Bear It Well~Once And Always~2/?
~Ice Queen~
It was obvious she should go get an adult. Willow was mature for her fifteen years, but she was also sensible. And as much as she would like to believe that (in all her teenaged dreams of invincibility) she could handle any situation, that sensible part of her brain wasn’t having any of it. There was a time to stake out your independence and prove your worth, and then there was a time to go running for help. Finding a hidden forest in the back of a dusty old dresser was a time when she should go running for help. More specifically, she should go get Aunt Evelyn and tell her about the hidden forest in the magical dresser in the dusty spare room.
And yet her feet stalled. Her mind was upset with her feet and her inner voice (which sounded a lot like Aunt Evelyn) quite tersely informed her that this situation was beyond her means of handling. And while she agreed, she couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if she left this place, went to get Aunt Evelyn, and came back to discover that the forest was gone. Then again, she didn’t really have to wonder about it at all. Her parents were psychologists; she’d be admitted and on a strict Ritalin regime before she even landed back in the States.
Though, admittedly, the more she thought about it, the more apparent it became that the real thing bothering her was the prospect of losing this place if she dared to leave it. After all, wasn’t this a miracle? Or magical? It was something, and she had been able to find it. It was the answer (albeit a rather strange one) to her prayers for something slightly interesting to happen so she could pass her time at the manor quickly. And while the forest was huge and the possibility of her getting lost was high (we’re talking Mt. Everest high), she couldn’t quash the desire to go off on her own to explore. Besides, wasn’t Aunt Evelyn always encouraging her to go off on ‘explorations’ of the preapproved empty rooms? She would just be listening to some sage advice from one of her elders (a cankerous and uptight one, but an elder nonetheless). And she would be where she said she would be because she wouldn’t even have to leave the room as she was still in the dresser (a child could poke holes in this supposed logical argument, but hey, no child in sight so the argument holds).
Her mind made up (and her inner voice unbelievably pissed at how stupid she was being), Willow pulled a fur coat off its hanger and draped it across her shoulders. Her decision to explore this strange land might be iffy, but she wasn’t a complete moron. She’d get hypothermia if she wandered off in her jeans and tank top. The coat was certainly warm and very soft under her fingertips, which only served to remind her of the poor woodland creatures whose demise she had been lamenting before. She felt kind of guilty wearing the coat (she might not be slinging red paint, but she was firmly against the murder and desecration of animals for the sake of ‘fashion’) but figured the animals could forgive her since she hadn’t bought the coat for herself. She was just using the tools she had been given in order to prolong her own survival (which admittedly would be much further prolonged if she just left the dresser to go get an adult!) and promised it a quick and honourable burial once she was out of the woods.
She paused before turning, her eyes heading back in the direction of the dresser. She could still make out the shape of the doors, the slight crack through which light filtered into the space. Willow thought about her decision once more (her inner voice was encouraging her to think hard about it) and then turned around and wandered off into the trees.
~*~
Willow had been content to be lost in this magical, quaint winter paradise (sure it was cold, but how often did a Californian girl get to see this much snow?). She imagined herself tucked away in a remote corner of the world, able to witness the wonders of nature away from the noise and pollution of the modern, urban world. And then she stumbled across the streetlamp.
It didn’t look like any streetlamp in Sunnydale, but she recognized the general shape. She had seen ones like that in the few glimpses she had had of ‘historic London’ when her parents had allowed it. It was old looking and covered in snow. Icicles were hanging from it and the glass of the lamp was fogged over, but the light shone clear. She reached out with one finger, poking the strong iron frame and concluding that it was really there (why she was amazed, she didn’t know). Willow wrinkled her nose and frowned up at the lantern. It was real, it was here, and it was really ruining her whole winter paradise ideal.
She didn’t understand why it was there, but the answer wasn’t coming from her standing there and staring up at it. And while she had sort of justified (very poorly) her decision to go wandering around, she was well aware of the passing of time. Aunt Evelyn wouldn’t blink twice at Willow spending most of her day in the empty rooms (it assured the continued compliance to the no-touching rule), but if Willow missed dinner there would be trouble. By the looks of her watch (the very cute Snoopy one that Xander and Jesse got her for her last birthday), she had already passed an hour in her paradise. She had maybe another hour or two before Aunt Evelyn would come looking for her. That meant she had better get her fill of this place pretty fast.
