The Snow Queen

PART THE FIRST: The Mirror

by Rachel

Adapted from the story by Hans Christian Andersen.
Wow, I can't believe it's been more than a year since I started writing this story. (I finished it--
don't worry.) I think this might be my first fusion. ("The Prince-less Bride" doesn't really count
since all I really did was plunk the GW characters down in the PB roles.) This story is also kind
of a sequel to "The Lady in the Tower", even though I wrote it first. Oh, I do so like the way
Wufei and Meilan came out in this story. I'm really a 5+D fan, but I like Meilan.

In the old days of the world there lived a demon of the truly worst and wickedest order. One
day, when he was in a particularly merry mood, he constructed a looking glass-a magic mirror.
All good things shrank to nothingness when reflected in this mirror, while every fault, every
ugly thing appeared to grow and seem worse than ever. Verdant forests shriveled to barren
wasteland; proud ivory towers crumbled to ruin; good, honest people became twisted and
corrupt in the mirror's shining surface. When a kind thought passed through the mind of anyone
it was misrepresented in the glass. The demon laughed and boasted to his cronies, declaring
that now, for the first time, people could see what the world and mankind were truly like.
The demon carried his mirror all over the world, lecturing to his fellow demons about his
discoveries and observations. Before long, there was not a land or a people that had not been
looked at through this distorted mirror.
His clever invention brought him all manner of accolades which so stoked his ego that one day
he decided to carry his mirror up to Heaven, so he could look upon the angels and see how they
were reflected in the glass. The higher he climbed, though, the more slippery the glass became,
until finally he lost his grip on it and it plummeted to the earth, where it shattered into millions
and millions of tiny pieces.
The demon was not disappointed. Broken, his mirror did more harm than ever before. The wind
blew the shards in every direction, scattering them all over the world. When a sliver landed in
a person's eye, it worked the same way the mirror had, distorting everything the person saw
and making all the nice things appear insignificant, and ugly, and making the bad things appear
worse than they really were. Some of the larger shards were made into eyeglasses or even
windows. You can imagine how terrible that was. The worst, however, was when a shard landed
on a person's heart. When this happened the heart became a lump of ice and the unfortunate
person froze from the inside out.
The demon laughed at all of this; it amused him so to see the mischief he had created.
Time passed, and most of the shards descended to earth, but there were still a few floating
about in the air. This is the story of what happened to one of them.



PART THE SECOND: Quatre and Trowa
Once there was a kingdom far to the north. In this kingdom were many small villages, and in
one of them there lived two boys who grew up as the best of friends, though their circumstances
could not have been more different.
Quatre, who had hair the color of newly churned butter, a complexion like milk and roses, and
the widest, wisest, aquamarine eyes imaginable, was the only son of the wealthiest merchant
in the village. He lived in a big, beautiful old house in the fashionable part of town, and had
servants to dress him and clean his room, tutors to instruct him in any subject that should strike
his interest, and cooks to prepare for him any food he should desire. He had his own library,
which was filled with books of every description, and his shelves overflowed with toys from
every country his father had ever visited. The only thing Quatre lacked was love. His mother had
died bearing him, and his father was frequently away on business. He had several sisters, but
they were grown and married and lived in other villages with their families.
Trowa, as the other boy was called, whose hair was the color of the last leaves of autumn and
eyes the color of the first leaves of spring, was an orphan, or at least that was what everyone in
the village assumed. As a baby he had been found, one wintry night, in a basket in the middle of
the town square. The snow had piled high that night, and the wind had been fierce, but Mother
Blomst [1] who discovered him claimed that the snow had fallen everywhere except on the spot
where he lay, and even the wind had seemed to move around him, so that his little body was
warm as toast when she lifted him in her arms. People were questioned, but no one stepped
forward to claim the boy. His olive complexion suggested gypsy blood, and the villagers made
inquiries whenever a caravan passed through, but again no one claimed him. The villagers were
glad, because although Trowa was quiet and solitary, he was a good boy. Mother Blomst, who
had lost all her children but one to an illness that had swept the kingdom some years back, took
him in and raised him as her own. So the mystery was never solved, and all except perhaps
Trowa, were quite content with that.
They met by accident or destiny, Quatre and Trowa, one day when they were both about five.
They met in summer, in the large, beautiful garden behind Quatre's house. Quatre was sitting
there because he had grown bored with all his books and toys, and the servants did not know
what else to do with him. As he sat watching the fat, furry bees bobbing among the roses, he
became aware that two of the rose leaves were not leaves at all, but a pair of very green eyes,
staring back at him from behind the bushes.
"Hello," he said politely.
The eyes blinked. "H'lo," was the reply, so soft Quatre barely heard it.
"Who are you? What are you doing there?" Quatre started forward, then stopped, as though he
knew that if he moved too quickly, a spell would be broken and the eyes would go back to being
leaves, and he would be all alone again.
There was a silence, as though the apparition was considering whether or not he should trust
this boy. Finally, after Quatre had stood completely still, hardly daring to breathe for nearly a
minute, the other said, "I'm Trowa." Then, in a low, conspiratorial manner, "I'm hiding from Kat-
rin. She's my older sister. Well, she's not really my sister. Mother Blomst only adopted me.
I don't know who my real parents are. They might be dead. Anyway, I don't want to go back
home, yet."
That was a great deal of information from someone who had been part of a rosebush only a
moment ago. Rather than try to process all of it immediately, Quatre said, imperiously, but not
pompously, "Let me see you."
Again a moment of hesitation. Then, slowly, the other boy emerged. "What are you staring at?"
he demanded defensively, when Quatre's eyes widened. He thought the other boy was about to
laugh at his shirt and trousers, which had been torn in his scramble over the hedge and under
the rosebushes.
Quatre gushed, breathlessly, "You-you look like someone in my book!"
The other boy, taken aback, made a face. "Huh?"
"You do!" Quatre went on, amazed and delighted. "I have this book. My father sent it to me from
Italy. It has lots of beautiful pictures. Anyway, there's a prince in it. His skin is kind of like yours.
And he has green eyes. It's such a great book. It has sea monsters and pirates, and this dragon
with green and gold scales that breathes fire all over the whole kingdom. Would you like to
come and see?"
Trowa looked over the other boy's shoulder at the gorgeous house, then down at his torn
clothes. He started to back away.
"Please?" said Quatre, not sounding imperious anymore, just desperately lonely and eager to
be friends.
Trowa looked into the wide, appealing aquamarine eyes, and could not look away. "All right," he
said slowly, shyly. "If no one inside will mind"
Quatre had already seized his hand and was pulling him toward the house.


When twelve-year-old Katerina Blomst finally plucked up the courage to inquire at the big,
beautiful house, as to the whereabouts of her brother, whom she was supposed to be
watching, a few hours had passed, and Quatre and Trowa were still seated side by side on one
overstuffed chair in the library, their heads bowed together over a book.


They were very nearly inseparable from that day forward. Quatre and Trowa spent the rest of
the summer playing in the wildflower- dotted fields outside the village. They flew kites, sailed
handmade boats on the little stream that trickled down from the mountains, and watched the
stars at night. On rainy days they read books in the library at Quatre's house, or played cards
and sipped hot cocoa with Katerina while Mother Blomst knitted and told ghost stories from the
north. When Quatre's father returned in the autumn, Mother Blomst went to speak with him and
by the time she left it was decided that Quatre should attend regular school with Trowa and
the rest of the village children. Quatre blossomed in his new environment and under his gentle
tutelage, Trowa slowly emerged from his shy, solitary shell. The years passed happily for all
concerned, and Trowa thought more and more of the village as his home.


Quatre and Trowa's story actually begins eight years after their first meeting. It was particularly
cold and snowy that winter and Quatre spent many nights at the house of Mother Blomst
because it was simply too dangerous for him to walk all the way back from the schoolhouse.
Neither the boys nor Mother Blomst minded. She had begun to look upon Quatre as another of
her lost children come back to her.
One evening, Mother Blomst sat rocking in her chair by the crackling fire; Katerina was knitting
a scarf for her boyfriend in the neighboring village; and Trowa and Quatre were seated at the
table, a chess set untouched before them, mugs of hot cider sprinkled with cinnamon in their
hands, staring out the window at the falling snow.
Quatre cupped his cheek in his hand. "The snowflakes look like a bunch of big, fat, white bees,"
he observed. He missed the summer and the flowers.
"They do!" Trowa exclaimed, leaning forward on his elbows and laughing. "But they have no
queen bee."
"Indeed they do," said Mother Blomst, looking up from the sock she was mending, and
smiling. "She is flying there where the swarm is thickest. She is the largest of them all, and
never remains on the earth, but flies up to the dark clouds. Often at midnight she flies through
the streets of the town, an looks in at the windows, then the ice freezes on the panes into
wonderful shapes, that look like flowers and castles." [2]
"I've seen them," the boys said together.
Katerina laughed. "That's just frost, you silly-heads." But they paid no attention to her.
"The Snow Queen can't come in here, can she, Mother Blomst?" Quatre asked worriedly.
"Let her try," said Trowa, his eyes sparkling with excitement and firelight, "I'll set her on the
stove and she'll melt away!"
Mother Blomst reached over and mussed his hair lovingly, then told them other tales.
That night, though Quatre was asleep almost the instant his head touched the pillow of
Katerina's old bed, Trowa lay awake for a long time, looking at the snow. It was getting thicker,
he thought, as though someone was drawing a white, lacy curtain across the world. The
Christmas lights that lined the neighboring houses were dim little pools of blue, red, green, and
gold, almost lost in the whiteness.
Suddenly he started, for it seemed to him that two eyes were staring back at him, from the
very thickest part of the snow. He scrambled to his feet and pushed open the window. In the
darkness beside him Quatre mumbled in his sleep, moving instinctively away from the cold air.
Trowa leaned over the windowsill.
The eyes were still there. They seemed dark as coal at first, but as the snowflakes began to
coalesce around them in the shape of a face, he saw that they were flecked with the deepest,
darkest green imaginable. It was a woman's face, he realized, and then all at once he wanted to
cry, because she was so impossibly lovely, but so cold. Her skin was as white as the snow, her
lips red as holly berries. Around her white, graceful shoulders, brown hair fell shining and silken
as a river.
For a long time they looked at each other, neither moving. Trowa held his breath in anticipation.
Then a strong gust of frozen air blew the window closed and the Snow Queen from his vision.
When the wind passed he scanned the air and street below for her, but she had vanished.
Trembling with cold and excitement, he fell back against his pillow and drew the blanket up to
his chin. He fell asleep shortly after that.


The snow stopped falling early the next morning, and after a breakfast of hot porridge and
orange juice, Trowa and Quatre ran outside to play in the streets.
"Look!" Quatre cried, surveying the white-blanketed world around him. "It's like a completely
different place!"
"You always say that," Trowa laughed as he lobbed a snowball at him.
Quatre, no athlete, tried to return to blow, but slipped and fell with a smack, flat on his
back. "Trowa," he entreated, when he had recovered his breath, "help me up. My jacket's too
thick; I can't get up on my own." He flailed helplessly.
Trowa started forward to raise him up. Suddenly he stopped and cried out sharply. "My heart"
he gasped, and touched one gloved hand to his chest. "No, it's my eye" He blinked rapidly.
"Trowa?" Quatre inquired, frowning.
"Something's in my eye. No, it's out, now. How odd." But it was not out; it was one of those bits
of the looking-glass-that magic mirror,-the ugly glass which made everything great and good
appear small and ugly, while all that was wicked and bad became more visible, and every little
fault could be plainly seen. Poor Trowa had also received a small grain in his heart, which very
quickly turned to a lump of ice. He felt no pain, but the glass was still there. [3]
"Trowa?" Quatre said again, worriedly.
Trowa glanced down at him, and his face twisted with scorn. "Get up!" he snapped. "What are
you, a big baby? What do you need my help for?" He kicked snow in his face and laughed when
Quatre choked and spluttered. "Baby!" he jeered. "Gonna cry? Well, I don't have time to hang
around with babies. I'm going to stream. Follow me if you like, but I'm not waiting around for
you." And with that he ran off down the street.
Quatre stared after him, stunned and stricken. In the eight years since they had met, he and
Trowa had had their quarrels. Quatre was not as athletic as his friend and often lagged behind
when they went swimming together, or skiing, or boating. But Trowa had never yelled at him like
that, and he had never seen such coldness in those usually gentle green eyes.
Too confused to cry, Quatre twisted and scrambled, and finally managed to pull himself to his
feet. He began to walk slowly down the street, half-expecting Trowa to leap out behind him and
yell "Boo!" and then tell him it had all been a joke and that he was sorry, and why not build a
snowman with all this good snow? But he did not come, and when Quatre reached the gates of
his house he realized that Trowa was not going to come. He trudged inside and went straight to
his room. Once there, he cried his heart out.


It was two days before Quatre saw Trowa again. The green-eyed boy came to the big house
and shouted under his window until, reluctantly, he appeared.
"Trowa," he murmured as he looked down at his friend, feeling as though his heart had been
pricked with an icicle.
"See these roses?" Trowa yelled up at him, pointing at the gnarled, black rosebushes, bowing
under the heavy snow. "They're so ugly! You're ugly, too, when you cry like that. Crybaby!"
Quatre swiped at his tears with the back of his hand.
"What's the point of growing roses?" Trowa demanded. "They're ugly, and anyway, they're
never going to bloom because it's going to stay winter forever!" He tore at the bushes, heedless
of the thorns, and before Quatre's horrified eyes, began to rip them out of the frozen ground.
"Trowa, please don't!"
Only cruel laughter met his pleas.
"Father!" Quatre shrieked. "Somebody! Please! Trowa, stop!"
Servants came running, and Trowa scampered off, laughing raucously, but it was too late.
Quatre stared at the dead rosebushes, and thought his heart would break.


Katerina came to see him a few days later. She looked frazzled and weary. There were dark
circles under her pretty lavender eyes, and her usually rosy cheeks were pale.
"I just don't know what's gotten into Trowa," she half-sobbed as she sat with Quatre in the
parlor. Her slender hands shook as she lifted her teacup to her lips. "He's like a totally different
person. He snaps at me and Mama. He won't do his chores. He makes fun of people in the
street. Some of the other children told me he'd been bullying them. You're his best friend. Do
you know what happened?"
Quatre shook his head. His own hurt was bad enough; he did not want to think about how
Trowa's behavior was affecting Katerina and Mother Blomst.
"People are beginning to talk," Katerina said, not lifting her gaze from her teacup. "About his
being a foundling and all. Oh, Quatre, he used to be such a good boy! Everyone loved him. I
don't understand it, not at all."
Quatre had no words of comfort for her; he was desperately worried, too.


