#fic prep | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

serenescribe · 5 months

Note

Bit of an odd request but I was listening to a bit of music and I was hit by an idea-

Idk if you know the tale of the Snow Queen, but essentially snow queens powerful ice mirror shatters, all but two pieces are recovered. One shard lands in a boys eye making him turn icey and Queen snatched him up.

However consider- Snow King Silver dragging a “mortal” who has a piece of something that was his. Unaware said “mortal” is actually a fae whose intrigued by this King’s combination of harshness yet tenderness.

the snow prince Twisted Wonderland | 3.9k Summary: A mysterious spell afflicts one Lilia Vanrouge, encasing his heart in frigid cold. AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51960883

FREED FROM UNI, I AM! I actually had this written for a while, but put off posting it to save it for a more appropiate season. I really love Snow Queen retellings and AUs, so this was a LOT of fun to write! Thank you, Olive! :D

(An aside: There are extremely minor spoilers for TWST CH7 in here; they're all under the cut and mentioned in passing. If you're trying to avoid every little detail of CH7, I'd suggest passing up on this!)

In the heat of a sweltering summer that sweeps Briar Valley like a storm, Lilia feels a prick of something sharp enter his eyes.

It happens so fast, so swiftly, that had Lilia not been one of the fair folk, he likely would not have noticed it at all. If he were a human, for example, with their sluggish reflexes and oblivious tendencies, lacking a natural affinity for magic in comparison to the fae, Lilia would have chalked up the prick in his eye to a stray lash falling in, rubbing around until he feels as though he’s flicked it out before moving on with his day.

But Lilia is not human. He is fae.

He knows, at once, despite trying and failing to dig out whatever it is that has entered his eye, that it is not a stray lash or a speck of dust. There is a strange magic emanating off of the tiny sharp splinter, an aura he picks up on in an instant. It’s peculiar, the way it makes him shudder as he brushes against it, the sensation likened to the cold of a dead winter. It is unlike anything he has ever felt before.

But gradually, Lilia has to put a pause on his efforts. He is out on a journey to meet with humans for talks of peace, for their centuries-long wars are slowly crawling to an end. His soldiers look at him in concern, clicking their tongues as they ask him, “General, are you alright? Do we need to stop for a while?”

“I am fine,” Lilia says, waving his hand in dismissal. “I simply got something in my eye, is all.”

It is not wrong to say that, for it is not a lie at all. But Lilia knows as well as anyone else that the strange prick of magic infesting his eye warrants further inspection.

Later, he tells himself, as they continue on with their journey on horseback, for the stalemate in their war has allowed for easier travel through ways of steed.

Time ticks by, the lazy heat of summer dipping into the beginnings of a chilly autumn. But despite the changing seasons, the months that have passed since that fateful summer day, Lilia comes no closer to discovering what it is that ails him so deeply.

He is not oblivious to the changes occurring to him; quite the opposite, in fact. Lilia has carried about him a strange self-awareness about his shifting attitude, only realising the differences in how he’s been acting when he reflects on the changes in hindsight. He’s never exactly been the pinnacle of warmth, and especially not after his beloved friends died, but he’s always held a fondness in his heart for the few he opens up to — namely his second in command, Baul Zigvolt, and the young heir to the throne and son of his deceased friend, Malleus Draconia.

But now?

Lilia stifles a sigh as he reminisces, trudging through the gardens of the castle. The leaves are shifting to warm hues, leaves fluttering in shades of vermillion red and golden yellow, and the fallen leaves give a satisfying crunch when his boots stomp into them.

He exhales, twisting his lips as he raises his head up to the world around him. It looks as it always has, Lilia knows that well. And yet… something about it has felt different since that day.

Everything has begun to feel… boring. Banal and bland at best, wickedly ugly at worst. The crunch of the leaves irritates his ears, the drought of the autumn air makes his nose feel too sore. He turns his nose up at the food the castle staff serve, wrinkling his nose at the pungent smell of a dish he used to love, and he turns down whoever offers him a mug of beer, the foam that guzzles over the rim leaving his hands sticky and gross.