She moved past the streetlamp and further into the forest. She went along, using a rock she had picked up along the way to mark her path among the trees (see, she wasn’t a total idiot). It was so quiet in the forest, which was good in a way (a distinct lack of being told not to touch things was music to her ears). But it was also kind of bothersome. She could play Alice in Wonderland all she wanted, but eventually she would have to face reality. There was no one around. And she meant no one. There wasn’t any signs of life; no birds, no squirrels, nothing (even Alice had the Mad Hatter and rabbit fellow). She wandered amongst the trees, stopping to peer up into the branches every now and then. She was in the woods; where were the woodland creatures?
The further along she progressed, the farther she got from the dresser entrance, and the tenser she became. There was something wrong about this place (other than the whole being inside a dusty old dresser thing). It was winter, that she could tell, but it seemed like everything was frozen. Willow slowly came to a stop. Her mind was racing a mile a minute (and mostly telling her how stupid she had been) and finally fear began to replace the wonder that had guided her every step in this strange forest.
She was going back. And this time she was definitely getting out of the dresser and going to get Aunt Evelyn. The place may or may not disappear in that much time, but the sudden chill in her bones (a chill the cold did not cause) made her push past that concern. She should get out now (actually she shouldn’t have entered, but one can’t live in the past) and not come back on her own ever again.
Willow dropped her rock and began scouting the trees for the markings she had left behind (the only proof of her supposed intelligence during this entire escapade). She started to pick her way back, using her own footprints and the markings to guide her way. She hadn’t gotten very far when she first heard it.
Indistinct rustling sounds are hardly anything to be concerned about on their own. If this had been a normal forest, she bet there would have been many such sounds all around her. But in this place, where things had been so perfectly quiet for so long, the sounds were cause for worry. It was funny (in a scary sort of way); the lack of noise was what made her turn around in the first place. And now, when she had the noises she had been missing before, all she wanted to do was run as fast as she could back to Aunt Evelyn.
Perhaps it would have been wise to act on that impulse (even though she wouldn’t have made much progress being hindered by a huge fur coat and her tennis shoes were so wet and squishy now that her toes were starting to ache from the cold). But for the second time that day, Willow’s feet wouldn’t obey her mind (her inner voice had given up on them for good). She stood, absolutely still, in the middle of the strange forest and strained to hear those strange rustling noises again.
They didn’t come back, but were replaced by something far more distressing. She heard very low sounds, coming from a couple of different directions. A few of them sounded like panting breaths (and some of those were hers). But the majority of what she could hear sounded suspiciously like growls. Willow closed her eyes and marveled at her own stupidity (honestly, lamenting the lack of woodland creatures-what the hell did she need from woodland creatures?).
A very loud snapping noise drove the thoughts from her mind. Willow whipped her head in the direction of the noise, knowing (okay, having a vague idea more like) what was about to come. Her breathing became ragged and her eyes started to gather with tears (like crying would solve any of her problems). When the first wolf finally stepped into her line of vision, Willow felt as if her heart would stop cold in her chest.
There were more out there. She knew wolves hunted in packs (grade four science project had taught her all about that-even though Xander kept distracting her with demands to change the animal to a Wolverine so he could use his X-men comics for the project). She knew that they most likely had her surrounded and that she would be dead long before her feet finally smartened up enough to start running.
The wolf approached her slowly, eyes seemingly locked on her own. She was surprised at the intelligence she saw there. She had been expecting hunger and a predatory glare. Nothing could prepare her for the calculating gaze in those ice blue eyes (did it just tilt its head at her?). It started to circle around her, and she (stupid, useless girl that she was) could only follow it, turning on the spot to keep it in her sights. It stopped abruptly, head turned her way, and then audibly sniffed the air. It reared back and she swore she saw something like annoyance cross its features (what the hell was wrong with this wolf-why wasn’t she pack food yet?). It whipped around, turning its back on her and facing something else hidden among the trees.