It was bitterly cold in the town square that night. Snow was falling again, and the wind moaned
through the rain gutters and along the eves of houses and shops. Trowa stood alone in the very
center of the square. He had lost his scarf and gloves, and his chin and hands were numb with
cold, but he was not aware. He looked at the lighted windows, sadness, as faint and distant-
seeming as a half-remembered dream, brushed his heart. He wondered what it would be like to
be inside one of those cheerily lit houses, eating a nice, hot meal, talking with people.
But you don't belong with them, another voice in his heart told him. They're not your people.
They yell at you and talk about you behind your back.
He turned away from the windows.
As he watched, two eyes appeared in the thickly falling snow, black as coal at first, then flecked
with green as they drew closer, and the beautiful face appeared around them. The berry-red lips
curved into a smile.
"Poor boy," a woman's voice, low and melodious, floated to him through the drifting
snow. "You're freezing. Whatever are you doing alone in the cold? Come to me, now." She held
out her arms to him. They were long and white. There was no warmth in her gaze, but she was
offering him solace.
Slowly, Trowa walked to the Snow Queen. "I'm here," he said.
"So you are," she replied as she folded him in her arms. "You'll come away with me, now. My
sledge is waiting. Come, now." She kissed his cheek with her cold lips.
Trowa smiled and leaned close against her. She was beautiful, so heartbreakingly beautiful, and
she had come for him, come to take him away.
By then he had forgotten Mother Blomst, Katerina, and Quatre.
The Snow Queen led him to her sledge and they flew away together. They flew over woods and
lakes, over sea and land; below them roared the wild wind; the wolves howled and the snow
crackled; over them flew the black screaming crows, and above all shone the moon, bright and
clear,--and so Trowa passed through the long winter's night, and by day he slept wrapped under
the flowing mantle of the Snow Queen. [4]

Notes:
[1] For yucks and as a tribute to Hans Christian Andersen, I Scandinavianized Catherine
Bloom's name. "Blomst" is Danish for "flower".
[2] I took this passage directly from the original text, because I liked it so much.
[3] Ditto.
[4] Ditto.
The Snow Queen
PART THE THIRD: The Flower Garden and the Enchantress
by Rachel

By the time Mother Blomst and Katerina became aware that Trowa was missing, a fresh fall
of snow had covered his footprints. By dawn's first light a search for the boy was underway,
but the villagers' efforts proved to be in vain. There was no sign of him there or in any of the
neighboring villages.
"Probably went back to his own fey kind," some muttered.
"Most likely he fell into the river and drowned," others declared. "We won't find him until the
thaw."
For Mother Blomst, Trowa's loss was a heavy blow. She had raised him from infancy and loved
him as though he was one of her own children. After the night of his disappearance she seemed
to draw in on herself. The sparkle in her eyes faded and the creases in her face deepened. She
who had once been twice as lively as people half her age now kept to her bed most of the day,
and rarely left the house. In one night she seemed to have aged twenty years. Katerina broke
up with her boyfriend from the next village and spent her days looking after her ailing mother.
Quatre saw the sorrow in their faces and at first could not believe his friend was really gone.
He'll come back, he thought. He wouldn't just disappear without a trace. Not when we all need
him.
But as winter became spring and the snow vanished to reveal crocuses and daffodils, and the
ice in the river cracked and melted and still Trowa did not return, he at last heeded the advice of
the villagers and gave up hope.
"He is dead," he told the roses as he walked through his father's garden alone.
"We don't believe it," they answered back.
"He is dead and gone," he said mournfully to the robins as he trudged to school in the morning.
"Rubbish," they scoffed. "Utter nonsense."
One early spring morning, Quatre woke before anyone else in his house. He put on a heavy
sweater, as the air was still crisp with the recently passed winter. He filled a knapsack with his
favorite books and toys that his father had brought back for him from his travels, and walked
to the river. He sank to his knees on the muddy, grassy bank, and spilled the contents of his
knapsack onto the ground in front of him.
He said, to the river, "Please give me my friend back, if you've taken him. You can have
anything else of mine that you like, instead."
The river's grey water made no answer, but silently continued its path from the mountains,
which were still capped with snow, down through the fields that lay beyond the little villages.
Quatre picked up one of his books. It was the one with the gold- scaled dragon, and the pirates,
and the prince whose eyes were greener than rose leaves, the one he had shown to Trowa on
the first day that met, so long ago. He held the book out over the churning water.
"This is my most prized possession," he said. "My father brought it back to me from Italy, where
I really want to go some day. The dragon scales are painted with real gold. Please take it. Just
give me back my friend."
He opened his hands and let the book fall into the water with a splash. But it did not sink, and
the river did not yield up any prisoners. Instead, the river pushed the book back to the bank, as
though to say to Quatre that it could not give back Trowa because it did not have him.
Robins flitted overhead. In the distance a crow called out raucously. Disheartened, Quatre
picked up the ruined book and climbed to his feet.
A few yards away, a small rowboat lay lodged in the reeds and bramble that lined the river.
Perhaps, Quatre thought, with a faint spark of hope, he had not thrown the book quite as far as
he should have.
He climbed into the boat, gripping its side tightly with one hand as it rocked from side to side
under his weight. He sat, ran his hand lovingly over the book one last time, and then cast it into
the river as far as he could throw. The book landed with a loud splash and disappeared under
the water, but the sudden movement also shook the boat loose from the brambles. The current
caught it up, and began to push it along.
Quatre looked about in alarm. There were no oars with which to steer the little boat back to
shore. The current was stronger than it had looked; he could never swim back. Besides, a quick
test with his fingers informed him that the water was still icy cold. All he could do was clutch the
sides of the boat tightly and pray that maybe, maybe the river would carry him to Trowa.


The river was long, wide, and winding. It carried Quatre through the yellow fields where
shepherds tended their flocks, around villages that were very like his own, past castles with
tall ivory towers and banners that whipped in the wind. He saw knights in armor, mounted on
bold white chargers, riding off to slay some dragon or another. He saw princesses disguised
as scullery maids, desperately fleeing unreasonable parents. He saw children flying kites, and
gypsies with their long wagon trains. He heard the birds' song, and the chattering of insects
in the tall grass. He strained his ears and eyes for some sign of Trowa in the strange lands
through which he passed, but there was never even so much as a whisper.
One late afternoon the river carried him into a walled flower garden. On one bank of the river
there was a small cottage and in the cottage there lived a young enchantress with long hair the
color of sunlight on new-fallen snow, and eyes the color of the sky just before dawn. Though her
abode seemed humble her attire was as grand as any princess's. Her satin dress fell all the way
down to her ankles and was embroidered in exquisite detail with every flower imaginable. She
saw Quatre's boat as it floated past her cottage and hurried out to catch it with her rake. She
dragged the little boat ashore and helped its weary occupant to his feet.
"You look like one who has come along way," she said as she led him into the cottage and sat
him down at a table by the window. "I should like to hear your story. Why don't you tell it to me
while I brew some tea?"
Dimly Quatre recalled Mother Blomst old admonishment about speaking to strangers, but that
seemed very far away and long ago. There was something odd about this pale-eyed girl, but
he was hungry and tired, and she seemed kind. He found himself telling her everything: his
earliest, loneliest memories, his first meeting with Trowa and their friendship, Mother Blomst and
Katerina, going to school with other children his age. By the time he got to Trowa's mysterious
change and disappearance, and Quatre's determination to find his friend, he was exhausted
and very close to falling asleep. The girl saw that, took the empty teacup from his hands, and
helped him to his feet.
"You may stay with me for as long as you like," she said. "All the food and rest you need."
She led him to her bedroom and laid him gently on her own bed. When he started to protest she
smiled. "Don't worry about it," she said. "I'll sleep elsewhere. Rest now."
While he snuggled into the warm, down-filled coverlets, the girl sang a soft, sad song, one that
would have made him weep had he not been so tired:

"Sometimes, maybe,
Now or never
What is gone
Is gone forever
Rowan, hazel,
Thyme, and heather
All are faded
In the nether
North wind, south wind,
East and west,
Everything is
Laid to rest."

She kissed his cheek, and then hurried from the room. By the time the door closed behind her,
Quatre was asleep.
The girl--whose name was Dorothy, incidentally--hurried out of the cottage into the walled
garden and stood there for a long time, thinking. She did NOT want Quatre to leave. Dorothy
was not a wicked girl, just a very lonely one, and she liked this kind, handsome stranger and
did not want to give him up. Besides, she reasoned, after the way Trowa treated Quatre it was
clear he did not deserve him. (It occurred to her--being an enchantress--that Trowa might well
be enchanted, but she swept that thought away like dust under a rug.) Thus decided, she went
to work.
She remembered the roses from Quatre's story. Looking at her own very elegant rose bushes,
Dorothy had an idea. If Quatre saw the roses they might remind him of his friend and his search.
If Quatre did NOT see them, well, perhaps he would forget his friend and decide to stay with
Dorothy, who would see to it that he never wanted for anything and never cried.
With a wave of her slim white hand she caused the ground to swallow up the rose bushes so
that it appeared that they had never been. Then Dorothy went back into her cottage, conjured a
magical bed for herself, and went to sleep upon it.


Quatre woke the next morning feeling rested and refreshed. The scent of flowers carried
through the window by a warm, gentle breeze, filled his nostrils. He lay for a long time staring
out the window at the blue sky and wondering how he had arrived here in this comfortable bed.
He had a dim recollection of a river and of a long journey, but that seemed very dreamlike, so
he dismissed it.
By the time he finally rose and washed up, both breakfast and Dorothy were waiting for him in
the kitchen. Breakfast consisted of fresh bread that was still warm from the oven and seemed
lighter than a cloud. There was also jam and honey, blueberries and strawberries from the
garden, and cool milk to wash it down with. Quatre downed his food as wolfishly as his father's
servants had always forbade him to. He was ravenous, though, and the food was more delicious
than anything he had ever tasted.
Dorothy for her part ate delicately, watching Quatre carefully over her bread. Finally, when he
seemed to have finished she said, "Remember what I told you yesterday, that you may stay
here for as long as you like. I hope that you will stay until you're feeling fully refreshed."
"I shouldn't mind," Quatre admitted. "I WAS very tired yesterday. I feel as though I've come
along way, but" He frowned, shook his head, and stared out the open window at the
river. "But now I can hardly remember what it was I was looking for."
Dorothy smiled and rested her chin on her hand. "Stay as long as you like," she said
again. "Stay forever if you want."
Quatre stared at the river, and said nothing in reply.


He stayed for a long time in Dorothy's enchanted cottage, though the days passed so quickly
and pleasantly that he scarcely noticed. The air was warm, the flowers fragrant, the food good,
and the company better. They tended the flowers together, and told each other stories. Dorothy
knew some wonderful stories, which she had learned while training to be an enchantress. And
she listened with delight to everything he could remember about his home, though each day
the amount he could remember dwindled until after a time he had difficulty recalling the names
of his schoolmates, his tutors, and the servants in his father's house. There was an old woman
he loved, but her face began to fade in his memory, and that troubled him. It seemed to him
that she had a daughter with auburn curls, and son with green eyesor was that simply his
imagining?
There was something strange about the garden, as well. He walked through it daily and he
knew all the flowers by heart, but it seemed to him that one was always missing. He did not
know what it was. He asked Dorothy, but she insisted that every kind of flower in the world could
be found in her garden, and flatly denied that any had been excluded.
One autumn evening, though, as they sipped their tea, Quatre found himself staring at Dorothy's
gown, with its intricately embroidered flowers. His gaze fell upon the most beautiful flower of
them all, and suddenly he knew what was missing from her garden.
"Dorothy!" he exclaimed, startling her. "Are there no roses in your garden?"
Before she could reply, he had risen and run out into the garden to see for himself. Sure
enough, though he scanned every flowerbed, he could find no roses.
Tears sprang to his eyes. He was thirteen years old and knew full well that only a young child
should cry over flowers, but it seemed to him the saddest thing in the world that there should be
no roses in Dorothy's garden.
His tears slid down his cheeks and splashed onto the soil, and where they did, rose bushes
began to sprout. Green leaves unfurled themselves and stretched languidly in the moonlight,
and the flowers sighed as though they had just been woken from a long sleep. Quatre stared in
astonishment. With the return of the roses, so too returned his memories of his home, of Mother
Blomst, Katerina, and Trowa. He remembered his search.
He felt the chill of autumn in the air and realized just how much time had passed since he had
left his home. "I've been detained for so long!" he cried in dismay. "Now it may be to late to find
Trowa." He recalled Dorothy's song:

"Sometimes, maybe
Now or never
What is gone
Is gone forever."

"Please tell me Trowa isn't gone forever!"
"Not likely," the roses answered back sleepily. "We have been in the earth a long time, and we
did not see him there. The one you seek still walks the earth, and it may be you will find him,
yet."
"Thank you," Quatre whispered fervently. He would have kissed the soft petals, but suddenly
he felt someone's gaze upon him. Turning, he saw Dorothy standing in the doorway. Her
expression was sad.
"I was looking for Trowa when I found my way here," Quatre said. "I remember now. He isn't
dead. I have to go find him, wherever he is."
Dorothy bowed her head. "If that is your wish. I can't keep you here against your will. I--I'm
sorry." Her long hair swirled about her shoulders as she turned away abruptly.
Quatre's expression softened. "Thank you for your hospitality," he said kindly. "I really must go,
though. You've been a friend to me, but Trowa"
"Means more to you than I think you yet realize; I know." Dorothy sighed and turned back to
face him. "I'm afraid your boat is long gone; you will have to walk. However, I can give you
provisions and a warm coat." With a wave of her hand she summoned both from the air and
gave them to Quatre.
"Thank you," he said.
Dorothy offered to let him stay the night, but Quatre wished to be gone at once. So she walked
him to the door in the wall that surrounded her garden, and there they parted. She stood in the
doorway for a long time, a pale, lonely figure, watching as he disappeared into the night.
Quatre did not look back. He heard the faint rustle of autumn leaves in the trees overhead, and
felt the chill in the air that foretold the onset of winter. The constellations glittering overhead
were not the ones he had seen when he first set out so many months ago. So much time had
passed and it seemed that in that time the world had grown impossibly large and wild. His home
seemed very far away.
But somewhere in the wide, wild world, Trowa needed him. That realization hardened his
resolve. He clutched his coat tightly about him and hurried onward.

Notes:
If you don't remember the enchantress's song from the original story that's because...I wrote it.
The Snow Queen
PART THE FOURTH: The Prince and Princess
by Rachel

This is where my story really begins to differ from Andersen's, since there are a few things here
that are not in the original. *g* In Andersen's version, Duo and Hilde's characters really are
crows. :)