Lilia knows he’s changing. It’s not just his emotions, but also in the way he sees the world — everything is so intimately different in the worst way, and every waking hour he spends feels like a chore, an obligation he drags himself through. Where he used to spend time with Baul and his fellow men, or with Malleus most of all, being the one to raise him since he hatched, he now spends it all… alone.

But knowing something logically is different from knowing it emotionally. There are only so many apologies he can force out with his insincere tongue, schooling his expression into a facsimile of sincere regret. At the end of the day — of each day — Lilia truly feels nothing at all except the vacant void of a howling gelidity, frostbite nipping through his very veins.

At the very least, his men have respected this change, regardless of how perplexed they seem to be. Baul had pulled him aside once or twice to ask if he was feeling fine, but had he not been so preoccupied with his daughter’s sudden interest in the Valley’s newest dentist, a peculiar human who’d chosen to move here, of all places, he would have surely pressed the matter further.

On the other hand…

“Lilia!”

He sucks in a breath at the sound of that familiar voice. Once, it had lightened his heart to be greeted to such a cry upon returning to the castle from one of his many campaigns. But now?

“Hello, Malleus,” Lilia greets, making a deliberate effort to soften his voice as he turns to greet the young prince. Malleus has grown a great deal since he first hatched, now towering slightly above Lilia. Still, the boy has an inclination for continuing to call out to him childishly — something that had endeared Lilia in times past, but now only serves to irritate him by no fault of Malleus at all. “Is there something you require of me?”

“Not require, per se,” Malleus answers, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. He toys with the chain of his cloak with one hand. “I was merely hoping that you could spare the time to join me today for some tea. It has been quite a while, after all. I understand you’ve been busy as of late, but you do not appear to have anything on today, so I thought—”

“You’re rambling again.” Abruptly, Malleus’ mouth snaps shut. Lilia winces internally at his misstep; why had he interrupted the prince like that, in so cold a tone? He sighs. “Apologies. I have been under… a great deal of stress recently.”

“It is no matter, Lilia.”

Well that’s good, at least, Lilia thinks. Averting his gaze, he says, “Unfortunately, I do not believe I can join you today.”

A pause.

“Truly?” He hears it, the surprise in Malleus’ voice, mixing in with a forlorn misery. “I was certain that you had nothing to do today, given your schedule…”

“I—” Pressing his lips together, Lilia thinks before he says, rather stiffly, “It is true that I may not have anything on. But I would like some time to myself if you would be so kind, my prince.”

Ah, another slip up of his. To refer to Malleus by his title rather than his name… the gap between them only widens, and the only reason why Lilia worries about it is because he fears that he may go too far, say the wrong thing when it’s far too late to take anything back. But what’s done is done; Lilia raises his head in time to see Malleus recoil, hurt glimmering in those chartreuse eyes of his.

If Lilia stays longer… will he continue to mess up so miserably?

Before Malleus can speak, Lilia cuts in. “If there is nothing else that requires my attention,” he says, “I would like to return to my walk. Good day, Malleus. Give my regards to the queen.”

And, abruptly, he turns on his heels and leaves.

Oh, Lilia knows that Malleus is displeased. He knows it because, within mere moments, there is a gentle flutter of snow wafting down from the skies. He raises his head, blinking up at the fluttering snowflakes — so delicate and fragile, a byproduct of the prince’s tumultuous emotions, his magic far too powerful for him to properly handle when his emotions explode past his limits.

And yet, when he sets his eyes upon the swirling snow, Lilia feels…

Something.