“A human, but not one of the girls we were sent after.”
Holy freaking crap-the wolf just talked. Willow stumbled and fell to her knees. Her hands were pressed against her heart, as if trying to urge the thing to start beating again because it most definitely stopped when the wolf opened its mouth and spoke actual words (very British sounding words at that). It turned back towards her, stalking closer but never having the sense to stop talking and just be a wolf (the growling was welcome over this). She stared back at it, eyes wide and mind numb with the impossibility of it all (of course, she was in a hidden forest in the back of a dresser-why the talking wolf knocked her on her ass she didn’t know).
“Bring her anyway. She’ll want to see her.”
Then it turned its back on her. Willow had only the tiniest of warnings (that quick, sharp growl nearly made her wet her pants) and as she turned her head to the left, she barely saw the flash of grey and black fur before the front paw struck her temple. Her head snapped the other way, stars exploding behind her eyes. She dropped, face-first into the snow, before her mind shut down and everything went black.
~*~
Something had her by the back of her coat and was tugging her through the snow. It took her brain a few minutes to remember where she was and what was happening. And when that happened, Willow finally began to freak out.
She began kicking her legs and swinging her arms, hoping to strike out at whoever had hold of her (even though she knew well enough who had hold of her). Her captor grunted and pain exploded in the back of her head as she was struck forcefully once again. She gasped and stopped her struggles momentarily. Whoever had her by the coat let her go and her head fell back, landing on something painfully hard (what happened to the snow?). She stayed still, trying to blink the stars away from her vision. Her fingers searched the ground around her, feeling ice and stone all around her. Her ears picked up the sounds of growls once again and her heart seized with fear.
“That is not the one she wanted!” This was not from a voice that she recognized. The wolf who had spoken had a rougher voice. This voice was too high-pitched and the accent was all wrong (didn’t sound British in the slightest).
“It’s a human” came the response, and this she knew to be a wolf (she shouldn’t recognize the voice of a wolf-wolves shouldn’t talk!). “Maugrim said to bring her here.”
Squeaky Voice didn’t sound placated by the explanation. “Maugrim should know better than to send what was not wanted!”
“Should we let her go then?” the wolf sounded bored and unconcerned (even though it shouldn’t sound anything at all because it shouldn’t be talking!).
Her vision was starting to clear, but it did her no good because suddenly there were hands on her, trying to turn her over. Willow whimpered and tried to fight the move. There was some more growling and then some cursing (Squeaky Voice had a severe potty mouth) before one of her captors delivered a swift kick to her ribs. The air went out of her and she began to cough and sputter. Another one followed the first mere seconds later. She quickly learned her lesson and stopped resisting. She was pushed (more like thrown) onto her front and her hands were yanked backwards.
“You should have just killed her!” Squeaky Voice was huffing and puffing as he slipped a coarse rope around her wrists. She grimaced as he tied a tight knot, obviously not caring that he was cutting off the circulation in her hands. He stepped back, done for with the knot, and then there was a pull on her wrists. “On your feet!”
Willow struggled onto her knees, weakly raising her head. The wolf was there when she managed to get her eyes open (and it was no less scary than before). It gazed at her calmly (seriously, why the hell did it have such human-like expressions?), and then looked past her to where she assumed Squeaky Voice was standing.
“What if there are more of them coming?” it said (God, just seeing its mouth move like that made her want to scream). “You have to admit, it’s strange. No humans in Narnia for over a hundred years and suddenly the forests are teeming with them.”
Squeaky Voice harrumphed. “Five is not five hundred. But very well, if the esteemed Maugrim deems it best, I will take her to the queen.”
They talked around her, like she wasn’t there (more like it didn’t matter that she was there). She was trying to piece together the things they were saying, but the little she heard didn’t make much sense. She got that humans weren’t all too common around here and that her presence was either unwelcome or suspicious (she should have gone to get Aunt Evelyn!). It probably had a lot to do with the other four humans that were (most likely) somewhere in the forest. She kept hearing that she wasn’t the one that this queen person (was she a talking animal too?) wanted and that made her wonder what the other four had done to get into trouble with the queen.