Quatre walked for many days over strange and stark countryside. He never went hungry as the
little bag of food that the enchantress had given him replenished itself every night, and his coat
kept him warm. Still, he was very lonely, the days were growing chillier, the nights longer, and
with each mile he walked, so much more impossibly vast did the world seem.
He lost track of the days and only guessed that winter had arrived again when it began to snow
one night. He had fallen asleep in the shelter of a toppled, lichen-covered rock wall and woke
when the first soft flakes began to pelt his face. He opened his eyes and lay for a long time
unmoving, just staring up at the sky. The moon was full; its milky light spilled on the crumbled
wall, giving it a kind of ghostly grandeur. The snowflakes seemed to be falling from the moon
itself, as though they were tiny white moths and the moon a candle flame.
"Have YOU seen Trowa?" Quatre wondered aloud. The snowflakes answered him not, and yet
it seemed to his exhausted, dream-steeped mind that they were laughing at him silently, as
though they shared a secret.
The snow fell thicker and presently Quatre was obliged to move lest he be buried. When he
stood and shook himself off, though, he surprised to discover that he was not cold. He wasn't
numb or frostbitten; the coat Dorothy had given him must be magical as well. Surprised, but
deeply relieved by this revelation, he climbed atop the rock wall, stretched out as best he could
using his arms to pillow his head, and sank slowly back into a warm, but rather uncomfortable
sleep.
He woke late the next morning to the sound of crows calling to each other in raw, raucous
tones. He rubbed his eyes, licked his chapped lips, and raised himself upon his elbows. Then
he sucked in a sharp breath of alarm and started so wildly that he very nearly fell off the wall. A
man was walking toward him across the snow.
He was very tall; that was all Quatre could discern from that distance. His face and hair and any
weapons he might have born were hidden beneath a cloak that was dark as a crow's feather.
He had clearly seen Quatre; he raised a hand in greeting.
Quatre's blood froze. He was in the wild now, and this dark- cloaked man could easily be one
of the outlaws Mother Blomst spoke of in her stories of the world outside the village. Who else
traversed such places alone? That he made no attempt to approach Quatre stealthily did not
allay his fears. He was clearly alone, small, and weak; stealth was not necessary. He could
easily run up to Quatre and overpower him, then either murder him or rob him.
Quatre thought quickly. The man was still some distance away, his pace unhurried. His fist
closed around a rock. He would try to run. If the man caught him, he would defend himself as
best he could.
He jumped backward off the rock wall. A small grunt of surprise escaped his lips when he sank
to his shins in the snow. He hadn't realized it had fallen so thickly. On the other side of the
wall he heard the man shout, "Hey! Stop!" Then he whirled around and was running, his legs
pumping harder than they ever had before.
It was impossible to run in the snow, though. With each step his feet sank deep and he half-
sobbed with frustration each time he had to pull himself free. The wind, which stung his face and
yanked at his hair, seemed suddenly to be filled with the screaming of the crows.
Suddenly something heavy hit him from behind and knocked him prone. With a surprised,
angry cry he twisted around. Two large crows bobbed in the air before his eyes. "Go away!" he
screamed and struggled to rise. He slipped as he did and fell back, flailing wildly. The crows
dived about him, flapping their great black wings in his face, making it impossible for him to rise.
Presently, over the beating wings he heard a voice close by say, "Here, now. Quit squirming. No
one's trying to hurt you."
Quatre opened his eyes. The man in black knelt above him, smirking. The cloak's hood had
fallen back, revealing a face that was surprisingly youthful. The two crows had perched on either
shoulder and were jabbering at each other in their own language.
The man held out a gloved hand. "See? I'm not trying to hurt you," he said, his strange violet
eyes flashing in amusement at Quatre's wariness.
But the movement had revealed a scabbard swinging from the man's belt and its appearance
suddenly brought to Quatre's mind images of concealed weapons. He bolted.
He didn't get very far, though. The man was too fast. He seized him by the shoulders and
pushed him back down into the snow. Quatre yelled at the top of his voice, kicked, managed
to free one hand--the one that held the rock--and smashed his meager weapon against his
assailant's face.
The man squawked just like a crow in rage and pain, but instead of loosening his grip he
tightened it, flipped Quatre over so that he was face down in the snow and held him there--
tightly.
Quatre's heart pounded wildly. He couldn't see. It was FREEZING. He was running out of air.
And his attacker was holding his wrists in an iron grip. He couldn't even open his mouth to say
that he had nothing worth stealing.
Very dimly, through his pain and panic he heard the man's voice grate against his ear, "CUT.
IT. OUT. I'm not trying to rob you, you little idiot! Will you quit squirming, now? Quit it!" Quatre
felt a sharp jolt of pain as his arms were twisted. "Quit it and I'll let you up. Are you ready to stop
being an idiot?"
Quatre tried to nod, but he couldn't. He couldn't feel his face at all. His lungs felt as though they
were about to explode. His first impulse was to keep thrashing, but he willed his body limp. As
he did, the man relaxed his grip somewhat and the pain in his arms lessened.
"Now," the man said almost pleasantly, "I'm going to let you up. If you hit me again, though,
you're going back in the snow. Ready?" Quatre sobbed his assent.
A second later he was rolled over onto his back. His face was so numb he barely felt the wind
against it. For a long moment he simply lay there in the snow, gulping air into his lungs and
shaking violently all over.
"There now," the man said comfortingly, patting his shoulder, "you weren't even in the snow that
long. Believe me, I've had worse. You GAVE me worse." He grinned and pointed to his nose,
which was gushing blood. "Not broken, lucky for you," he said, dabbing at it with the corner of
his cloak.
"Pinch it," Quatre mumbled like a reflex, then bit his lip. Despite the man's assurances that he
had no intention of robbing him, he did not feel at ease. Man? he thought, then, narrowing his
eyes. Boy, really, he decided. The black hood had fallen back all the way to reveal a head of
very long coppery hair, which was twisted into a thick braid. The hair, the unlined skin, the wry
smile, and the round violet eyes made Quatre think that this person could not possibly be any
older than Katerina Blomst. That realization took some of the edge off his fear, but not much.
The older boy noticed his expression. "What?" although because he was pinching his nose
between two of his fingers it sounded more like "Bhaat?"
"Who are you?" Quatre demanded, finally daring to raise himself on his elbows.
"I'm called Duo," the older boy said. "Not that that means anything to you, I'm sure. I'm also
known as the Crow, for obvious reasons." He lifted a fold of his black--and now, Quatre realized,
very patched and threadbare--cloak. "Next you'll probably want to know what I'm doing out here
in the wilderness, why I'm not robbing you blind at this moment, and maybe who these fellows
are?" He waved a hand at the crows, who had moved to the rock wall and were watching the
two humans curiously. Quatre nodded, wide-eyed.
"As to the first," Duo went on, grinning, "wellI guess I'm kind of an outlaw. Not like your
parents undoubtedly told you," he chuckled when Quatre gasped softly. "It's a rather
complicated matter. To make a long story short, I choose to live life by my own terms, beholden
to none."
"You don't have a family of any kind?" Genuine astonishment overcame Quatre's fear for a
moment. It seemed amazing to him that someone as young as Duo should have no one to go
home to at night. Although he did not always get along with his father and rarely saw his sisters,
Quatre could not envision his life without them.
"Not of any kind," Duo said, with a bit of swagger in his voice. "Although," he added, and Quatre
could have sworn a look of wistfulness drifted briefly over his face, "there's one who might snare
me, yet. As for the robbing you blind part," he continued before Quatre had a chance to wonder
what he might have meant, "that's NOT what I do. Not to say my slate's completely clean, since
I have to eat, but I'm not the sort who'd prey on a kid like you. Trust me. I may run and hide, but
I DON'T lie."
"What do you want from me, then?" Quatre asked, frowning suspiciously.
Duo laughed. "What, it's not obvious? I want to help you. You're miles from any village. You're
obviously lost and probably hungry. At least that's what the crows told me."
"The--the crows told you about me?"
"Sure. One thing you learn living in the wild to listen to everything around you. Most things have
something to tell you."
Quatre considered telling Duo about the roses in Dorothy's garden, and about the sparrows, but
instead he simply nodded.
Duo misinterpreted his silence. "You don't believe me. That's okay. Hang around with me, kid,
and I could even teach you to answer back when a crow talks to you." He made a sound deep
in his throat, so similar to the cawing of the crows that Quatre's eyes widened. They went wider
still when the crows seemed to answer back, flapping their wings and jumping up and down
on their perch. Duo laughed. "Or maybe not. Crows are pretty ill-mannered and you look like a
good kid."
Quatre scowled. He was becoming resentful of Duo's constant referral to him as kid. Further
observation convinced him that Duo could be no older than Katerina. In fact, he was probably
one or two years her junior and Katerina wasn't THAT old.
Almost as though Duo had read his thought he said, "Hey, do you even have a name, kid?
Come on," he said when Quatre hesitated, "or I'm going to have to keep calling you `kid'and I
can tell by your expression how much you love that!"
Yes, Quatre thought. It would be comforting to know that someone in this vast, frightening
wilderness knew his name. And Duo seemed friendly. Surely if he had wanted to rob him he
would have done so already. "I'm Quatre," he said.
"Quatre, huh. Sounds foreign. You look like you've come a long way, too. Hey, we should
probably get out of the snow. My bum's completely frozen. Are you hungry, Quatre? I don't have
anything on me, but I could probably scare up a rabbit."
"ActuallyI have food." Quatre reached into his coat and produced the little bag of provisions
that Dorothy had given him.
"Great!" Duo exclaimed, jumping to his feet. "I'm starving. I'm lucky I bumped into you!"


They brushed some of the snow off the rock wall and sat upon it together, sharing food and
conversation. After the long, lonely silence of his journey Quatre found himself grateful for Duo's
lively chatter. He listened, fascinated, to the older boy's stories of life in the wilderness. Some of
them sounded almost too fantastic to be real, but Duo claimed never to lie.
Of course, Quatre thought fleetingly, that itself might have been a lie. He dismissed the
possibility, though. There was something very open and honest about Duo's face and manners,
something that inspired trust. Then too, Duo had kept this promise thus far not to rob him, and
Quatre had experienced quite a few fantastic things himself. He told them to Duo and was
deeply relieved when the older boy did not laugh at him when he came to the parts about the
river and weeping over the roses, as he had half feared he would. He concluded with a sad sigh
and, "I've been journeying now for such a long time and all I know is that Trowa isn't dead. Have
you seen him by any chance, Duo, on your wanderings?"
The violet-eyed boy thought long and hard. Finally he said, with a surprised laugh, "It may be
I have! At any rate he sounds familiar. If so, then you're in luck, for I know exactly where he is
and how you can get to see him. Although," he went on, frowning slightly, "if he hasn't sent word
to you after all this time it may be he's forgotten you for the princess."
"Princess?" Quatre echoed. A chill rushed through him; in all these long months it had not
occurred to him that someone else might have found Trowa first and that Trowa might not
WANT to return home with him. In as neutral a tone as he could manage, he inquired, "Does- -
does Trowa know a princess?"
"I should say so!" Duo seemed oblivious to his distress. "Last I heard they were quite close
indeed. If it is your friend. Listen, though, and tell me if this sounds like the one you're looking
for:
"We are actually just within the borders of the kingdom of Femte [1], which is ruled over by the
princess Relena. She rules well, despite the fact that she isn't very many years older than you
are. Her policy is to avoid conflict with other nations at all cost, and her people love her for it.
That's not the only reason they love her for from all I hear she's as wise as she is pretty. And
she's extremely pretty, for I've caught glimpses of her on occasion. A young girl in her position
is bound to be lonely, though, and one day, not very long ago it occurred to her that for every
princess there ought to be a prince. None of her courtiers could (or would) refute her logic, so
together they formed a plan. `I don't want just ANY prince, though,' the Princess declared. I
assure you that's what she said, for the one I mentioned before who might yet snare me works
in the palace. `I want a prince I can talk to, who will help keep my kingdom at peace and keep
me from being lonely. I don't care what he looks like so long as he's not repulsive. He should be
capable of intelligent conversation, but he should know when to be silent too, and listen when I
speak.'"
Duo broke off his story to laugh loudly. "Good luck, Princess!" He went on cheerfully, "The
Princess subscribes to at least five different newspapers from all over the world, and does every
crossword puzzle not only in ink but in record time. Or so I've been told. Anyway, she wrote up
an advertisement and sent it to each of her newspapers, which printed it and distributed it. It
wasn't long before the princes showed up on her doorstep...in swarms. There were so many
that the palace staff didn't know what to do with all of them; there simply wasn't room. A good
number had to camp out on the front steps, while some went home in disgust. Still, she declared
she would interview each one, and so she did, for many, many days. Unfortunately, each one
was more disappointing than the last. Some were too old, some too young. Some were so
bold as to declare that a young girl had no notion of statesmanship and intended to govern her
kingdom for her. Others were simply duller than rocks--she couldn't get a single intelligent word
out of them. Others babbled incessantly. Finally she cried in despair, `I no longer care about
princes! Just let him speak intelligently when necessary, and be silent otherwise!'"
"But Trowa?" Quatre interrupted. Duo's story was interesting, and he well understood Princess
Relena's loneliness, but he had to know about Trowa. "Was he there?"
"I was just getting to him. Not long after the Princess's declaration, along came this young
man who looked more like a beggar than a prince. He was lean as an alley cat, his clothes
threadbare, his expression sullen. From what I've heard he should have been the last person
in this world to read the Princess's advertisement. He must have seen the princes camped
out on the front steps--and looking none too happy about it, I should imagine--but he walked
right past them, up to the gate, just as though it were his own. When the guards turned him
away he walked along to the back and went in through the kitchens. He found the Princess in
her parlor, where she had just dismissed another tiresome prince. `I would like an interview,'
he stated simply. The courtiers asked him to leave and when he would not the guards came
forward to escort him forcefully from the palace. The Princess stopped them, though and
instead dismissed THEM while she interviewed the boy. The general opinion in the palace is
that she was rather taken with him already. In any case, the interview lasted more than two
hours and when it was over, the Princess asked her courtiers to dismiss the remaining suitors;
the position they were applying for was soon to be filled. And there you have it. No one knows
where the boy came from. I don't even know his name. As to whether he's a prince or not--it
hardly matters, now. They're to be married a week before Christmas."
"Married." Quatre breathed the word and stared at his boots. "Married," he said again dully. The
notion refused to sink in. Trowa could NOT marry a princess, even one as charming as Relena.
He could not envision Trowa walking boldly into a palace, let alone living in one. Those few
times Quatre had brought him to his own house--which was large and beautiful but could hardly
be compared to a royal palace--he had been so overcome with shyness that he lost his ability to
speak altogether.
Presently he became aware of Duo's gaze upon him. "Please," he said, not daring to meet the
older boy's eyes, "Do you at least know what he--that boy--looked like?"
"I haven't seen him," Duo said, "but my girl--the one I mentioned before--has. He's very young,
she told me, no older than the Princess herself. And he has messy brown hair and `very fine
eyes', to use her words. He doesn't say much to anyone except the Princess."
"That sounds like Trowa," Quatre murmured. "I wish I knew for certain. Duocan you take me
to the palace?"
"I can do that," the older boy replied at once. "Getting you to see the Princess, thoughthat
could prove difficult. A number of the princes were less than pleased with the Princess's
choiceand felt the need to express their displeasure. It's therefore next to impossible for
anyone to gain entrance to the palace these days. But I'm fairly good at sneaking into places.
Yes, I believe I could get you inside. And with the help of my girl you may be able to get to see
the Princess and her chosen suitor. Do you want to try?"
"I do!" Quatre exclaimed, turning to Duo and clasping his arm gratefully. "I may be too late, but I
must at least try."


Though Femte was a tiny kingdom it was still about half a day's plod through the snow to the
palace. The prospect of seeing Trowa revived Quatre's flagging energy, though, as did Duo's
seemingly unending stream of companionable chatter. On the way to the palace the older boy
told Quatre everything he knew about the young princess, and about his own sweetheart and
the reason they were not together.
"Hilde's no higher born than I am," he said. "And she's an orphan, same as me. Still, she had
the good fortune of being brought to the palace and the staff took her in and raised her. They're
her family, you might say, and in many ways she belongs to them. They wouldn't let her marry
someone like me. We'd run away together, but I'm a known thief. I can't give her the kind of life
she deserves."
"But that's not fair," Quatre insisted. "If Trowa can marry the Princess, why can't you marry
Hilde?" Then he thought, But no one knows where Trowa came from. Perhaps his real parents
are a king and queen. If that's true, why ever would he want to come back to live in the village
with me?
Femte was a charming kingdom, Quatre saw, when he and Duo finally reached its center late
that evening. Its streets were clean and well lighted, its homes stately, its shops upscale in
appearance, and the few people they encountered, all of whom were hurrying home to their
suppers, had pleasant faces. Even the cats that Quatre glimpsed in the alleys seemed well fed.
It made him said, because it reminded him so much of his own village, and on every block he
half-expected to see a house he recognized, or to hear Mother Blomst or Katerina calling to him
that it was late and he ought to be home and in bed.
The palace itself was breathtaking. When Quatre first saw it he was certain he had somehow
fallen out of his own adventure and into one of his beautifully illustrated storybooks back home.
In the moonlight and the light coming off the snow it looked like a wisp of spidersilk, its turrets
and towers as delicate as spun glass. Quatre half-feared to breathe, lest by doing so he blow it
away as thought it were made of white smoke.
"Quietly now," whispered Duo, "and stay close by me. There could be a great deal of trouble if
the wrong person sees us."
Keeping to the shadows, they hurried along to the back of the palace, where the kitchens were.
Delicious aromas wafted to Quatre's nose, causing his stomach to growl plaintively. Magically
conjured food was satisfying, but it was nothing compared to freshly baked breads, cakes and
cookies, succulent meats, and fresh fruits and vegetables, and he hadn't had anything like that
since he'd left the enchantress.
Trowa might have come this way, he thought. I might get to see him in just a short while. What
will I say to him? I've missed him so much. What will I do if he won't come back with me? He
knew that it would break Mother Blomst and Katerina's heart, and he feared it would break his
own as well. But I HAVE to see him, he told himself. I have to know.
Duo brought them below a lighted window and again bade Quatre hush, though he had not
spoken a word since they'd come within sight of the palace. Then he cawed twice like a crow.
"What now?" Quatre whispered.
"Shush. Now we wait."
They waited for about ten minutes, crouched in the shadows, before the kitchen door opened
and a slender figure emerged. Light from the open doorway glinted off silver armor and what
Quatre took at first to be an oddly shaped helmet. Quatre held his breath, thinking that it was
a sentry, and that they would soon be discovered. But, "Duo?" a girl's voice, soft and low,
whispered.
Duo stood and waved. "Over here."
Quatre heard the crunch of snow beneath running feet, and then Duo had the slender apparition
in his arms. Quatre flushed and looked away embarrassed, as they kissed.
Hilde, he thought, feeling vaguely disappointed. Though Duo had never really described her,
Quatre had envisioned a lady like the ones in his storybooks, or at the very least someone who
was not so grand, but graceful and beautiful like Katerina. Had he not heard Hilde's voice and
had she not been kissing Duo, he might have mistaken her for a boy, and a young one at that;
she was the daintiest person he had ever seen, though he knew she had to be a few years his
senior. But the armor, and the short sword at her belt, and the cropped black hair which he had
thought at first was a helmet She did have, he realized when Duo finally set her down and she
turned to look at him, the widest, bluest eyes he had ever seen.
Very quickly, Duo explained the situation. She listened in silence, frowning when Duo told her
what Quatre wanted to do. When he was finished she shook her head in exasperation.
"Do you have any idea what will happen if he's caught?"
"I can break him out of the dungeon if he's caught. He HAS to find out about his friend, Hil. This
is the only way I can think of."
Hilde glanced over her shoulder at Quatre. The boy tried to maintain a brave countenance, but
the word "dungeon" had frightened him.
"If the Prince IS Quatre's friend he'll be glad to see him," Duo reasoned gently, squeezing
her slender, metal-covered shoulders. "And if he isn't, Quatre will leave, no harm done. It's
important, Hil. He's come so far already."
Quatre met Hilde's gaze, pleading with her silently. He wondered what he would do if she said
no. He HAD to see Trowa; there was no question, not now that he was so close.
But Hilde recognized the yearning in his gaze and before his half-disbelieving eyes she
nodded. "I can get you to the quarters of the Prince and Princess," she said. Then she smiled
and Quatre finally understood why there had been so much warmth in Duo's tone when he
spoke of her.


