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Mermista is seven years old when her father first allows her to accompany him on one of his most rare trips outside Salineas. In the years to come, she will find it strange to remember an Etheria before the Horde, but at the time, she's barely seven and so excited to be finally allowed to leave the underwater realm, the thought of what dangers might lie above doesn't even cross her mind.
Their escort is a pod of horn whales as they cross the Great Northern Sea, where the water is chilly in her lungs and on her skin. Days into their trip her tail muscles ache from the long swim, but her father's guards swim effortlessly and so she grits her teeth and refuses to shiver when they're looking. She's glad of the oiled and insulated jackets that come out on the fourth morning, when the shadows of ice floes begin to cast a dappled pattern through the water.
On the fifth day, she's last to break the surface, and the Kingdom of Snows looms huge and glittering white above her. Sheer solid ice cliffs rise out of the sea, drift ice for miles in every direction, and snow floats down through the biting air to settle on her wet hair. It's beautiful, and she's utterly entranced.
Nilas is waiting for them on a beach of dark shale, three large covered chariots ranged behind him. Harnessed to each is a team of four great muscled animals, steaming from a long run in the cold air.
"Horses," her father says quietly, as she walks alongside him. She peeks out, excited and a little afraid - the beasts are far bigger than in the pictures she's seen. Each one is a perfect white, as if formed from the falling snow, only the dark shine of their hooves and deep black eyes standing out. She jumps back when the closest mare tosses her head with a rough, impatient snort of hot air.
"Princess." Nilas bows, just as much as courtesy requires, and then hands her a long coat to replace her jacket. The coat will reach all the way to her ankles, is of thick leather and thicker fur, warm and soft when she sinks her fingers into it.
"Very fitting," Nilas says appraisingly, his eyes sparkling, and she lowers her eyes and burrows into the fur so as not to let him see her blushing - many of her friends are enchanted by the tall, pale, azure-haired Ambassador from the north, and they aren't alone. "This way, your Majesty. The Emperor looks forward to your arrival."
Their chariot is fur-lined, as well, with thick leather flaps hung across the doorway to keep out the icy wind as they ride. Mermista burrows into the hood of her coat and looks out, holding the leather tightly under her chin. The wind bites at her nose, the ground racing past below her, and she almost ducks back inside to quell the sick feeling in her stomach, until a glint ahead of them catches her eye.
They're coming over the rise of a hill, and in the valley below is a sprawling city of brick and marble and ice: she's never seen a city so large, not even Salineas, and never one open to the sky. Into the distance there are dark patches that must be fields and rising on the far slope, the imposing bulk of Castle Chill overlooks it all.
She doesn't stop looking for a moment - every street is a new world, the people so like her own and so different. Everyone wears fur and leather, no skin left bared against the cold, and more heads than not are hooded like her own. They ride through a market square and her mouth waters at the sharp smells - alongside the familiar scent of smoked fish there are stalls selling what must be spitted pig, roasted root vegetables, hot sweetened nuts baking in huge open trays, so many things she's never seen at home. Here and there is the bright clothing of a southern visitor, wrapped up in padded cotton and long cloaks as their own protection from the native weather; a splash of familiarity in the excitement of a new world.
She doesn't tell her father that she'd far rather be out there among the crowds than safe inside Castle Chill, which turns out to be far more similar to their own home than she imagined it would be. She wonders if all castles look so much the same, if perhaps there's someone who goes around building them, boring no matter what kingdom they may look out on.
She is invited to the royal dinner with her father, of course, and provided with a selection of suitably expensive clothing choices. She chooses a dress of pale turquoise and ties her hair up with the clasp of dark purple shells that was once her mother's favourite. The memory of braiding it into her mother's hair is sharp: she refuses to think about the blur in that same memory where her mother's face should be.
There's a girl close to her age already seated at the long table when she accompanies her father into the dining hall. She rises along with all the others as the Salinean party take their seats: she wears a dress of modest pale blue silk, a white fur cloak and a circlet of clear sparkling ice around her head, and tiny icicles cling to her earlobes like delicate earrings. It takes a moment for Mermista to realise who she must be, seated as she is at the left hand of the Emperor of Snows - while her father talks, Mermista finds herself staring, and then blushing delicately when those cool, pale eyes catch her looking.