He raises a hand, watching a snowflake land on his finger — so tiny, so delicate, an eight-pointed speck weaved into such an elegant pattern. It melts almost instantly against the warm flush of his skin — and yet, Lilia is transfixed, mouth parting slightly as he steps back, watching as the snow begins to flurry down faster and faster, cascading through the skies. How long has it been since he’d felt anything other than such apathy, such revulsion, such irritation and disgust? Now, Lilia only feels a sense of childlike wonder.

When was the last time he stopped to stare at the snow as it fell? He cannot remember. Has he ever stopped to observe it like this? Or had war stripped away such inconsequential pastimes from his life?

Lilia does not know how long he wanders around, watching the snowflakes dance until he goes numb, so numb with the cold. He only knows that his fingers are frozen and his lips are blue when he finally returns to the castle in a daze, barely cognisant of the way his entire body is battered, pushed past the natural limitations of his faerie strength.

Winter crashes into Briar Valley like an enemy ambush, a sudden attack spurned from the shadows of nothingness. It is the worst winter they have had in an eternity, everyone says, peering outside the frost-tinted windows as they bask within the toasty walls of the castle grounds; the fire-spells keep everyone warm for as long as they stay inside.

With the thick layers of snow barring any method of safe travel, the ongoing talks of their peace treaties with the humans have been temporarily suspended — more for the children of men’s sakes than that of the fae. If she so willed it, Queen Maleficia could wash away the snow with a flick of her wrist, but such matters, in her opinion, are trivial; nature is not something to be fixed at an instant, so why should she expend her energy for such things?

So during those days, cooped up within the castle walls with little to do, Lilia winds up lounging in the cushioned nook of a window, a little alcove tucked away in a winding tower towards the murky corners of the castle. Few fae ever roam here, save for a scant few servants pattering about cleaning the dusty hallways, and Lilia spends many languid hours with his head pressed against the cool glass, so intensely transfixed on the dancing snowflakes outside.

They are beautiful. Perhaps they are the last bits of perfection he shall ever witness in his life.

He has found no information about the shard that pricked his eye, nor has he found any sort of cure. Lilia has spent many a month searching, sifting through the treasure trove of books in the castle’s library to no avail. He had, at one point, considered going to the queen and telling her of his predicament — “In the month of summer, I believe a magical spell of some kind has afflicted my eye.” — but his own apathy stops him every time; there is simply no point in dragging others into this matter, not because Lilia does not wish to trouble them, but because, try as he might, the larger part of him just doesn’t care.

So, with his head pressed against the cold glass, Lilia closes his eyes and sighs.

The winter solstice is approaching, the longest night of the year. As nocturnal fae, creatures of the night, it is a joyous cause for celebration for their kind. Despite the blizzard that rages across the Valley night and day, many servants, guardsmen, people of their kingdom have been looking forward to the events; the castle town shall be open to all, shielded from the elements. All fae, young and old, can look forward to a night of dancing and festivities, dining on the finest food at the banquets, and celebrating the longevity of the night.

In years past, Lilia would have looked forward to it. But now, like everything else in his life, he feels nothing at all.

“Lilia? Are you here?”

He stifles a groan at the sound of Malleus’ voice. Again and again, the boy continues to scour for him, to seek him out and spend time with him. Lilia tries to indulge him, he really does! But each occasion spent together, needing to force himself to fake sincerity the whole way through — “Oh yes, Malleus, I would like to try the new blend of tea! Thank you kindly for the offer. How is your grandmother doing? I heard she has spent some time with you as of late—”

He can’t stand it. He can’t. It gets harder and harder with each passing day, the chill that permeates his skin sinking deeper and deeper, turning his heart into one carved of ice. His eye prickles with pain whenever he grits his teeth in a false smile; across the table from him, the young prince looks detestable, a selfish beast with far too much time, uncaring of what his servants are subjected to in their indulgence of him.

So he avoids him. As soon as Lilia hears him, he flicks his wrist, a swell of magic surrounding him. Bat-formed, Lilia takes to the rafters, huddling away in the corners of the ceiling as he listens to Malleus come and go. It is only when he hears that familiar voice fading away that he dares to leave, flapping his little wings as he makes a break for another isolated corner of the labyrinthian castle.