Hilde insisted they wait until midnight to be certain that all in the palace save the nightwatch
were soundly asleep. She kept them in one of the pantries meantime, and brought them some
of the food that the cooks had left for the nightwatch. Hilde and Duo passed the time huddled
together for warmth, as the lower levels of the palace were not heated at night, talking together
in low whispers, but Quatre was too nervous to join them. He crouched in a dark corner, nibbling
his jam-slathered bread, sipping his tea, trying to think of what he would say when he finally saw
Trowa. A terrible thought had occurred to him just after Duo had said If the Prince IS Quatre's
friend he'll be glad to see him, one that he could not banish from his mind. The last time he had
seen Trowa, his friend's face had been twisted with so much scorn it broke Quatre's heart just to
think about it. What if Trowa still hated him?
A few rooms away, a clock chimed, signaling the arrival of midnight.
"It's time," Hilde announced. "Duo should stay here. If we're caught, there'll be less trouble if
it's only us." Duo nodded in agreement. "Ready, Quatre? It's now or never," she said when he
hesitated.
Sometimes, maybe, now or never In his head he heard Dorothy's song. If I don't do this now,
the chance will be gone forever, he thought and climbed resolutely to his feet. I'm coming,
Trowa.


Hilde fetched a torch and holding it aloft, she led the way through the dark, cold rooms and
corridors of the sleeping palace. Quatre kept close beside her, fear and hope mingling in his
heart. Each step brought him closer to Trowa; each step brought him closer to that which he
feared more than anything.
Shadows slithered like live things along the walls of the corridors they passed through. Quatre
fancied he could hear them muttering to one another over the wild pounding of his heart. They
seemed curious about the young warrior girl and her companion who was clearly a foreigner
and wondered what business they could possibly have wandering through the palace corridors
at midnight.
"Don't be afraid," Hilde said as though she too had heard the shadows or had sensed his
thought. "This is an enchanted palace and it does some strange things at night. Keep close to
me and you'll be all right." She smiled at him encouragingly and he no longer cared that she
was not a grand lady, just that she was compassionate and carried a sword.
As they emerged from the lower levels of the palace the corridors widened and Quatre saw that
the palace's interior was as beautiful and interesting as its exterior. Tapestries depicting brave
knights, beautiful ladies, and all sorts of fantastical beasts lent color to the walls.
At one point he glanced at the wall and had to stifle a cry of alarm when two very round, fire-lit
eyes gleamed back at him from the darkness. That same instant the owner of those eyes also
clapped a hand to his mouth, so Quatre knew he was looking into a mirror. The realization was
not as comforting as it should have been, because he truly had not recognized his own face in
the mirror's shiny surface. Staring at his reflection now, he was astonished by how much he had
changed in appearance since the last time he had looked into a mirror. His face was thinner, his
hair and clothes scruffier, but there was something more than that. He looked older. He hoped
Trowa would recognize him.
Next they passed through what appeared to be a forest where the trees were made of glass,
and if there were walls they were so far away that Quatre could not discern them. Hilde
informed him that it was the great hall. Crystal pillars rose to meet one another in graceful
arches just under a ceiling of clear glass through which the light from the stars fell down upon
them, lighting their way through the enormous room. Dark shapes flitted in and out among the
pillars.
"Are those the same as the shadow-things from before?" Quatre asked Hilde in a strained
whisper.
The girl shook her head. "They are the dreams of the people asleep in the palace. Sometimes
they get lost in this room--not surprising since it's so huge. There are quite a lot of them tonight;
almost everyone in the palace must be asleep."
She said it so calmly that Quatre took heart and looked at the strange apparitions without fear.
He saw giant fish swimming through the air as though it were water, and horses that galloped
soundlessly, their long tails and manes streaming behind them like banners. He saw men and
women of all ages and all stations in life. Two, he saw, an elderly man and woman, wore royal
crowns and moved among the pillars with dignified grace.
"Those are the Princess's parents," Hilde told him when he inquired. "They've been dead a long
time, but she often dreams about them because she wants so badly for her kingdom to prosper
and remain at peace. Don't be afraid."
Quatre was not. He rather liked the idea of the Princess's parents watching over their daughter
while she slept. He wondered if his own mother watched over him, and where his own dreams
went while his eyes were closed.
At last they came to a door and Hilde halted. "Here's the Princess's bedchamber. Take my torch
and go quietly. I hope it's your friend." She patted his shoulder and handed him the torch. Then
she pushed the door open slowly and stepped aside.
Trembling again in sudden apprehension, and clutching the torch between sweating hands,
Quatre entered the darkened bedchamber.
Had Quatre been less single-minded about his quest, he might have noticed the amazing things
in Princess Relena's bedchamber, like the bookcases that were nearly as tall as the room itself,
their shelves crammed with every kind of book imaginable. Or the potted plants, some with
flowers as dazzling as fireworks, others bearing fruits Quatre had only read of in his books
about faraway places. As it was, all he saw was the enormous bed, which was carved out of
crystal, shaped like a lily, and laden with coverlets that looked as soft as rose petals. Two dark
heads rested brow to brow upon the pillows. Quatre swallowed.
Trowa, he thought, and Princess Relena. He loves her. In that instant he hated the Princess
more than he had hated anyone in his life. The strength of his emotion surprised him and he
grappled with it. He had no reason to hate this girl, who had been as lonely as he.
He almost turned away then, but some tiny spark of disbelief prevented him. Instead he found
himself walking slowly toward that gorgeous bed and the two sleeping young people. He
stopped by the Prince's side and, with shaking hands, pushed the shimmering coverlet aside
slightly. Torchlight fell on a smooth, brownish cheek, long dark lashes, and a thin, unsmiling
mouth. The face was careworn but beautiful, the dark hair thick and shaggy, but soft looking. It
was a stranger's face. It was not Trowa.
Quatre felt a rush of relief, and all his hatred for the Princess dissolved in an instant. Then a
crushing realization came to him: this boy was not Trowa, so Trowa was still lost.
It was too much. After all this time, after all he had been through, it was just too much and he
could not stop himself from doing what he did next. Forgetting his danger entirely, Quatre sank
upon the bed heavily and began to cry as helplessly as a child. Big, choking sobs rose in his
throat and tumbled from his lips. Hot tears rolled down his cheeks and splashed his knees and
wrist. He had failed. He'd had no idea at the outset that the world could be so big. Trowa could
be anywhere in it by now. Twice he had allowed himself to be distracted and now he had lost so
much precious time. It didn't matter what happened to him now. He had failed. Trowa was lost.
So keen and consuming was his grief that he neither heard Hilde's warning hiss, nor felt the bed
shake as one of its occupants woke. He was made aware of his blunder when strong hands
seized him roughly by the shoulders and a low voice demanded, "Who are you? What are you
doing here?"
Had there been any hope left in his heart, Quatre might have thought to fling the torch at the
Prince and then run for his life. Instead he muttered, "It doesn't matter. Kill me or throw me in
the dungeon. I don't care."
Something flashed in the torchlight, and then Quatre felt cold steel pressed against his neck. He
swallowed and closed his eyes.
"You're the most pitiful assassin I've ever seen," the Prince said derisively. "Who sent you? Tell
me."
"No one sent me. Please. Just do it. I told you, I don't care."
Quatre could not see, but the Prince was staring at him in mingled disbelief and suspicion. Just
then the bedchamber door burst open and Hilde flew in, crying, "Your Highness--don't kill him!"
She halted when she saw the knife against Quatre's neck. In the silence that followed a new
voice said quite calmly, "Heero, don't kill him."
Relena took the knife from the Prince's hand and set it down on the bedside table. Then she
took the torch from Quatre and passed it to Hilde, who took it without question and used to it
light the sconces on the walls. The sudden light made Quatre's eyes ache, but he could not
look away from the Princess. He realized, dimly, that she was as lovely as the princesses in his
books at home, with her creamy clear skin, her wise sky-blue eyes, and her hair like polished
maplewood (though it was tangled from being pressed against a pillow).
She said, her eyes turned to Quatre, "This one is no assassin. Look at him. Who are you and
what do you want with us?" Her voice was gentle, her manner inquisitive and collected.
Quatre made no answer, but Hilde put in quickly, "He's no assassin, Your Highness. I--I brought
him here, begging your Highnesses' pardon." She bit her lip. "He wanted to see the Prince. The
reason is He thought maybe he was his friend, who's been missing for many months, now. I
couldn't think of any other way."
At the Princess's first words, Heero had relaxed his hold on Quatre. Now he stared at the
younger boy, no recognition in his slate blue gaze. "I've never seen you before in my life."
"I know. It's not you," Quatre said dully. "I'm sorry." His cheeks burned with shame. Their
kindness only made it worse; it prolonged his misery.
"But how did you even know about Heero?" the Princess persisted. "There'd been no
announcement. His identity was supposed to be a secret." Her gaze flew to Hilde. "Let me
guess. The Crow."
The black-haired girl flushed.
"Is he here?"
"No," said Hilde.
"Fetch him," said Relena. "You have my word no harm will come to him. I only want to get to the
bottom of this."
For a brief moment Hilde appeared rebellious. Then she nodded, pivoted smartly on her boot
heel, and left the chamber.
Heero said, when Hilde's footsteps had faded down the corridor, "We should lock them all in the
dungeon and question them tomorrow."
"No." Quatre twitched involuntarily as the Princess laid a hand on his shoulder. "I admit I'm as
mystified as you are as to why he's here, but look at him, Heero. He's trembling all over. He
looks exhausted. He looks heartbroken."
Quatre heard her words only dimly. The room had begun to shake. He felt so cold. And for
some reason he was having trouble keeping his eyelids up. Voices continued to buzz in his
ears:
"Are you sure, `Lena? In the interest of security I would advise you to"
"I'm sure. Something tells me we have to help him. Heero, fetch me that blanket. He's about to
fall over."
There was a grunt as though of disapproval, but then there was something warm and thick and
soft enveloping him and he was falling, or someone was guiding him into a supine position. His
cheek touched something soft, he heard a voice say, "Rest now. In the morning we'll figure out
what to do with you." Then all the sounds and the lights went out and he was asleep.


He dreamed that night. In his dream he walked through a thick forest of crystal trees. Snow
fell thickly all around him, big, fluffy flakes like dogwood petals, or like a swarm of white bees.
Trowa was somewhere in the forest. His laughter tinkled like bells-- like sleighbells--among
the crystal columns, but he never saw so much as a flicker of a shadow; the snow covered his
footprints as soon as he made them.
"Wait UP!" Quatre screamed.
"Slowpoke! Slowpoke!" the other boy answered back mockingly. "You never were very good at
racing."
Even in his dream Quatre's breath tore his lungs and he was finally forced to lean wearily
against a tree, clinging to it to remain upright. I'm sorry, Trowa. Hot tears coursed down his
cheeks. I can't do it. I'm so tired. I'm sorry.
"Quatre?" The other boy's voice came to him again, sounding fainter and farther away, but
gentler, too, and holding a plaintive note. "Quatre, I didn't mean it. Please find me, Quatre. It's
so cold in her palace. I'm freezing. My heart is frozen."
"Trowa," Quatre whispered, in spite of his pain, in spite of his own freezing body and the snow
wheeling dizzily round him. "I'm coming, Trowa. I'm coming"


He woke with sunlight in his face. The bed in which he lay was soft and very big, enough like
his own so that for a confused moment he thought perhaps he had dreamed everything--the
river, the enchantress, the Crow, the Prince and the Princess. But if this was his bed, and if he
had never left, why did everything ache so, his body and his heart? Why this immeasurable
sadness? He had his answer when a door opened, and the person who walked in was not one
of his father's servants, but a young girl not many years older than himself, one who wore a
gown of rose-colored brocade, and had a circlet of gleaming gold about her brow.
"Good afternoon," said the Princess. "You slept a long time."
Quatre turned his face into the pillow and groaned.
A gentle hand touched his hair. "Your friends will be glad to know you're awake. They were
worried. I'll have a servant bring some food for you." She was silent a moment. Then she
said softly, "You were crying in your sleep. The Crow--Duo--told me about your friend. You
were wrong, but you can't give up now. Not when you've come so far. I know that if anything
happened to Heero I'd go to the ends of the world to find him again. He's my first friend, my
only friend, and I love him. Trowa is obviously a very special person and I can't believe he's not
waiting for you somewhere."
Her words and her kind, sisterly caress touched something inside Quatre, a little spark of hope
that had never truly gone out. He struggled to suppress it, but as she continued to speak and
stroke his hair it grew brighter.
"We'll help you," she said. "Heero and I will find some way of helping you. You can't give up
now."


Food improved Quatre's spirits, or at least gave him energy. Duo was the one who brought him
his lunch, and slouched in a chair beside him while he ate, one of his wild crows perched on his
shoulder.
"Are you really not in trouble for being here?" Quatre asked worriedly, between spoonfuls of hot,
rich soup.
Duo shrugged and propped his feet up on the bed, causing the Princess to cough politely.
Grinning sheepishly, he lowered them. "Not really. His Highness reminded me no less
than three times that if he had his way I'd be in the dungeon, but" He glanced up at the
Princess. "I'm guessing I have you to thank."
"You have yourself to thank," Relena replied. "You could have run off as soon as Quatre was
inside the palace, but you stayed. You're loyal, and that's commendable. Besides, I know Hilde
loves you." She sounded a bit bewildered. Duo smiled.
"Thank you," said Quatre. "You didn't have to stay. You really could have gotten in trouble."
"Hey, I wanted to know if the Prince was your friend, too! Can't hurt to be in the good
graces of royalty." His impish grin crumbled when Quatre glared at him through bloodshot
eyes. "Seriously, kid, it didn't occur to me to leave," he said in a softer tone. "If it turned out we
were wrong, I wanted to help you out of the mess I'd gotten you into. If I'd run offwell, it would
have been the same as lying, in a way. Since we WERE wrongwhat are you going to do
now?"
Quatre stared at his soup. He hadn't had time to think about that. "I suppose," he said
hollowly, "that I have to keep going. I KNOW Trowa's still alive somewhere, but I don't know
where to look for him. I was following the river before, but now I've straid so far off that path
But I suppose THAT doesn't matter, since I don't even know if HE was following the river."
"He left no clue?" Relena pressed. "Not one?"
Quatre shook his head. "It was snowing so much the night he disappeared. By the time any of
us knew he was gone, the snow had covered up any tracks he might have left. I dreamed about
him last night," he added, staring at his soup and blushing. "He was always just ahead of me,
but I couldn't keep up. It was snowing in my dream, too."
"It's snowing in real life," Hilde said as she came through the door, brushing snow off her mantle
as she did. She grinned at Quatre. "Glad to see you're awake. We were worried."
Heero, who entered after her, merely grunted.
Relena said thoughtfully, "Don't be too quick to dismiss dreams. Not in this palace, anyway."
"Right," said Duo. "It was snowing. Maybe that means something. Maybe that meansTrowa
went north?"
"So you've ruled out three directions and one palace," Heero observed dryly as he crossed the
room to stand behind the Princess.
"What's north of here?" Quatre asked.
"Nothing," said Heero. "Wilderness. Jagged mountains. A forest where the trees have grown
with their branches all tangled together in crazy knots."
"Dire wolves. Giants and witches," Relena put in. "Yetis. Even dragons, I've heard. In the
old days, all kinds of creatures from the north used to threaten Femte, and the knights of the
kingdom would ride out to do battle with them. Nothing has happened in recent memory, but
one still hears of explorers going missing in the mountains and forests."
"Monsters would be the least of your worries," added Duo. "I've heard the men who live up north
are as fierce as the weather. Outlaws, mostly, and not the cuddly, helpful kind like me."
Quatre looked at each of them in turn, wide-eyed and horrified. "ButWHY would Trowa go
there?"
Hilde, who had been standing somewhat protectively in front of Duo and eyeing the Prince
warily, spoke up for the first time. "I've also heard of a man who lives there, somewhere beyond
the forest. A scholar, folk say."
"A folk TALE," Heero snorted.
Hilde shook her head. "They say he studies all day, and that he knows just about everything.
They say he knows how to tie all the winds of the world with one piece of twine. If he unties one
knot, sailors will have fair winds. If he unties a second, the wind blows hard. If he unties the
third and fourth knot, the storm would be so terrible it would uproot an entire forest. That part's
probably the folk tale, but still, you never know."
"I've never heard that story," said Princess Relena quietly. Heero and Duo shook their heads
solemnly as well.
Quatre thought hard. He had felt something when Hilde began talking, a tiny ember of a
memory. It had flared when she mentioned the sailors. He thought and thought until his head
hurt, but then it seemed to him that he HAD heard a tale like the one Hilde had told somewhere
before. He thoughts flew back across the miles and years to the hearth in Mother Blomst's
house, before which he and Trowa and Katerina had used to lie on their bellies while shadows
danced around them and Mother Blomst sat in her rocker and told them ghost stories from the
north. Slowly, the old woman's words came back to him, faint, but distinct:


--"The Prince sang, and the Keeper of the Winds heard him. He untied one of his mighty knots
and sure enough, warm and sweet- smelling wind from the south filled the sails of the Prince's
golden boat, and he began his journey across the sea"
"That's silly," Katerina said haughtily. She was thirteen, and beginning to believe herself too old
for stories.
"Shut UP, Kat," Trowa hissed. "Mama, get to the part about the sea monster. And the pirates.
Please?"
Quatre said nothing. He simply stared into the flames until his eyes began to water. Then he
looked out the window at the wind and the rain, and was glad of Trowa's warm, lean body
stretched out beside him, their hands almost brushing.--


"Quatre? Yo, Quatre."
Quatre blinked, then shook his head to clear it, and shrugged away from Duo, who had been
shaking him gently. Everyone was staring at him. He drew a deep breath, then said with
deliberate slowness, "I need to go north." Silence. "I've heard Hilde's story before, or one like it.
That has to be a clue. It's not a very strong one, but it's the only one I have. Maybe Trowa heard
the same story and went to find that scholar. Anyway, it's a possibility. The only one I have."
"You can't go there, Quatre," Hilde said. "Haven't you been listening? It's too dangerous."
"I HAVE been listening. I have to go," he insisted. He turned to the Princess. "Miss Re--my
lady" He was not sure how to address her. "You said you'd go to the ends of the world to
find Hee--the Prince, I mean. I can't do less for Trowa. If I look for the scholar at least I'll have
a specific goal. That's better than wandering in some random direction. I may as well go there
as anywhere because wherever I go, I'll be lost until I find him. I'm already lost without him." He
was NOT going to cry again. He didn't even know why he bothered arguing with these people.
He WOULD go north. There was no question about it. Still, it would have been nice if he could
have had their support.
There was a long silence. Then Duo said, with the sudden unexpectedness of a sneeze, "I'll go
with you." He flushed as four astonished gazes turned on him. "Well, why not? I've never been
very far north of Femte, but I know the wilderness better than anyone. And if there's a guy up
there who can tie up the windswell, I'd like to meet him. Besides, I can't just let the kid go on
his own. That would be likelike murder. And if we do find this Trowa someone needs to give
him a good shaking and I have a feeling it's not going to be Quatre, and I'm talking too much,
right?"
Hilde threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly, causing the crow on this shoulder
to flap and jabber indignantly.
"Duo," Quatre murmured, looking at his friend--yes, a true friend, he no longer doubted it--with
surprise and something bordering on adoration.
Relena rose gracefully, though she smoothed out her skirt just like a young girl. "Duo," she
said, "if you will be Quatre's guide into the northern lands, and his guardian, you will be
rewarded handsomely for your valor."
"Really?" Duo looked up from the circle of Hilde's arms.
"You'll be granted leave to enter Femte and even our palace, freely. I'll also give you leave to
marry my guardswoman." She smiled gently at Hilde, who still had her face buried in Duo's
thick, coppery hair. "Heero and I will even throw you a wedding befitting a hero of Femte and a
generally loyal guardswoman."
Duo jumped to his feet to thank the Princess. Hilde smiled and looked pleased, but Quatre
noted the pallor of her face, and how tightly her hand clutched Duo's. He looked at Heero, who
still stood away from the others, his arms crossed across his chest, his expression half-amused.
"That's IF you come back," he drawled.


Relena had offered them one of her carriages of pearl and gold, but they had turned down her
offer, albeit reluctantly, because it would surely attract thieves. They took a horse from the royal
stables, though (only one, since Quatre had never ridden before and Duo decided they would
save time if he didn't try to learn now) and several fur-lined blankets and backpacks stuffed with
provisions. To everyone's great surprise Heero himself fitted them with weapons (a sword for
Duo and a long dagger for Quatre) from the armory.
They left the next morning, in the early morning while the sun was shimmering pink and yellow
on the fresh snow. The sky was clear, the air crisp and cold. Relena, Heero, and Hilde saw
them to the border of the kingdom, beyond which the wilderness began.
While Duo and Hilde made their tearful farewells, the Princess wrapped Quatre in her arms and
hugged him tightly. "Good luck," she said. "I have faith in you."
He started as a hand closed over his shoulder. He turned to find himself starring up into Heero's
dark blue eyes. "I do too," the young Prince said, "believe it or not." Then he helped him into the
saddle behind Duo.
Duo looked up at his crows, who were circling overhead. He called to them, and it seemed to
Quatre that he said, "Seek out your people wherever they are and ask them if they've seen the
boy we're looking for." The crows cawed their ascent, turned one last somersault in the air, and
flapped away noisily. For a little while Quatre could still see them, like tiny inkblots in the perfect
blue of the sky. Then they vanished altogether.
"Farewell, farewell," cried the Prince, the Princess, and Hilde.
Quatre wanted to thank them one last time, but before he could, Duo had tugged on the horse's
reins, and they were galloping forward, the wind tearing through their hair and screaming in
their ears. Quatre clung to Duo's waist. It was exhilarating, his first time on a horse; he had
never moved so quickly nor felt so powerful in his life. At the same time, the speed with which
he seemed to be plunging through the world frightened him. When he looked behind him Femte
seemed very tiny already. In a moment it had disappeared entirely. When he looked ahead he
could already see what looked like a stain against the snow--but he knew it was the forest.

Notes:
[1] Danish for "fifth." I wanted to keep some reference to the Scandinavian setting of the original
story.
The Snow Queen
PART THE FIFTH: The Robber Woman
by Rachel

Dorothy was going to be the robber woman, originally, but Noin informed me at the last minute
that she wanted to do some swashbuckling for once. Ooh, and it was fun to write an action
scene after all the romance I'd been writing ate the time. ^__^

The forest was farther away than it had appeared when they first set out from Femte. As Hela
[1]--Duo christened the horse-- carried them over snow-covered hills and down through snow-
covered valleys tiny clusters of soot-colored houses appeared against the white landscape.
They seemed ragged as cobwebs, like skeletons rather than places where people actually lived.
Duo kept clear of them, although in some instances it might have saved time to pass through
them.
"Thieves' dens, all of them," he muttered when Quatre inquired. "I've been on their streets
before, and I have no desire to be anywhere near them ever again. The men live scarcely better
than the curs. Each prey on the other and on unwary travelers" Quatre gasped and Duo
shook himself and forced a smile. "Not that there's any reason to suspect your Trowa would
have gone into one of those places." Less certain, "Is there?"
Quatre shook his head and stared at the cluster of ramshackle buildings they were passing
swiftly by. He thought he saw movements in the dark spaces between the buildings. Dogs
scavenging, he realized, or maybe men. An icy shudder wrenched through him. He clutched
Duo's waist tightly. "No," he said at length. "Trowa would not stop there. He was still alive when
I left the enchantress, and he was alive in my dream." To himself he added, And I would know if
he were dead. Somehow I would just know.
They rode on in silence and eventually left the skeletal villages far behind them. Only the forest
lay ahead of them now and each time Quatre peered around Duo it seemed bigger and darker,
until it sprawled across the horizon like two giant arms waiting to catch the travelers in a deadly
embrace. It looked exactly as Heero had described it; trees slumped against one another, their
branches tangled together in knots so thick and crazy that it was utterly impossible to discern
where one tree ended and another began. They looked like brambles, like gnarled old fingers
clenched together. This was demon's work, Quatre thought, fighting revulsion; trees did not
grow that way naturally. There was evil in this forest.
Hela seemed to agree. What had been a gallop slowed to a nervous canter, and then a
reluctant trot. Finally she halted altogether some meters before the solid line of trees. She
whuffed and tossed her head when Duo bent low to whisper encouragements in her ear. "She
doesn't want to go in," he said, straightening. "Not that I blame her. This is the farthest north I've
ever been, and you can see why I never felt inclined to make the journey before."
"Can we not go around?"
Duo shook his head grimly. "It would take forever. Besides, like I said before, the beast we really
have to fear in there parts walks on two legs. We've managed to avoid trouble this far. I don't
want to tempt fate any more than we already have." He slipped from Hela's back and again
spoke gently but urgently to the skittish horse.
Quatre looked up at the sullen sky. Beyond the forest jagged snow-capped mountains rose
like knifepoints. Had Trowa really come this way? Quatre wondered. And if he had, how did
he make it through the forest? Did he take the time to go around it? Did he brave its unnatural
darkness and pass through it? Or was there another way? Squinting at the sky he caught the
black speckle of birds circling over the tops of the trees.


It took much coaxing, promises of oats and carrots, wheedling and finally pleading, but Duo
managed to convince Hela that forward was the direction in which she ought to be moving. It
was close to sunset when they entered the forest (Quatre could tell because the sky changed
from the color of a boiled turnip to the color of boiled beer) but the coming nightfall did not
bother Duo. Or rather, it hardly mattered, he told Quatre, for it could be broad daylight outside
and inside the forest it would be dark and gloomy as night.
Quatre wanted to light a torch, but he could not hold it aloft and cling to Duo AND push
branches and spiders' webs out of his face and hair at the same time. Gradually, though, his
eyes became adjusted to the dark, and once they were he wished they were not for the things
he half-saw out of the corners of his eyes were more alarming to him than the things he had
imagined. Creatures slunk by, in the tree branches and on the ground. Some were as small as
squirrels, some smaller, others Quatre could only guess at because he only caught a glimpse of
scaly tail or webby wing and then whatever he wished he hadn't seen had disappeared into the
darkness that hung over them like a solid thing. He heard noises--besides the drumbeat of his
heart--the squlch of mud and soggy bracken beneath Hela's hoofs, the drip of rain water as it
made its way slowly from the forest roof to the ground far below, the chitter of insects and other,
bigger things. He smelled things. The forest reeked of old darkness, of decay, of things long
forgotten and best so.
And had Trowa come this way? Quatre could not picture him here. Not Trowa, who was all
about new things, whose mouth was soft and pink as flower petals and whose eyes were full of
green leaves and clean river water tumbling over moss-covered rocks. Trowa who on summer
nights had lain beside him on the cool, sweet-smelling grass making up stories to keep them
both awake while they waited for shooting stars.
The memories warmed him and made him sleepy. He drooped in the saddle, but jerked himself
upright when his forehead touched Duo's back.
"It's okay," the other boy said without turning around. His voice sounded duller in the murkiness
of the forest. "Lean against me. Go to sleep. It's night after all."
Quatre wrapped his arms more tightly around Duo's waist and rested his head against the older
boy's broad back. "How will we know when it's morning?"
"You'll wake up."
Comforted by the confidence in Duo's voice--even though it sounded forced--Quatre closed his
eyes and in a short while he was asleep.


When Quatre roused, though, he knew it was not morning and that he had not slept for very
long. Hela had stopped. Duo was sitting straight in the saddle, his body tense and alert, one
hand on the pommel of his sword.
"What is it?" Quatre whispered.
"Shh."
Quatre's hand went to the dagger at his belt. He had hoped he would never have to use it.
In a very low voice Duo muttered, "Someone's watching us. I can't tell how many or exactly
where they are. If anything happens, stay close to me. You got that?"
Quatre nodded and swallowed hard. His throat was suddenly very dry, and little prickles danced
all over his skin. His heartbeat rang loudly in his ears. Too loudly. Surely whoever watched
them from the darkness--whatever watched them--could heard it. He clutched the dagger and
scanned the shadows, certain he saw eyes peering back at him, and the glitter of knives and
teeth.
He had no warning. Something zinged between him and Duo, ripping the air, and thudded into a
tree a mere three inches from his neck.
Hela reared up, whinnying in alarm. Quatre cried out. He felt himself falling, made a desperate
grab for Duo's cloak, missed, and tumbled into the damp, rocky darkness of the forest floor.
Stunned and breathless, for a moment he could only gasp and spit out the mud and spiders'
webs that clung to his mouth.
Then everything happened at once.
Another arrow shot out of the darkness. Hela screamed and reared up again. Quatre saw her
sharp hooves cutting the darkness above his face and knew she could not see him. He had only
an instant to act. Frantically he rolled away and scrambled to his feet just as the horse's hoofs
came clashing down on the spot where he had lain.
"Quatre!" Duo shouted, then swore as more arrows came at him.
Quatre heard the other boy cry out in sudden pain and then his curses became fiercer and more
inventive. He clutched his dagger, but he could not see in the darkness, only knew where Duo
was by the sound of his voice and the ringing of steel as his sword left its scabbard. He felt sick
and helpless.
Suddenly there were shapes all around him, darker than the darkness--human shapes, ones
with swords and daggers and rough voices.
"Catch them," a brassy voice called out. "We'll have both horse and rider for supper tonight."
"There's another one somewhere around," a second voice said, this one higher pitched and
softer, like the rustling of leaves.
Quatre's blood went cold. Both speakers sounded very close, but he could not see them. He
felt their heavy breathing, though, all around them. Blindly he struck out with his dagger, but his
thrusts met only tree trunks and empty air.
"Quatre!" Duo called again over the clash of blades and Hela's frightened whinnies. His voice
sounded farther away.
They were being separated, Quatre realized. Duo, his protector and friend, was vanishing in the
awful wave of darkness and blades. Quatre knew he should make no sound, should not draw
attention to himself, but he could no longer help himself. In his fear and desperation he called
out, "Du--" and that was as far as he got before the cutthroats were upon him.
They seized him roughly from behind. He had time for one last swipe with his dagger and he
felt a sick satisfaction when his small weapon came in contact with soft leather and he heard a
muffled curse.
His satisfaction was short-lived, unfortunately. A rough face thrust itself close to his and he
found himself staring into a grimly smiling mouth full of rotten, crooked teeth. "So the kitten has
claws," he chuckled like pebbles grinding together. "Well, so do the big cats."
Something flashed before Quatre's eyes, he felt a fiery sting across his cheek, and then
something hot and wet was sliding down his face onto his lips. Steeling himself against the pain
and fear he gathered his strength for one last try. "DUO!"
Something heavy struck the back of his head, and he knew nothing more.


He woke to find himself lying facedown on a dirty floor and before he'd had time to marvel at
the fact that he was not dead a wave of nausea swept through him and he retched helplessly
for a minute. When he had finished he looked up and blinked rapidly. There was a light source
somewhere, but it was a long time before the room ceased spinning and he could discern what
lay around him.
He was not alone. That was the first unfortunate thing he became aware of. That his wrists and
ankles were tied was the second. The third was that he hurt all over, especially his head and
cheek.
"He's puny," someone said. Quatre recognized the voice that sounded like grinding
pebbles. "Too bad we couldn't nab the other one. This one won't be more than a mouthful."
"He'd be plenty for one of us." It was the brassy voice.
"There's more than one of us, Colonel," the first speaker grated.
"So?" from the other whom, from the swagger in his voice, the title, and the fact that the first
speaker made no reply, Quatre gathered to be the leader.
"He's awake, you know. He can hear us," a third voice said, and Quatre started despite his pain,
for it was the softly pitched voice, the one that had sounded like the rustling of dry leaves. It was
a woman's voice, he realized.
"So?" the Colonel said again, sounding bored. "He can scream for help again, but no one is
going to hear him."
Quatre twisted, got his legs under him, and raised himself into a kneeling position. He stared
up at the trio that surrounded him. They were not the ragged bunch he had expected. Their
costumes were patched, dirty, and faded, but they seemed to be made of strong, rich material.
They looked almost like soldier's uniforms, though anything that might have distinguished their
origins was long gone. Their faces were not those of madmen, either. The Colonel and the
black- haired woman at his side might even have been beautiful had they been less cruel.
He had little time to contemplate that observation then, though. The first man who spoke
grinned savagely and knelt beside him. Quatre felt the tip of a knife touch his throat, felt the
man's hot, sour breath close to his ear. "You're not from these parts, are you, little kitten? That's
a mighty nice coat you have on, too. Where are you from? Were you and your friend alone, or
are there more of you in our forest?" Quatre closed his eyes and kept his mouth clenched tightly
shut. "You know," the man went on softly, stroking Quatre's throat with his knife, "we're going to
kill you, anyway, so even though you can't save yourself by talking, you can make your death a
little moreI hesitate to say pleasant, but"
"Otto." The woman's voice, soft and rustling as it was, held a warning note, one Otto heeded, for
he took his knife away from Quatre's throat and climbed to his feet.
"Just having a bit of fun, Noin," he said. "Don't go mama bear on me."
The woman said nothing, only glared, and finally Otto shrugged his shoulders and backed away
from the terrified boy.
"He'll talk," the Colonel said. "Hunger might loosen his tongue."
"Don't let him get too hungry," advised Otto, "or he won't be a fit meal even for the dogs."
Quatre shuddered.
"Lock him up, meantime," the Colonel commanded. "I'll decide what to do with him later."
Quatre looked up one last time at his captors, but the Colonel had already turned away, his long
silvery hair swirling around his shoulders like a cape. Otto grinned down at him toothily. Only
the woman had not moved. Something akin to pity flickered in her dark purple eyes but before
Quatre could be sure of it she turned away and followed the Colonel.