The Princess Frosta is far more fun than she expects, and in the days Mermista spends at Castle Chill they're rarely apart. The Princess is far more worldly than she expects, too - she has so many tales of the southern kingdoms that Mermista never tires of hearing her speak. Frosta tells her of visiting Bright Moon, attending the elegant wedding of Angella and her new King; of riding horses through the beauty of the Whispering Woods; of flying above the Crimson Wastes in a Mystacorian clipper ship. It's all so exciting that Mermista hardly remembers to be jealous.
They visit the market square and Frosta buys them a meal of juicy sliced pork and hot chestnuts wrapped in oiled paper, followed by crumbling pastries filled with hot fruit that burns her tongue and makes her giggle. She buys a fur cloak of her own to wear from a grizzled Selkie trader; it's dyed a deep royal blue, and her heart jumps when Frosta compliments her choice.
There are ice dancers at the edge of the square, gliding and spinning across a frozen pond in wild patterns that make her dizzy. They stand watching until the performance ends and her palms sting from applauding, her nose freezing from standing in the cold air.
That night, the night before they're due to leave, her father allows her to spend in Frosta's room. Frosta's bed is huge and soft, draped in furs of many bright colours that spill onto the cold floor, so that Mermista doesn't have to sleep there but can claim a corner of the bed for herself, curling up into the furs and burrowing like a sand fish until only her eyes and the tip of her nose are visible.
Frosta laughs. "Is it really so much warmer under the ocean?"
"The dome keeps us warm," she says, muffled voice hidden among the blankets. Frosta burrows down herself.
"I've never been to Salineas. Do you think your father would allow me to visit?"
She shrugs. It's invisible among the fur. "I don't know," she adds, thoughtfully. Her father doesn't really like drylanders, she thinks but doesn't say. They make him nervous, he's never said it but she can tell. Having drylanders in Salineas makes him nervous. She's sure he wouldn't say no, but he wouldn't say yes, either.
But she very much wants Frosta to visit. She wants them to visit her own favourite market, where there may not be roasted chestnuts but there are three hundred kinds of fish to try; to go shell-picking in the Great Pools; to eat salted kelp while watching the horn whales play, or ride with her favourite dolphin pod.
"Perhaps you could ask your father to ask him," she says, hopefully. The last thing she sees is Frosta's grin before a sparkle of ice magic turns out the lamp.
Firn
When the Horde comes, it's as if the whole of Etheria shudders beneath her feet. Her father has only been dead four winters - she's barely an adult and still feels far too young to be ruling over the vast kingdom spread out below her. She stands wrapped in her warmest cloak on her private balcony and watches, her fists clenching into the white fur, as the first specks of darkness appear on the horizon.
Emissaries have already been sent and have come in return from Bright Moon, Mystacor, Blue Stone, the Meadow Lands - even those from Galacia have been warmly greeted. She thinks the truce may even hold, at least as long as the Horde threatens their world.
She's heard nothing from Salineas, until today.
"I am sorry," Mermista says quietly from behind her. She comes out onto the balcony dressed in a dark fur cloak, hood raised against the cold. If she were to turn and see it clearly, Frosta thinks she would recognise it, a gift given years ago under far more pleasant circumstances. She doesn't. The specks on the horizon are no closer, but no less clear.
"My father..."
"Your father is foolish if he thinks the Horde will spare Salineas. No one can hide a whole kingdom from them."
"He will not listen to me."
"Or to me, it seems." Nilas is almost an old man now, and almost native, as much as any drylander can be among Mer-folk, but even his entreaties to King Mercier have all so far gone unheeded. She would send another emissary if she thought it might do any good. She fears it won't.
"I am not my father," Mermista says softly. The strangeness of her accent is softened as well, here, by long association. "I will fight these Horde with you," she adds, and Frosta does turn, then, to smile sadly.