The day of the winter solstice arrives, and with it comes the worst blizzard the valley has ever seen.

Cold winds lash against the fortifications of the castle, howling and rattling. Snow crashes from the sky, piling higher and higher upon the dead ground. And yet the castle is alight with the buzz of festivities — the many servants bustle about, wrapping up the last of their preparations, ensuring the banquet is ready with food for all, that the decor floats about in place, that the spells wrapping the castle and its town in a bubble of warmth remain solidly intact.

Throughout the day, Lilia sticks to the shadows, hovering out of sight. Today he feels… he doesn’t know how to describe it. Cold and dead as usual, his heart no longer the warm, affectionate thing it was before — but beneath the thick layers of apathy, there is something nestled beneath: the barest twitch of a muscle, a flutter of something. Lilia finds himself distracted with it the entire day as he meanders about, waiting for the clock to tick to a point when the festivities can start.

And when they do begin, the many residents of the valley teleporting into the castle en masse… Oh, how does Lilia even begin to describe them? Laughter rings freely, the merry melody of music from a string band sweeping the air as dancers circle across the floor. Wine glasses clink as people toast to prosperity and magic, hoping to see the weather ease up soon, and even the queen herself is out and about, walking amidst the crowd, a smile on her face as she mingles with the few faeries bold enough to approach her.

But Lilia—

He feels nothing watching all this. Nothing at all.

And yet… there is something else. That peculiar emotion buried underneath… it sings to him, calls to him, as though someone’s voice were tugging at a string. It only strengthens as the night goes on, likened to an unbearable itch; it is the first blissful thing he has felt in what feels like an eternity, and Lilia—

He misses it. He misses being able to love, to feel something other than apathy at best, and all these horrible, miserable emotions at worst — a repugnance, a rage, an irascibility that sparks every time someone tries to converse with him. Lilia misses being able to love freely, his heart softening as he grows older, brought on by the loss he’s experienced, and the love he mustered up to be able to raise Malleus into the man he is today.

So who can blame him for slipping off, for finding a way out of the castle grounds? Lilia answers the call, sneaking past guards who are far too drunk on wine, laughing and shouting as they play games at their stations. He does not bother with whisking up thick clothes for himself; Lilia merely plunges into the blizzard, battered at once by shrieking winds and a pelting of snow against his face, of a storm so deadly chilling that it would ravage even the strongest of faes.

And yet, he does not feel cold.

He grits his teeth as he presses on, dragging his legs through the thick boughs of snow. Lilia knows not how long it takes for him to trudge, only that it feels like forever — but he knows he is getting somewhere, because with each step he takes, the tugging in his chest grows and grows, the intensity of the emotion exciting him for the first time in months.

Is this the answer to his ailment?

Is there a cure tucked within the heart of the storm?

Lilia takes one step, and then another. He takes a third, and—

All at once, everything stops.

The wind dies away. The blizzard softens to a gentle snowfall. Little flakes of snow dance through the air as Lilia walks forward, head turning to and fro. How peculiar this is! He raises a hand, watching a flake fall into the open palm of his hand and rest there, and it is only the sound of hooves clumping against snow that snaps him out of his reverie.

Lilia turns his head, and sees a child.

A boy, who gazes at him with wide eyes that reflect the northern lights — auroras of shifting veins tinted shades of pink, purple, and blue, lights that Lilia has only gotten the chance to see once during a journey across the world. His hair sweeps across his forehead, locks of the purest silver as though spun from the nighttime stars, streaked with white like the pristine paleness of snow. He sits on a white stag, ice-spun crystals hanging from its glacial antlers, and around him is a fur-lined cloak and hood that swallows him whole, far too big for his tiny body.

Lilia’s breathing hitches—

Because the boy before him is the most beautiful thing he has seen in a long time.