The man called Otto dragged him down a short flight of roughly hewn steps to what looked like
a cellar. A torch sputtered fitfully in a sconce, illuminating the corners of boxes and the bars of
a cage, into which Otto cast Quatre. He laughed as he slammed the door closed and locked
it. "Bye for now, kitten," he said. "We'll be back, never fear." Then he left.
Quatre tucked his knees up to his chest and buried his face in his arms. He was shaking all
over. "Stop it," he told his body. He couldn't afford to panic. There was too much at stake. There
was Trowa, and there was Duo. "Stop." A tear slid down his cheek. He swiped at it furiously,
then hissed in pain when he touched the cut on his cheek.
The pain helped to ground him, however. Crying would not save Trowa or Duo, would not get
him out of this. He could not panic. He ignored the rawness in his chest and the scratchiness in
his throat, lifted his head and peered about.
His was not the only cage in this cellar. The weak torchlight flickered against other bars and
though he could not see their occupants, he became aware of steady breathing, an occasional
shuffling, and the flutter of wings. So Quatre was the only HUMAN prisoner the cutthroats
had, but not the only prisoner. He wondered what that betokened, who his captives were, and
from whence they had come. He supposed the latter two were not so important. All that really
mattered was his escape.
But minutes lengthened and became hours and his belly rumbled constantly and his mind was
plagued with worries for Duo's safety and still he could think of no way out of his cage. He had
nothing with which to pick the lock, even if he could have reached it. His hands and ankles were
still bound. His dagger had been taken away from him. Finally exhaustion overcame him and he
sank into a restless sleep, one punctuated by awful dreams about being eaten and Trowa being
trapped forever in a block of ice.
He woke to the sound of a door opening and footsteps. He opened his eyes and sat up, his
heart pounding wildly.
It was the black-haired woman. She stood outside his cage, looking down at him curiously.
"Are you going to kill me now?" Quatre demanded, fear making him bold.
"Not at this moment," the woman replied. There was nothing in her tone--not sympathy, not
malice. For some reason her lack of expression frustrated Quatre.
"Have you found my friend, yet? There's no point in not telling me if you're going to kill me and
eat me, anyway, is there?"
The woman appeared surprised by his sarcastic drawl, and faintly amused. "No, I suppose there
isn't. Oh, I could do as Zechs suggested and tell you we HAVE caught him and that we'll torture
him unless you tell us everything, but I don't believe in unnecessary cruelty."
"You're going to eat me," Quatre reminded her dryly.
"We all have to eat." She smiled at him again--not warmly--then sat down on one of the boxes
that dotted the cellar floor, laying her sword across her knees. "Why don't you tell me, though?
It'll pass the time, anyway. Everyone who isn't looking for your friend is upstairs getting drunk.
I'm bored. Entertain me."
"I'm alone," Quatre spat. "Are you entertained?"
"Vastly. What's your name and what were you doing in the forest alone?"
Quatre was silent.
"I'll start, then. My name is Lucrezia Noin--"
"I'm happy for you. Why are you talking to me like this?"
She shrugged. "Maybe I have nothing better to do. Maybe there's a little kindness left in me."
Quatre scowled and looked away. He expected the woman to leave after he'd sat in stubborn
silence long enough, but she remained. Frustration rose again in his chest. "Go away, go away,"
he wanted to shout. He thought he guessed what she was doing. He was alone, he was lonely,
and she was the only person there for him to talk to. She thought he'd blab if she waited long
enough. Well, let her wait, he thought. He'd been weak in Femte; he would be strong, now.
Minutes became hours and Lucrezia Noin did not leave. Eventually Quatre half-forgot she was
there watching him. His thoughts turned homeward. If he was going to die soon, he reasoned,
he wanted all his pleasant memories with him. There were so many of them. He had spent more
than half of his thirteen years knowing Mother Blomst, Katerina, and Trowa. For more than half
his life he had not been lonely, had not been frightened. He had been quite happy. His quest
had ended in failure, but some simply did. His books at home had taught him that. If he thought
about that, though, he would start to cry, and he could not cry now, in front of his enemies. So
he thought about the pleasant things, only, about sitting on Mother Blomst's floor and listening
to her stories, about playing in the fields by the river with the other village children, about all his
pitiful attempts to make Trowa laugh.
The sound of someone singing drew him from his thoughts. For a moment he was confused.
Then he remembered the woman. He glanced up at her, but she was no longer looking at
him. She was staring off into some middle distance and Quatre found himself staring at her.
A change had slipped over her hard countenance. Her eyes, her lips, her whole face had
softened. She looked wistful, she looked beautiful. Quatre recognized her song. It was the same
one the enchantress Dorothy had sung to him when he stayed in her enchanted garden so
seemingly long ago:

"Sometimes, maybe,
Now or never
What is gone
Is gone forever
Rowan, hazel,
Thyme, and heather
All are faded
In the nether
North wind, south wind,
East and west,
Everything is
Laid to rest."

"How do you know that song?" Quatre demanded, when she had finished the third verse.
Lucrezia Noin looked down at him and shrugged. "I've always known it. The girls in my village
used to sing it. It always made me sad, thinking that some things you lose are just gone forever.
I can't remember every thing I've lost since I ran off with Zechs. Sometimes I'm glad I can't
remember."
His heart wanted to pity her, but he willed himself against it. "I've lost Trowa," he said. "And I
won't ever get him back."
"Who is Trowa?"
He told her, never really knowing why. Maybe it was to deflect the conversation, if such it was,
from her to him. After all, he was the one in the cage. He was the one who was going to be
eaten. He was the one who deserved pity. Maybe it was because he wanted his killer to know
something about him. When he had finished she was silent for a moment. He wondered if she
was going to tease him again. To his surprise, she did not. What she said, finally, was,
"I used to be in love, too."
Quatre started. In love? "I'm not in love!" He loved Trowa, of course, but to be IN love with
him? Was it possible? He thought about the other boy, about the times they had spent
together. Then he stopped himself. If he was going to die he did not want to think about loving
Trowa. It would be too painful. "I'm not in love with him," he whispered, more to himself than to
the woman. "It doesn't matter, anyway. Trowa's lost. He's gone forever."
"Excuse me," said a new voice, and both Quatre and Lucrezia Noin lifted their heads in
surprise. The voice came from one of the smaller cages, one that was far too small to contain
a human. "Coo coo, excuse me, it wasn't my intention to eavesdrop, but there's simply nothing
else to do when you're waiting to be cooked and eaten." The voice went on as Lucrezia and
Quatre gaped. "This Trowa you mentioned, was he a pale, slender boy with dark green eyes
and rather uniquely styled light brown hair?"
Quatre swallowed. His mouth had gone suddenly dry. "Y--yes," he stammered.
"And did he have a dark blue overcoat and a grey scarf and hat?"
"Yes, he did. Mother Blomst knitted the scarf and the hat for him last summer." His heart leaped
in his chest. "Have you--have you seen him?"
"Coo coo, indeed I have if we're talking about the same boy. It was late last winter, when my
mate and I were lying in our nest. We'd settled down to sleep when we heard this tremendous
roar and our nest was nearly bowled over by a flying sledge. It was driven by the Snow Queen,
and at her feet sat the boy I just described to you. No doubt they were heading north to Lapland,
for the Snow Queen has a palace there. Coo coo."
Lucrezia Noin jumped to her feet, pulled a ring of keys from her belt, and used one to unlock
the tiny cage. Out flew a wood-pigeon. They watched him flutter about the room, reveling in the
freedom of movement.
"Excuse me," said another voice from between the bars of another dark cage. "I know Lapland
well, for I was born there. It is a glorious place where you can leap and run about freely on the
sparkling ice plains. The Snow Queen does indeed have a palace there. I've even seen it from a
distance."
"Oh, Trowa." Quatre's poor heart could not beat any faster. He knew where Trowa was! He was
alive and safe, though a prisoner of the Snow Queen. He had never passed through the forest
or the valleys with their awful, ghostly villages.
Lucrezia Noin unlocked the second cage and out trotted a dainty cream-colored reindeer. He
tossed his head and stamped his hoofs and Lucrezia had to warn him and the wood-pigeon to
be silent in case the men upstairs were not as well into their cups as they ought to be by now.
"Listen," she said, "misterreindeersir"
"Sandrock is my name," he replied.
"Fine. This boy here--can you guide him to the Snow Queen's palace so that he can find his
friend?"
"He can ride on my back. He looks light enough."
"Can you carry me, too?"
Sandrock considered it. "I can try."
"Trying sounds just fine to me," said the woman.
"What are you doing?" Quatre hissed as she unlocked the door to his cage.
"What does it look like I'm doing?" she replied as she sliced through his bonds with her
knife. "Come on." She grabbed his wrists and pulled him to his feet. "I think I ran away with
Zechs because I was bored of the village life and wanted adventure. But this isn't the kind of
adventure I was looking for. So I'm coming with you." Her voice was soft and breathy now, her
eyes alight. They sparkled like amethysts in the torchlight. She was young, Quatre realized, and
very, very beautiful.
Lucrezia Noin picked up her sword and handed her knife to Quatre. "We must all be very quiet,"
she cautioned as she led the way to the door. "The men should be passed out drunk" She
pushed the door open a crack and peered out. "And so they are. Come now. Quietly."
She slipped through the doorway and out of the cellar and Quatre, the wood-pigeon, and
Sandrock the reindeer followed her.
The other robbers were indeed passed out drunk. They lay sprawled across tables and on the
floor. Their snoring rattled the rafters above their heads and the empty tankards by their limp
hands. The Colonel's magnificent silver hair shrouded his immobile form like a cloak. Lucrezia
paused a moment to look at him.
"Oh, Zechs," she murmured. "I loved you, but this isn't the life I wanted." Then she turned away.
The others followed her in silence. No one stopped them.


The wood-pigeon found Duo and Hela wandering about the forest searching with diminishing
hope for Quatre, and flapped back to tell the others. Sandrock moved silently between the trees
and so they came upon their missing companions swiftly and without alerting them to their
approach.
Quatre cried out in surprise and alarm when he saw Duo. The older boy looked haggard; his
face was pale, his cloak torn, there were blood-soaked bandages around his forearm and shin,
and his braid looked as tangled as the branches. Still, his eyes went wide with amazement and
delight when he saw Quatre riding toward him. He grabbed the younger boy from Sandrock's
back and hugged him. Then he listened while Quatre introduced his two new companions (his
duty done, the wood-pigeon had flown off to find his mate) and told him all that had transpired
since their separation.
"Lapland," Duo mused, leaning wearily against Hela's flank. "And the Snow Queen. "Well, it's in
accordance with your dream, isn't it? Lots of snow and ice?"
"Yes, it is! And I remembered something more from my dream, too. Trowa mentioned a palace.
He said 'It's so cold in her palace.' We're going to find him, Duo, I know it."
Duo smiled. "I think you're right. Still, he couldn't have gotten kidnapped away to a tropical
island somewhere? Oh, well. At least we know where we're going, now. To Lapland!" He swung
into the saddle. "Madame?" he drawled and leaned down to help Lucrezia up beside him.
"To Lapland," Quatre breathed excitedly. "Let's go, my Sandrock!"


Away they flew, over gnarled roots and patches of frozen mud, through the tangled forest and
out into a wide plain of snow. The mountains reared up before them like swords, crows and
ravens screamed, and wolves howled, but Quatre was not afraid. Day turned to night and
starlight glittered on the snow. A curtain of rainbow light shimmered and danced above the
mountains.
"Do you see that?" Sandrock cried joyfully. "Those are my northern lights! I'm almost home."
Quatre clung to the reindeer's neck and laughed along with him. Hold on, Trowa, he thought, I'm
on my way!

Notes:
[1] The Scandinavian goddess of death.
The Snow Queen
PART THE SIXTH: The Eastern Scholar and His Wife
by Rachel

I'm coming, Trowa. I will find you. I'm coming, I'm on my way. Hold on. Quatre said the words
over and over to himself, until they became the rhythm of Sandrock's light footfalls as they
galloped silently over the snowy plain.
That far north and at that time of year the sun rose late and wavered above the mountains for
only a few hours each day before hurrying away to more southerly lands. Pale purple dusk
lingered over the world for a time before following the sun and night fell, thick as a blanket. For
much of the way north of the forest, the travelers had only the moon and the stars, and the
eerie, frosty rainbow light of the aurora for guidance.
Sandrock seemed happy to be back in his native land. He sprang over rocks and frozen ponds
as easily as though he had wings. He chattered gaily all the while, about his childhood, his
brothers and sisters and the things he had seen high up in the mountains, but Quatre, who had
dreamed for so long of exploring new, exciting places, listened only half-heartedly. He found
the darkness and the silence oppressive. He felt closed in, stifled, as though he were moving
through a long dream that he could not wake from. Trowa was in his dream, always just ahead
of him, but out of sight. Like the sun, he thought bitterly. It's up right now. It's day, just not here.
This was an alien land, even more so than Femte and the forest had been, because at least in
those places there were people. Here there seemed to be only mile after mile of snowy plain,
ringed by jagged, glassy mountains, and overhead constellations he did not recognize. But
of course, he thought, this is the realm of the Snow Queen. Things are this way because she
wants them to be this way. And she has Trowa.
The almost constant darkness made him sleepy, but a growing sense of foreboding kept him
anxious and awake. He realized after a time that the terror that pricked his heart came not so
much from the fact that the Snow Queen had Trowa in her palace. As he neared the object of
his long quest he began to remember the days before Trowa's disappearance, how strange his
friend had acted, how cold and shallow his eyes had seemed when he looked at Quatre--almost
as though he had not known him. What would he do, Quatre wondered, if when he finally looked
into those eyes again, he still found no recognition there?
He did not mention his fears to Sandrock, Duo, or Lucrezia. At night (real night, not merely
sunless day) when they rested, the four of them huddled together against Hela's flank, with
Quatre in the middle, he could only listen as his companions discussed the next day's course of
action.
"I just wish we knew what her palace was like," Duo said as he stared at the sky. His breath
came out in little white puffs. "I have the feeling there isn't going to be an easy back entrance,
or pretty young guardswomen who are easily charmed by handsome rogues." His eyes twinkled
in the light from the stars, a smile curved his lips, and Quatre knew he was thinking of his own
pretty young guardswoman, back in Femte.
"I wish we knew something of the Snow Queen herself," said Lucrezia as she sharpened her
knife on a stone. "If Quatre can't reason with her, we may have to fight her. Here." She handed
the knife to Quatre. "I owed you one."
Quatre took the small knife and stared at it. He turned it this way and that, mesmerized by the
gleaming blade.
He had never thought about it before, but now he wondered--would he have to fight the Snow
Queen? In order to free Trowa, would he have to kill her? Would that break the spell?
"Maybe we can melt her," Duo mumbled as he rolled onto his side and drew his fur-lined cloak
up to his chin. "Maybe that scholar knows how we can do it." His snores soon mingled with
those of Sandrock.
Quatre sighed and tucked the knife away. He lay back against Hela's saddle. Dropping his voice
to a whisper so that he would not disturb Duo, he said, "Tell me about Italy," to Lucrezia.
The young woman propped her head up on her hand and stared past him into the
darkness. "I'll tell you what I can," she said softly, the skin around her eyes crinkling as she
smiled. "Remember, I grew up in a very small village, by the sea. If you really want to know what
Italy is like, you'll have to go see it for yourself. Maybe you will, some day." She yawned. "I was
actually in Firenze [1] once, when I was a little girl. The cathedrals were like nothing I had ever
seen before. They looked like they were made out of candy. I thought I was in Faerie Land."
She laughed. "I was VERY young at the time."
He listened in rapt silence while she told him of her girlhood. She remembered a few things:
her grandmother's cooking, the smell of the sea and the lonely, wild cries of the seagulls, the
pilgrims who rested at her uncle's inn on their way to Rome and the stories they told her. "It's
strange, Quatre. I remember exactly why I left. I knew that if I stayed there nothing was ever
going to happen to me. I wanted to be like those pilgrims. I wanted adventures. Don't ask me
why I'm crying, now." She blinked rapidly and Quatre realized, to his surprise, that there were
tears in her lashes. "It's stupid, really." She threw herself down against the saddle and closed
her eyes.
"It's not stupid," Quatre murmured. Then, more to himself than to her, "I think I understand what
you mean."
He lay awake for a long time that night, watching the constellations wheel over head, watching
his companions' faces as they dreamed, one about a simple life with a warmly lit home and
a young girl with bright blue eyes waiting for him there, the other about crashing surf and
screaming seagulls, and adventures with dashing, silver-haired young rogues.
He thought about his own home. It was the first time he had done so in a very long time. He
wondered how Mother Blomst and Katerina were, and what his father had done when he found
his only son missing. Nearly a year had passed since he had left. He was almost fourteen,
now. So much had happened to him over the course of this one year, but what about the ones
he had left behind? Had his father and his friends given up on him, as he had almost given up
on Trowa? Had they searched for him, and were they still? He concentrated very hard, but all
his memories of his home seemed blurred around the edges, as though they were dissolving
slowly. He was forgetting things. Schoolmaster Treize, he knew, lived on the street lined with
maple trees, but was his the third house from the corner, or the fourth? There had been a
contest two Februarys ago, among his classmates, to see who could keep his or her hand
in the just-thawing stream the longest. A girl with long blonde hair had won, but he could not
remember if it was Sylvia or Sally, or someone else entirely.
It bothered him that he could not remember. If he could forget these things, it seemed possible
that his friends and even his father could forget him, little by little, piece by piece. A single tear
slid down his cheek, but froze ere it reached his lips. "Papa," he whispered plaintively. It was the
first time he had said the word in almost a year. Before his eyes the white puff of his breath rose
and curled against the black, star-flecked sky. "I'm lost, too." More puffs of air floated up to join
the first. When they reached each other they coalesced and before his wondering eyes, began
to take shape.
He fell asleep, finally, at that moment, and in his dream the puffs of his breath became a dove-
-like the kind they had in their village--that flew ahead to find Trowa and tell him that it was all
right, that he hadn't forgotten him and was on his way.