"I wish that was not a promise you had to make."
"You believe they are coming to the Kingdom?"
"I hear reports of their attacks from all sides. Mystacor has repelled encroachments already. The news from Bright Moon..." She clears her throat. The cold air is a refreshing burn in her lungs as she takes in a breath. "King Micah has disappeared. Angella now rules alone, and against the Horde..."
Mermista's hands are soft, too, soft against her back. Too young, Frosta thinks, though they're hardly a few years apart in age. Both too young, then. Too young to be faced with this.
"I can try to swim close to their camp. Perhaps they will be less inclined to notice anyone spying from the water."
"Thank you." She notices what Mermista hasn't said. You rule alone, too.
The Horde reach them. The combined force of the Selkie army and her own drive them back a half a dozen times before she gathers enough power for the almighty snowstorm that ends their initial attempt to conquer her kingdom. Captain Braun finds her on her balcony, drained of power and unconscious, with only the royal magic in her blood saving her from a freezing death in her own blizzard.
When she wakes, it's in her own bed, piled high with furs, and Mermista is there. Opening her eyes is painful and her voice is rough, her throat burning and raw with cold.
"What... what happened?"
"You defeated the Horde," Mermista says softly. There's a touch of awe in her voice. Frosta shakes her head.
"It will take more than my power to defeat them," she says wearily. "I only drove them back. For how long..." She can barely lift her head from the pillows and it's a fight to keep her eyes open, but she struggles to rise anyway. "If they were to come back now..."
"The reports say they are setting up a base far south of here. Your people are safe, at least for now." Mermista puts a warm hand on her chest. "And you need to rest."
"My people need me."
"Rest," Mermista says firmly, and draws the furs tighter around her. "Rest for them."
She sighs. "All right." Her eyes are already sliding closed. Exhaustion covers her like just another heavy blanket, Mermista's hand smoothing her hair around her face as she sinks back into sleep.
She sleeps after that for three full days, only waking in brief moments, and more often than not when Mermista slips into the bed beside her and curls up against the cold. Later she'll find out from Braun how Mermista rules over the Kingdom of Snows for those three days, directing scouts and workers with equal calm, as well or better than had she been an Empress herself.
On the fourth day, she wakes early, wraps herself in her cloak and leaves Mermista to sleep instead.
Aufeis
As the years of Horde occupation go past, Mermista finds herself spending less and less time in Salineas, more and more in the relative safety of the Whispering Woods. After his defeat in the north, Hordak's immediate attention turns to the closer south kingdoms: his reach doesn't yet stretch below the ocean and as the years pass, her father takes this as a sign that his retreat from the world above has been the correct choice. Mermista knows that things are not so simple.
The Crystal Falls make a beautiful second home. Some days she even manages not to miss the dome above her head, or the scents of the herbs and fish smoking in the bustling market square.
Frosta visits her often. She hears reports and relays them when she can - of which kingdoms are falling, which have surrendered or allied themselves to the invaders. Once, she hears that the Horde have allied with the Harpies. The night of the lunar eclipse, she looks up into the domeless sky and realises it's been three whole years since she's visited home.
The sun is barely rising the next morning when she turns and see Frosta standing at the foot of the Falls. There are thin streaks of ice in her hair, and her fingers are blue with cold.
"Angella is missing," she says. Her voice is hard, hopeless. "The Horde have taken Castle Bright Moon."
Her heart rises into her throat, and she can't believe she didn't think. Her voice is faint on her lips. "Dead?"
"No one knows." Frosta draws her knees up to her chest. "The people of Bright Moon are being hauled off as slaves to the Fright Zone. We've brought those who could escape, but the attack was so sudden..."
"Glimmer?" She's met the daughter of Angella once or twice. The poor girl must be barely fourteen - to have lost both parents to this war already...
"She escaped. Her mother sent her away."
She lets out a breath. The eclipse. Of course Angella would have known.
She should have known, she thinks. She should have realised. The Horde have spies everywhere. They should all have known.
