulled it close, finding that he really liked the cool feel of the clear stone under his palm. He let out another laugh and looked back up at the sky, forgetting the sadness it brought him in the elation of making his hand work.
The heavens above were a deep midnight blue, appearing endless, something he knew to be perfectly true. The lights of his family shinned down mournfully to him, so remote and far away. Before the tears could well up again, the star's attention was drawn to the beautifully glowing orb of the moon. It hung over him, blocking out the rest of the sky with its light, big and bright and chasing away all the fear and pain of his Fall.
Then, the light of the moon fell over him, warm and soft, and the moon spoke to him. And he listened for a time before the light was gone, leaving him alone in the darkness of the world. His fight against not crying suddenly didn't seem so important.
He drew the necklace to his chest and curled in on himself and let himself cry his sorrow to the sky above, where he longed to be with all his heart. When he was finally done, his throat raw and his nose stuffy, he looked back up at the sky, at the now silent moon, and thought about what he knew about his new life.
His name was Jack Frost, from what the moon had told him, and he had Fallen.
That was all, he thought and he let himself cry again