They woke before sunrise, though it was already mid-morning. While Duo saddled Hela, and
Lucrezia built a small fire so they could warm their breakfast, Quatre scanned the sky for
the first flickering of dawn. He saw it just as Lucrezia called to him to come and eat--a slight
lightening just above the mountaintops. He smiled as he realized that it came slightly earlier
today than it had the last time he had waited for it, a few days ago. So, the solstice had passed.
He wondered if he had missed Christmas, if it was the new year already.
He was about to turn away when something caught his attention. Two tiny black specks stood
out against the lightening blue of the sky. As he continued to stare they grew bigger, and before
long he was able to discern wings. He cried out to his companions, who hurried to his side and
squinted in the direction to which he pointed.
"Oh, hey!" Duo exclaimed after a moment.
The crows answered him back, their raucous squawks echoing through the silent valley.
Duo stood akimbo, glaring up at the newcomers. "You two sound exceedingly proud of
yourselves," he said with mock reproach. "Not that I blame you. You managed to miss some of
the worst parts of it, so you did." He shook his head as one crow alighted on Hela's saddle, the
other on Sandrock's head, to the reindeer's annoyance. "What a useless pair. We found the kid
without your help, thank you very much."
But the crows continued to jabber insistently, jumping up and down on their perches. Sandrock
tossed his head in an attempt to rid himself of his unwanted rider.
"They're trying to tell us something," Quatre said.
"Yeah, like all about how clever they are for having found US."
"No, Duo, LISTEN," Quatre insisted, surprised to discover that he COULD almost understand
what the crows were saying--when they were not both talking at the same time, of
course. "They've found someone, they're saying. Not US. Someone ELSE."
"The scholar?" wondered Lucrezia.
"Maybe. I think they want us to follow them."
"And so we shall," said Duo. Then, addressing the crows with an impish grin, "Don't be so
smug. You two will get your rewards when I get MINE. Heh, I knew some good would come of
letting you lowlifes follow me around."
The crows clacked and cawed excitedly.
Duo scowled; Quatre laughed.
"What was THAT about?" Lucrezia demanded.
While Duo spluttered indignantly, Quatre explained: "They just said they were thinking the same
thing about Duo."


The crows led them to something they would surely have missed on their own: a tiny hut, tucked
away in the foothills of the mountains. The sun was as high as it was going to get, and by its
light they could see that it was a very mean looking hut, with the roof sloped nearly down to the
ground, and the door so low that even a small person like Quatre had to creep in on his hands
and knees, when he went in and out. Outside the hut's entrance, a small figure wrapped in the
pelts of several different animals knelt over a fire, cooking fish on a long skewer.
The figure looked up when the companions approached. Long, thick black hair fell back from the
strangest face Quatre had ever seen. Heart-shaped face; smooth, golden-brown skin; a wide,
flat-bridged nose; and coal-black, almond-shaped eyes. Quatre could not tell whether he was
looking at a girl or a boy.
Eyes narrowed and mouth set in a bemused line, the figure addressed not the companions, but
the crows bobbing in the air above Duo's head: "You again. Haven't learned your lesson, yet?
Catch your own breakfast." A knife appeared seemingly out of nowhere, into one small hand.
The crows screamed. "Hey, hey!" Duo waved them away from his head. "You heard the lady.
Behave."
Lady? Quatre thought. The voice had been soft and breathy, high pitched. So it was a girl the
crows had found, and not the scholar. Quatre felt a stab of disappointment, then curiosity. What
in the world was a girl doing here?
"And just who are you?" the girl demanded, eyeing the companions suspiciously.
It was the reindeer who introduced them, and who told the girl their story, as he had heard
Quatre tell it to Lucrezia, but first he told her about his own story.
"The scholar?" the girl said when he had finished. She laughed. "I suppose he is that. You must
mean my husband, Wufei. I am Meilan, the strongest of the Dragon Clan." She rose to her feet
and lifted her chin proudly. "Scholar," she snorted, and laughed again, tossing her hair. "If he
were a warrior, as nearly all of the members of our clan are, he would not be able to beat ME,
his wife. So instead he buries his nose in books. And gains repute, apparently. Well, he might
know something about the Snow Queen. I've skinned enough of her precious wolves, so neither
they nor she come anywhere near MY side of the mountain any more." She indicated her cloak
of pelts as though she were a princess and it were her royal robe.
"Um," said Quatre, not quite sure what to make of this wild girl who was no taller than he was,
but who talked of skinning wolves as though it were as commonplace and easy as sheering a
sheep to make a vest. "Well, could we talk to your husband, please? It's very important, and
we were told he might know something about the Snow Queen. We heard a legend," he added,
feeling somewhat silly as Meilan regarded him imperiously, "that he knew how to tie all the
winds together with a single piece of twine."
Meilan made a small, half-amused sound between her teeth. "I very much doubt it. I don't
suppose your legend mentioned ME, at all?"
Duo grinned and leaned over Hela's neck. "Quite frankly, no," he drawled.
Meilan sighed. "Typical. Well, you never know, he might have learned something in the last five
years. Oh, he doesn't live here," she said when they registered their confusion. "I haven't seen
him in five years. He could be dead for all I know. Although somehow I feel that if he WERE,
well Never mind. If he's still alive you'll find him about ten miles directly north of here. He has
a hut, and all he does is read and meditate. Wait a minute." Slipping her knife back into a fold of
her odd cloak and holding the skewered fish between her teeth, Meilan sank to her hands and
knees and crawled through the hut's low entrance.
She returned a few moments later, minus the fish, carrying a large bundle under one arm. She
flushed as she clambered to her feet, and she kept her lashes lowered, even as she handed the
bundle to Quatre. It was a collection of pelts stitched into a crude but thick cloak like the one she
wore.
"If you DO see Wufei," she said, still not looking at anyone, "if he's still alive, would you please
give that to him? No message. A wife should not let her husband freeze to death."
Quatre clutched the bundle to his chest. "I'll give it to him."
Meilan stepped away from Sandrock. "You should make it to Wufei before sunset. Good luck."
Her lashes swept upward as she looked at him, finally. She smiled and Quatre was surprised by
how gentle it made her face look. "Maybe your friend has a reason for running this far. Whatever
the reason, if you love him, don't give up on him ever."


The sun was flirting with the mountaintops as they made their way through the rocky foothills.
By the time they had gone ten miles dusk was beginning to gather in the valley below. But sure
enough, built against a large, sheltering boulder, was a tiny hut very similar in appearance to
Meilan's. A thin tendril of smoke issued from the chimney.
Duo dismounted, strode to the hut, and tapped on the hide that covered its entrance. "Hello," he
called.
For a long moment there was silence. Duo glanced over his shoulder at Lucrezia, Quatre, and
Sandrock, and raised his eyebrows questioningly.
"Try ag--" Quatre began after a few more seconds, but before the words were completely out of
his mouth the companions heard a muffled, "What?"
There was the sound of movement inside the hut. Then the hide covering was drawn aside and
a head poked out of the entrance. "What?" the sharp voice demanded again.
While Duo fumbled for words, Lucrezia said, as graciously as Quatre had ever heard her
speak, "We heard there was a very wise scholar in these parts, one who might know something
about the Snow Queen, who can help our friend on his quest."
"We have something from your wife, too," said Quatre, lifting the cloak for Wufei to see. "She
said to give it to you."
Wufei scowled. "That harridan. So she hasn't gone home, yet? I always knew she was the most
stubborn woman that ever lived. Still, after five years, I would have thought"
The daylight was dwindling rapidly, but Quatre was certain he saw some emotion OTHER than
scorn flitter briefly across the scholar's face. It was gone in an instant, but Quatre wondered at it.
"I suppose I should invite you in," Wufei said. "I do know a thing or two about the Snow Queen.
Besides," he added, and for a moment weariness seemed to color his gruff tone, "it's been five
years since I had anyone to talk to. You'll have to leave the horse outside."
He crawled back into his hut, and the others dismounted and followed one at a time, on their
hands and knees. Sandrock managed to squeeze in after them.
It was very hot inside the hut because of the insulation and the little fire that burned brightly in
the center of the floor. The hut was sparsely decorated. There was no furniture save a large
trunk in one corner, and a pile of furs, which Quatre assumed served as Wufei's bed. A piece
of highly polished metal was mounted on one wall, and there were a few crudely-made pots
and dishes scattered about the floor. There were a LOT of books, stacked several feet high in
places, all over the hut. Quatre squinted, but because of the dim lighting he could not make out
their titles. They were very thick, though, and they looked very old or careworn.
Wufei glanced about the hut. "Sit wherever there's room. I was making tea" he said a little
uncertainly. "I wasn't expecting guests, but there might be enough."
"Tea would be great," Duo said as he plopped down on Wufei's bed and shrugged out of
his coat and scarf. "It's HOT in here. Not that I'm complaining." The crows perched on his
shoulders, while Quatre and Lucrezia sat on either side of him, and Sandrock, his legs tucked
under him, rested just inside the entranceway.
While Wufei searched his cluttered floor for suitable bowls (he only had one cup, as it turned
out), Quatre told his story, as quickly and as tersely as he could. Now that he had made it this
far (he had actually found the scholar! Something had gone right!), he wanted his quest to be
over as quickly as possible. He wanted to find Trowa and bring him home before too many more
months had passed.
Wufei handed him a shallow bowl that looked as though it had been carved out of some kind of
bone, filled with steaming brownish- green liquid. "I'll tell you what I know of the Snow Queen,"
he said as he handed Lucrezia and Duo their tea. He gave a bowl of water to Sandrock, then
sat down on the floor, his back against the trunk. "I don't have any sugar." It was not an apology.
"I didn't expect him to," Duo muttered under his breath. Lucrezia and Quatre poked him in the
ribs.
"I've seen the Snow Queen," Wufei said. "Never face to face, but I've seen her flying overhead
in her sledge at night, and I've heard her wolves in the mountains. I'm sure she has other
guardians as well." He paused to take a sip of his own tea.
While Wufei was silent, Duo jumped in. "Quatre might have to overcome the Snow Queen if he's
to rescue his friend. We heardand you can laugh if you want, in fact you probably will, but we
were told that you knew how to tie all the winds of the world with a piece of twine. If you untie
one knot, sailors will have fair winds. If you untie a second, the wind blows hard. If you untie the
third and fourth knot, the storm would be so terrible it would uproot an entire forest. Is any of
that true? And if it's true, is there something you can give Quatre that would help him?"
Wufei did laugh. "What in the world would I do with that kind of power? Magic is for the weak.
Understanding and wisdom are the most effective weapons." He sipped his tea again and
looked thoughtful. "Besides, there's nothing I could give Quatre, even if I WOULD, except for
this advice. I came here five years ago so I could have some peace and quiet away from that
nagging shrew I was forced to marry. Since I came here I've had little to do except study. I
wanted to know why men fight each other, and after all these years of studying the books I
brought with me, I think I have found something." He stared at the crackling fire. "The history
books tell of a demon who, in the early days of the world, amused himself by creating strife
among the people of the Earth. He did this through the use of a magic mirror that he made. The
magic of this mirror was such that anything good or beautiful reflected in its surface seemed
twisted and ugly to any who looked upon it, while all evil things appeared more powerful. The
mirror was destroyed when the demon tried to carry it to Heaven to show the angels what they
looked like when reflected in the glass, and the shards rained down all over the Earth, scattered
by the wind and carried by the waters. If a piece, even the tiniest sliver, fell into a person's
eye his heart became a lump of ice and he saw things as the mirror would have shown them--
twisted and corrupt. He would be unable to see anything good in the world because everything
good would appear ugly."
Quatre closed his eyes and touched his hand to his heart. There was a pain there, suddenly. All
he could see, as clearly as though it were yesterday, was the coldness and the scorn in Trowa's
eyes as he looked up at him from the garden, right before he destroyed the rosebushes. He
thought about his village--his warm, peaceful, beautiful village, where the people were so kind-
-and he whispered, "How awful everything must have seemed to him, if that's what happened.
No wonder he ran to the Snow Queen."
"I know very little about her," Wufei said. "There are tales, but each contradicts the other. Some
say she was a human woman who sold her soul to some goblins in order to live forever. Some
say the demons carved her out of a block of ice. I really can't give you an answer there."
Quatre thought about Trowa, his heart a lump of ice, unable to see the people who cared about
him, who loved him. No, he sees us, but he must think we hate him. Oh, Trowa. He almost
jumped in surprise when Duo wrapped an arm around his shoulders and gave him a comforting
hug. He looked at Wufei. Shadows and firelight danced along the wall behind the young scholar,
making him look otherworldly, but very wise, as though the spirits of fire and night were there by
his command. "How can we save Trowa?" he asked.
"He must be taken from the Snow Queen's palace and the sliver of ice must be taken from his
eye."
"How can I do that?"
"I don't know."
"Will he even KNOW me? Will he understand when I tell him much I- -how much everyone
needs him and misses him?" Quatre's heart felt wrung out with despair.
Wufei shrugged, not uncaringly, but as though he were apologizing for simply not knowing the
answer.
"What about the Snow Queen herself?" asked Lucrezia, reaching across Duo to touch Quatre's
hand. "How can we deal with her?"
Wufei looked at her, and this time his expression was gentle. "I can't help Quatre with that,
either. Don't you see?" he said when Lucrezia and Duo started to protest. "Any power I COULD
give him would be nothing compared to what he already has. He's strong." Wufei climbed to his
feet, crossed the small expanse of the floor, to stare directly down at Quatre, though he spoke
to everyone in the room. "Don't either of you see how strong he is? He doesn't NEED your help.
It's YOU who must follow HIM, as everyone must who meets him." At their surprise he went
on: "An enchantress, an outlaw, a prince and princess, a cutthroat, the animals of the forest.
Even me. Why should WE be so concerned about what happens to this boy and his friend? We
don't have a choice, and we know that, and don't care. His purity and innocence of heart inspire
us--all of us. How can we turn our backs on such purity and faithfulness? Without even knowing
it he cuts away our cynicism, our selfishness." He smiled. "If he can't obtain access to the Snow
Queen and break the demon's spell on Trowa, no one in this world can."
He looked at Duo, Lucrezia, and Sandrock, who were all staring back at him, wide-eyed and
open-mouthed. "Two miles north of here the Snow Queen's garden begins. You will know it by
the low hedge of snow- white rosebushes. They LOOK like real roses, but they are not. You
must not touch them, or anything else in the Snow Queen's garden. One touch will suck all the
warmth from your hand and turn it to ice. You can bring him that far, and you can defend him
against the Snow Queen's guards. Beyond that, there is nothing you can do for him."
Quatre stood. "Thank you," he said to the scholar. "I don't know what I shall do, but I have to
try."
"Of course you do," Wufei said.
Suddenly Quatre remembered the cloak Meilan had given him. He picked it up and held it
toward Wufei. "She said there wasn't any message, but that a wife should not let her husband
freeze to death."
Wufei took the cloak and fingered it curiously. His expression changed so that for a moment he
looked very much the way Meilan had when she had given him the cloak. "Stubborn woman,"
he muttered. "She never does give up, does she?" He lowered his lashes, but not before Quatre
saw the sudden glimmer of what might have been tears. "Stubborn, stubborn woman."