"There's talk already of a Rebellion," Frosta says. "The Kingdom of Snows will lend our support. Scouts have gone out to Mystacor this morning. If you could-"
"My father will never join the fight against the Horde." She says it sadly, knowing it to be the truth. "But whatever help I can be, I will. If there are fishermen among them, perhaps-"
"I'll send them here," Frosta says, and for the first time, there's something other than bleak sadness in her voice. Mermista thinks of Angella, taken or dead; of Glimmer, too young to be alone, and tries to suppress a shiver.
Adora is someone she's heard of in reports, and none of them have ever been good. The first time they meet, Mermista feels as if she's becoming her father, she's so nervous. Though she believes in the people who now trust this former Force Captain, she knows no one who wouldn't fear the stories she's heard.
Some people would say, she imagines, that there's nothing of the Force Captain in Adora, though they're wrong. Adora stands tall and confident and fights with the strength of any Horde Captain, but she walks among the rebels as if she belongs there, compassionate and friendly to a fault, taking no offence at the wary looks of newcomers. Mermista finds herself liking the woman.
Sometimes Adora will visit the Falls just to swim, just for a few hours away from the pressure of the Rebellion. It's Adora who first introduces her to Enchanta's kind, Adora who listens to the needs of the fishermen whenever Mermista is away from home for some other purpose. As the Rebellion ages, they even become friends.
"Perhaps if others of the Horde are under Shadow Weaver's spells..." Frosta suggests, one evening. Mermista sighs.
"But there is no way to know these things." She bites into the grilled red fish Frosta brought along from the Rebel camp for supper; its hot sauce trickles down her chin, and she's reminded of a market square so very long ago, in a different world.
"I suppose not," Frosta says. The fire crackles between them, and the moons shine overhead.
Thaw
When the Eternian Army arrive on Etheria, Frosta is astounded simply by their sheer numbers. Even with their support, it's a year before the final assault on the Fright Zone: when that battle comes, it seems to last forever. When it's over, when Hordak's ship is retreating into the sky and the Horde base is empty around them, there's a numbness that comes from disbelief that settles over her and simply stays.
The celebrations take place all over Etheria. In Bright Moon alone, ravaged though it is by the decades of war, they last for two entire weeks before Frosta feels she can take it upon herself to return home. Her final audience with Angella is a private one: formal but warm, both of them taking the opportunity to ratify treaties that will bond Bright Moon and the Kingdom of Snows for many years to come.
Adora and Glimmer accompany her as far as the borders of Blue Stone, the last southern kingdom before her long ride north. Their goodbyes are long and no less warm, with promises to visit each other that she hopes all of them will manage to keep.
She's gone barely a few hours alone when she hears splashing from beyond the sparse tree line along the road. She reins in her mount and slips down, a suspicion rising in her mind.
Sure enough, Enchanta is drinking from a flow of ice melt, her long graceful neck arched over the bubbling water where it flows, clear and pristine, over a bed of dark pebbles washed smooth by the current.
"I hoped I could catch up to you," Mermista says, smiling up at her from her crouch close to the stream.
She lets go the reins, and her horse lowers his head with a snort to drink, not in the least bothered at sharing the stream with the giant swan perched on the far bank. She pats his shoulder idly. She'll let him go now; it isn't far back to Mystacor, and all animals can find Adora if they need to. "Casta?" she asks quietly.
"She will recover," Mermista says. Frosta breathes, and something inside her loosens at last. The image of that final battle of magical wills - Shadow Weaver screaming, burning, Castaspella surrounded by black fire - has been behind her eyes for weeks.
Mermista smiles at her. "I could do nothing more there. I thought perhaps you would like some company at home for a little while."
Frosta slaps her horse on the flank. He tosses his head and fixes her with one deep black eye, dark against his white coat.
"Find Adora," she says clearly. He snorts a cloud of warm air at her. She slaps his flank again as a goodbye and steps out over the stream, smiling. The water ices up beneath her boots until she reaches the other side, where Enchanta bugles a greeting. Her feathers are warm as fur when Frosta climbs aboard, and Mermista's arms are strong around her waist as they take off into the northern sky.