Squeaky Voice tugged on the rope binding her hands. “On your feet!” This time the order came with a kick to her back. Willow gasped and then immediately tried to get to her feet. Her ribs were still stinging from the kicks before and it hurt every time she took in a breath. She didn’t move fast enough, Squeaky Voice was going to kick her some more (which wasn’t going to help much with the faster mobility, but he didn’t seem to care about that).
She managed to get to her feet, her tennis shoes still wet and mushy, but she was able to stay upright. She finally got a chance to look around at her surroundings and found herself in an ice-covered courtyard. There were statues everywhere. Some were animals and some were mythical creatures, like centaurs and giants. They were done in incredible detail. So much so that she felt uneasy (statues weren’t supposed to be that lifelike, were they?).
A jab to her back jolted her out of her thoughts. Only this time it wasn’t the jab of a fist or foot. There was something sharp pressed into the flesh of her back (he had a knife-why did he need a knife? She was cooperating, wasn’t she?). She moved her feet, spying the stairs just to her left. She took a few hesitant steps that way and when she wasn’t hit with anything, she assumed it was the way to go. The stairs were slippery with ice (didn’t the queen have a royal step salter or something?) and she stumbled her way up them. Squeaky Voice (who she hadn’t actually seen yet) jabbed her periodically with his knife, as if to remind her that he was still there. They entered a huge room that reminded her of the entrance hall back at the manor (and now she was back to desperately wanting Aunt Evelyn to save her). But the entrance hall of the manor was filled with objects and paintings. This room was bare, ice and icicles everywhere, with the exception of a large chair set upon a dais (she’s read enough fairytales to recognize a throne when she saw one).
“On your knees for the queen!” Squeaky Voice hit the back of her legs hard while simultaneously using the rope to yank her down. She fell gracelessly to her knees, knowing that she’d be one giant bruise once she got out of here (if she ever managed to get out of here). Willow blinked away tears of pain and tried to steady her breathing. Maybe the queen would hear her out, but she would have to be coherent and believable if that was going to happen. She needed to regain her calm (she needed Aunt Evelyn) and just try to explain herself (would anyone believe her magic dresser story?).
“What is this, Ginarrbrik?” The queen (Willow was assuming it was the queen) had a voice as ice cold as her throne room. Willow looked up, expecting a wolf, a bear, or anything but the tall woman who glided into the room. She was dressed all in white and the embellishments on her dress shone and reflected like all the ice around her. Her skin was white (she was talking white as the snow) and her hair was fair, pulled into a complicated series of braids and knots on the top of her head. Her eyes were green and gazed sharply into Willow’s own green eyes. Whatever Willow had to say, whatever pleas or bargains she had been ready to make were lost in a second. The queen was tall, beautiful, and utterly terrible to look at (the talking animals were better than this scary inhuman giantess).
Squeaky Voice jabbed her once more (like she needed to be reminded of his knife) and stepped into her line of vision for the first time. He was short (midget short) and hairy (like Xander’s Uncle Randy hairy). His beard was a dirty grey colour and down to his waist. He had a bulbous nose and ruddy red skin. There was a long red cap pulled over his head and various fur cloths draped over his body to protect against the cold. His face was screwed up in an angry glare as he stepped forward and bowed to his queen.
“Maugrim found her in the forest,” Squeaky Voice (or Ginarrbrik) explained, waving his hand to indicate Willow. “She’s not one of the ones you wanted, but she’s a Daughter-of-Eve for certain. He sent one of his wolves to bring her back here.”
The queen seemed to accept this calmly, green eyes looking Willow up and down. Willow felt a shiver shoot down her spine at the blank look on that white face. “Has he sent no word of the others?”
Ginarrbrik shook his head and there was a flash of annoyance in those cold eyes. Wordlessly, the queen descended the dais and came to stand before Willow. She held what looked like a specter in her hands, but when she brought it forward Willow saw it was sharp and pointed at both ends. The queen shot her hand out and suddenly one sharp end was poking Willow under the chin, forcing her head upwards. Willow couldn’t stop the tears this time (this queen scared her a lot more than all the other scary things she had seen so far).