“Hello,” the boy says after a while, a glimmering curiosity in those wide eyes of his. His mount trots forward, bringing him closer. “I’ve never seen you before,” he says, looking at Lilia closely.

At that, Lilia laughs. “I could say the same to you, little one.” He rests a hand on his hips, relishing in the joy, the curiosity, the emotions that flood him in full force; it has been so long! “It is a rare sight to see a young boy riding a stag in a storm like this.”

The boy’s face falls, and Lilia feels… worried. Did he upset him somehow? “I’ve been trying to stop the storm for a while now,” the boy explains, auroral eyes flicking to the storm that rages outside the bubble they’re within, continuing to ravage the valley to no end. “B-but it’s my first time really trying such a thing, and I don’t… really know how.”

Ah, Lilia thinks, finally coming to understand. A lost child. A boy with power over the very elements itself, who can control the season of cold and snow. And yet, who would place such responsibility upon a child, one so very young? He feels the fervent urge to lean in and coddle him, to reassure him that it’s alright, you’re trying your very best, I can help you if you just let me.

And why shouldn’t he do such a thing?

“I can help you, if you would like.”

In a flash, those pupils lock on him. “Would you?” the boy breathes. “I-I wouldn’t want to trouble you, mister—”

“It’s no trouble at all!” Lilia insists, stepping forward with a beaming smile on his face. He reaches out for the stag, feeling the beast nuzzle against the palm of his hand as he strokes it gently. Why should he return to the castle, to that unyielding, endless void of apathy and misery? Here, with the boy with eyes like the auroras and hair like the stars, Lilia feels something — the warm glow of parental affection, already growing so attached to such a young child.

“Then…” the boy mumbles, “would you come with me?”

Lilia only smiles. “Of course.”

And as he clambers onto the back of the steed, he asks, before they leave, one final question: “Pray tell, little one, what is your name?”

“My name?” the boy echoes, furrowing his brows. “I… I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

Lilia arches an eyebrow. What kind of a lonely life must this boy live, if he has not even considered his lack of a name? “Then would you mind if I gave you one?” he offers. Oh, it is such an incredibly forward move to suggest such a thing, with how important names are to his kind. But already, he is attached, his very soul bound to this child who gazes at him in wonder at the possibility of wielding his own name.

And the boy nods.

“Silver,” Lilia says, the name coming to him at once. Like the shine of the gleaming moon, the glitter of the stars, the wispy fall of the snow around them. Love blooms in his chest, the warmth cradling his very soul; Lilia curls his arms around the boy, his body so cold even through the chilling fabric of his cloak, pulling him against his chest into a hug. “That shall be your name.”

“Silver,” the boy echoes, testing it out on his tongue. He tilts his head back, a small smile gracing his rounded cheeks as he looks up at Lilia. “Thank you, mister. Could I ask what your name is?”

“It is Lilia, dear one,” he croons, relinquishing his name without a second thought. The two of them are bonded in mere moments, Lilia filled with a fulfilment he has not felt since that prick of a shard entered his eye.

There is nothing left for him here. That is what he tells himself as Silver leads them away, commanding his steed to take off into a prancing gallop, bursting from the tranquil heart of the storm into the raging blizzard, whisking them back to their home.

(Lilia fails to notice the figure that bursts through the clearing, chartreuse eyes widening in horror as a mouth parts to scream his name. He does not notice the horned boy who shivers in the cold, eyes wide as the wind whips at his long hair, watching the stag prance away, the boy who leads it ripping his guardian away from his grasp.)

#twst #twisted wonderland #lilia vanrouge #malleus draconia #twst silver #my writing tag #writing requests #twst fanfiction #twst writing #uhh i'm gonna start moving my fics to ao3 in the future so. rip tumblr drabbles tag? aha #need to do housekeeping when i have the energy...#anyways hi i'm listening to a 3 hour video of 50+ languages of let it go from frozen while prepping all this #help me :')

73 notes · View notes