“What is your name, Daughter-of-Eve?”
Willow didn’t understand why they kept calling her that (her mother was Sheila, not Eve). Her lack of a quick response seemed to anger the queen. Greater pressure was applied to the sharp specter under her chin and Willow felt it cut into her skin. A slow trickle of blood made its way down her throat and Willow fought the urge to break down into an incoherent mess. “Willow,” she sobbed, craning her neck to find some relief from the weapon under her chin. “My name is Willow.”
“How came you to my realm, Willow?”
Willow blinked and took in a gasping breath. The queen seemed content to wait for her this time. “I, uh I came from the dresser. The dresser in the spare room-“
“Spare ‘oom again?” the queen turned to look at Ginarrbrik. “The land must be overflowing with silly little humans. Tell me, Willow of Spare ‘oom, where are the others?”
Willow just shook her head. “I don’t know. I was alone. I never saw anyone else.”
The queen’s calm evaporated just like that. The specter was withdrawn, but the slap that followed was sudden and powerful. Willow toppled to the ground for the second time that day, her lip split open and blood filling her mouth. The tears came quickly now and she couldn’t form a sentence to save her life (of course, there didn’t seem to be anything she could that could save her life at this point). The queen stalked away without another word, stopping only when she stood next to Ginarrbrik.
“Put her with the other,” was the short command, and then the queen was gone. Ginarrbrik was snickering evilly when he came to collect Willow from her spot on the floor. His treatment of her was rougher than ever and she thought her arms were going to fall out of their sockets at this point. His knife was out the second he yanked her to her knees. She didn’t need to be told what to do this time, but it was harder than before as she was still stinging from the queen’s slap. She slipped more than once but finally got to her feet. She was pulled out of the room and taken down a flight of stairs. It became darker and darker as they descended and she figured she knew where they were headed (all palaces have dungeons, don’t they?).
Ginarrbrik led her down a dark hallway, grunting a few words to the absolutely horrific creature that must have been the dungeon guard (weren’t there any nice creatures in this stupid magical world?). She was directed down a corridor of cells, Ginarrbrik yanking her over to one in particular. The caged door creaked open and she was shoved in without a word. Her foot touched on a patch of ice and she slid gracelessly for a second before falling flat on her back.
“Enjoy your company, little prince!” Ginarrbrik was laughing uproariously as he headed out of the dungeon. Willow whimpered and curled up into a fetal position. Her ribs still hurt, her cheek was probably bruised, and her whole body ached from all the falling she was doing. Tears rained down her cheeks and Willow tried to wish herself away from this horrible place (it worked for Dorothy that one time-but Willow was without the requisite ruby slippers).
Shuffling sounds from the corner of the cell stopped her quiet breakdown. Her mind raced with all kinds of thoughts, every one of them more terrible than the last (given her track record with this place, the pessimism wasn’t surprising).
“Are you okay?”
She hadn’t expected a soft voice, or one tinged with concern. The voice was young sounding and sure enough, her companion turned out to be a boy who seemed to be a few years younger than she was. He was trying to scoot his way over to her, but stopped when she moved her head to look at him. He was dressed in a sweater, a pair of shorts, and knee high socks. His feet were chained and though he didn’t look like he had been roughed up, the boy did look miserable (duh, he was in a dungeon!). But he was human, and therefore he was the most beautiful thing Willow had ever seen.
“Are you okay?” he repeated, nervously licking his lips as he waited for her to speak. She shook her head in response, blinking away tears to look closely at the younger boy. She tried to struggle her way into a sitting position, moaning from pain all the while. Once upright and resting against the wall, she spared him another glance.
“Who are you?” she asked, her voice hoarse from crying. He seemed slightly saddened (and shamed?) by her question. One shoulder raised up in a shrug and he brought his knees up to his chest.
“I’m Edmund.”
She nodded absently, like the name meant something to her when they both know it didn’t. “I’m Willow. You’re one of the other four, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, and if she finds the others, we’re all doomed.”
She was pretty sure they were doomed anyway. Where was Aunt Evelyn when she needed her?
~*~