Quatre wanted to leave at once, though night had fallen and it was bitterly cold outside the
hut. The thought of Trowa only two miles away and needing him would not allow him to sit still
for more than two minutes at a time. So the companions thanked Wufei for his hospitality and
his aid, made their farewells, and crawled back into the snow. Sandrock knelt so Quatre could
scramble onto his back. Duo and Lucrezia swung into Hela's saddle, and they were off.
The northern lights flashed overhead. Blue, white, green, they rose like a curtain before the
travelers, and there, up ahead, materializing much sooner than any of them had expected, the
palace of the Snow Queen.
It slipped out of the night the way a dolphin will sometimes slip out of the sea. It seemed to hang
in the air like a vapor or like a trickle of starlight, too delicate to be real.
This is something a person dreams about, Quatre thought, it isn't real, it can't be real. He was
not tired, and yet he felt he must be very weary indeed to be seeing such a thing.
They paused briefly when they reached the Snow Queen's garden. They knew it, as the
scholar had said they would, by the low hedge of snow-white roses. They were as beautiful as
snowflakes, but they had no fragrance, and the travelers remembered the scholar's warning and
did not bend to touch them as they rode slowly past.
The Snow Queen's garden was long, and very interesting, but the travelers took no time to
marvel at the magnificent ice sculptures that dotted the snowy expanse or to look into the
frozen ponds and wonder at what might be hidden in their dusky depths. The Snow Queen's
palace burned before their eyes insistently, drawing them in, but they rode slowly, as though in
reverence to the icy beauty. None of them spoke.
The nearer they came to the palace the more like a solid thing it seemed. But before they had
come quite close, something happened. A whole regiment of snowflakes came around them;
they did not, however, fall from the sky, which was quite clear. The snowflakes ran along he
ground, and the nearer they came to the travelers, the larger they appeared. And when they had
come quite close Quatre gasped, for they were not snowflakes at all, but the guards of the Snow
Queen, and had the strangest shapes. Some were like great porcupines, others like twisted
serpents with their heads stretching out, and some were like far bears with their hair bristled; but
all were dazzlingly white.
Hela reared up, whinnying in alarm. One of the creatures--a great lion-shaped thing--opened its
mouth. Quatre heard no roar, but felt a blast of frigid air that sent a shudder racing through his
body.
"Quatre," Lucrezia screamed, "RUN!"
In the next instant the creature sprang.

Notes:
[1] Damned if I know exactly when this story takes place. For a long time there was no unified
Italy. I can't remember when Il Duomo and Santa Croce--the cathedrals Noin refers to--were
built. But that was my first impression of them, too. ^__~The Snow Queen
PART THE SEVENTH: The Palace of the Snow Queen And What
Happened There At Last
by Rachel

Duo whirled in Hela's saddle, his violet eyes roiling. His sword was already in his hand. "Are you
deaf?" he thundered. "Get out of here!"
Quatre heard the ring of steel as Lucrezia yanked her sword from its scabbard. Then he was
plunging forward at an alarming speed, Sandrock carrying him just under the lion-thing's
sweeping paw. He felt icicle-sharp claws rake the air above his head, and then they were
galloping across the snow toward the palace, Quatre clinging desperately to the reindeer's neck.
When he glanced back, all he could see of the fight was the flash of swords and the spray of
glitter as ice shattered. All he could hear was the pounding of his own heart.
"Sandrock," he half-sobbed, "we have to go back. We can't leave them."
The reindeer made no reply, but kept on until they were at the very door to the Snow Queen's
palace. Then he spoke in a hard, flat voice: "There's nothing you can do against the Snow
Queen's guardians, even if you were a warrior. All your friends can do is buy you time. So,
hurry! Find your friend before it is too late."
He lowered his neck and Quatre slid off into the deep, powdery snow. He ran to the great door,
but it was shut, and he could find no way of opening it. He pounded on it, and Sandrock kicked it
with his hoofs, but it would not budge.
"Hurry, Quatre," Sandrock insisted again. "They're coming."
Quatre cast about frantically. The door had no knob to turn, no lock to break. There was no way
in. "I can't!" he hissed.
Then he glanced up.
Above the door there was a small window, and through it a light shone wanly. Quatre's heart
leaped.
At that instant Sandrock uttered a bell-like cry of challenge and whirled to face the creature
that had pursued them. Quatre saw a blur of wings made of ice, a long, sharp beak, and cruel,
curved talons. He shrank against the door.
The night seemed full of flying hoofs and sharp feathers, but Quatre felt strangely calm. I'm
either going to die here, he thought, or I'm going to win.
He stared up at the window, and the light that burned fitfully, like a tiny cry for help.
I must get there. But how?
It came to him like a summer breeze, gentle but sure. 'The Prince, sang,' Mother Blomst said
as she rocked gently in her chair by the fire, 'and the Keeper of the Winds heard him. He untied
one of his many knots and sure enough, warm and sweet-smelling wind from the south filled the
sails of the Prince's golden boat, and he began his journey across the sea'
Across the sea or through the air, the point was the song.
Quatre opened his mouth and sang the first song that came to him, which happened to be the
one he and his friends used to sing in the schoolyard during recess. It was a jumping, silly thing,
but in Quatre's mind it conjured memories of unfrozen ponds full of frogs, and apple trees in
blossom.
The words sprang from his lips and as they did the white puffs of his breath marched upward
through the air to the little window, and coalesced into a staircase that looked delicate as vapor.
When he put one foot on it, though, it held his weight.
He looked at Sandrock, still locked in mortal combat with the ice-griffin. It wrenched his heart to
leave his friends in danger, but there was nothing he could do except try and save Trowa.
And he was losing time wavering.
Sometimes, maybe, now or never
NOW, he thought, and hurried up the staircase toward the lighted window.
And now, at last, it is time to see what Trowa has been doing all this time.


Trowa's year was considerably less exciting than Quatre's. Time passed slowly in the Snow
Queen's realm, because that was the way she wanted it. What, she demanded, was the point
of rushing, scurrying, and scrambling toward moments when they did not last? There were no
moments in her palace; day and night, under sunlight and starlight, everything was the same.
Nothing changed.
Trowa was not bored. As far as he knew he had never had any home but the Snow Queen's
palace, so he did not miss anything, not the changing seasons, not the feel of the earth beneath
his feet, not the sound of free-running water, and not the faces of the people he had known in
the village. When the Snow Queen was at home she sat in her throne carved out of crystal,
and he sat at her feet and listened to her stories of the lands she had visited and cruelties and
injustices she had witnessed. "Be glad that I brought you here, where hunger, fear, and pain
can never touch you," she would tell him, and he would say nothing because the glass in his
eye prevented him from being glad of anything.
When the Snow Queen was not at home, when she had gone away to sprinkle snow and frost
over other lands, Trowa wandered her empty palace by himself. The walls of the palace were
formed of drifted snow, and the windows and doors of the cutting winds. There were over a
hundred rooms, some as small as rabbit warrens, some that yawned and stretched onward for
miles, that Trowa could walk through for hours and still not find the opposite end. No tapestries
adorned the walls; no soft carpets lined the floors. There were no fireplaces and consequently
no fires. The only light came from feeble northern sunlight and the aurora, the only sound from
his own echoing footfalls and the screaming of the wind through the mountains. Sometimes
when he wandered Trowa felt as though he was walking through a dream, and wondered if his
real body lay somewhere outside the Snow Queen's palace, and what it was like there, and how
it would be if he ever woke. The thought frightened and confused him and he ran to the Snow
Queen, not knowing what he sought from her, but certain that whatever it was he needed, she
was the only one who could give it to him.
To comfort him or to occupy him in her absence, the Snow Queen gave him a magic puzzle
made out of sharp, flat pieces of ice. Trowa's fingers were artistic and clever and he could make
any number of intricate shapes out of the pieces. "But," said the Snow Queen, "if you can form
your real name, you can stay with me forever and never have to worry about waking."
Trowa tried to make the word he wanted out of the pieces, but no matter how he fitted them
together, took them apart, and rearranged them, he could not do it. Time after time he tried,
under pallid daylight and the brilliant light from the aurora. He worked until his fingers were
almost blue with cold and the skin around his nails began to crack and bleed. Still the word
would not come. He begged the Snow Queen for the answer, but she could not--or would not--
help him. The puzzle filled his days as his wanderings had at first, and it was not long before he
lost track of their passage.
It was thus that Quatre found him on a night that to Trowa was no different from the one before,
or the one before that, or all the nights that he could remember. He was sitting alone in the great
hall that went on for miles in all four directions, bent over the puzzle, his brow furrowed, his
mouth set in a firm line. He was so deep in concentration that not an eyelash twitched and he
seemed no more alive than the ice sculptures that dotted the Snow Queen's garden.
He looked up at the sound of footfalls, however, for the Snow Queen made no sound when she
walked. He stared at the apparition for a long time, not knowing what to make of it at first. As
far as he knew, he had never seen another human being before in his life. And this had to be
another human being, not a reflection; the apparition's hair was pale as sunlight, his eyes round
and bluer than ice, nothing like Trowa's. Fear shook him. If this was another human being, his
dream must be breaking up. He was running out of time. He bent back to his task.


Quatre stared at Trowa. His heart had leaped for joy when he finally caught sight of the other
boy, after searching the winding, empty corridors for what seemed like hours. It came careening
back into his chest and the blood in his veins chilled when Trowa barely glanced up. He cried
out in real pain when the long dark lashes lowered again in dismissal.
What had he expected? Quatre had found Trowa, but was still a stranger to him. Nevertheless,
he held his breaking heart together, and went and knelt beside the other boy. Trowa did not look
up. He flinched when Quatre touched his shoulder lightly.
"Trowa," he said gently, "it's me. It's Quatre. I've come to get you. Please look up at me."
Trowa slipped away from him, as easily as though he were made of ice, and would not lift his
head.
"Trowa," Quatre tried again, more desperately this time, as the shadows in the great hall roiled
and hissed with the Snow Queen's magic. "Trowa, please. I'm your friend and I've come such
a long way to find you because I need you. We all need you--Mother Blomst, Katerina, our
friends We all need you and miss you so terribly. So I've come looking for you. I've sought
you for so long and in ways I never even knew existed." He extended his hand again, but let it
hang in the air. He was afraid to touch the other boy, afraid that he would shrink from his touch
again. "PLEASE, Trowa. It's freezing, here. Your hands look so cold. Where's your jacket? And
the scarf and hat that Mother Blomst knit for you? Where are they?"
"I don't know you," the other boy muttered.
Quatre's heart shattered. "Trowa!" he cried. "You DO know me, you do! You just don't
remember. I know what's wrong with you, but I don't know what to do. Please try to remember.
PLEASE." No longer caring, he gripped the other boy's shoulders and shook him. "Please!"
"Get away from me!" Trowa pushed him away, not violently, but with enough force to send him
stumbling back a few feet. He glanced up at him then, and his gaze was shallow, but full of
scorn. "You're bothering me, and I'm running out of time."
Quatre wiped his eyes on his sleeve and frowned at the flat pieces of ice on the floor. They
looked like puzzle pieces, but they were the same color, so he could not imagine what picture
they were meant to form. Sick with fear and sorrow, but unwilling to give up, he decided to
switch tactics. "What are you doing?" he asked.
"It's a puzzle," Trowa said. He picked up one piece and moved it to another place on the floor,
then gazed at it thoughtfully for a moment before continuing: "It's supposed to spell out a word
and if I can figure it out, I can stay here forever."
Quatre shivered. "What word?"
"My name."
"Your name is Trowa Blomst."
"My real name."
Very softly: "Does the Snow Queen know your real name?"
No reply.
Again, so softly: "Does the Snow Queen know your real nameand won't tell it to you? She
doesn't love you, not the way--not the way we do. Mother Blomst found you, it's true, but she
gave you a name because she loves you. You're like a--no, you ARE her son. And Katerina's
brother. And my friend. I know you don't believe me, but try."
Low and threatening: "Go away."
"No, I won't."
So Quatre sat, and Trowa continued to think, and while he did Quatre spoke calmly about their
home and the people there. "Do you remember the pond by Father Maxwell's cottage? Do you
remember that time we caught all those frogs and put them in Katerina's bath? We both thought
she'd scream like a banshee, but she didn't. She brought them all back to the pond and the
next day she put those spiders in your lunchbox and YOU screamed like a banshee." [1] He
smiled at the memory. Trowa did not move. He sighed. "Do you remember that enormous apple
tree that used to grow in Farmer Noventa's orchard before it got sick and had to be cut down?
Remember the time I tried to climb all the way to the top so I could see what our village looked
like from high up. There were flowers in the tree and I kept shaking the petals down. You said
it was like snow in summer. I was almost to the top when the branch beneath me snapped and
I fell. You caught me. Don't you remember? I broke your arm, don't you remember that? What
about the time my father was late coming home because of a hurricane, and I was so worried?
You stayed up with me all night, even after I fell asleep, and when I woke up you were still
there."
"You talk a lot, and you tell weird stories," Trowa said when Quatre paused to draw breath.
"I guess I do. But it's your life, and mine, too. It's strange," he said as, encouraged by Trowa's
attentiveness, he slid closer to the other boy, "I can hardly remember my life before I met you. I
know that I was very sad and lonely, but it seems so long ago. If my life were a book, it would be
the table of contents, not even the prologue. Your story is mine, too. You're like my blood. We're
wrapped up together in this life, so I can't be anywhere except with you, so I'm not leaving."
Trowa looked up, then, and Quatre stopped a mere two feet from him. Trowa's eyes were hard
and cloudy as jade, but something in them flickered. Not a light, exactly. More of a stirring, like
rose leaves rustling in a gentle breeze. Quatre held his breath.
But the flicker of recognition died, as quickly as a candle flame in high wind. Trowa's glance
chilled and his lips drew back in a sneer. "You are an ugly person," he spat, "and you lie."
Quatre cried out again, in anguish, and grabbed at the other boy's arm. "I'm not lying!" he
shouted. "I'm telling you who you are! The Snow Queen is telling you lies and a demon's magic
makes you believe her!"
Trowa shook him off. "Don't touch me!"
They were both on their feet, glaring at each other over the Snow Queen's puzzle.
The puzzle
Quatre stomped on the ice shards, grinding them to powder beneath the heel of his boot. "Your
name," he said, "is Trowa. And you don't belong to her."
Trowa hit him across the mouth, knocking him flat. The blow came like a thunderclap. For an
instant Quatre felt, heard, and saw nothing. Then slowly his senses came back to him, and
he tasted blood and winced when he touched the tip of his tongue to his cut lip. Defeated and
despairing, he crawled slowly, painfully to his knees. His body felt so light, as though everything
inside him had burned up, and all that was left were ashes.
When he turned around he saw that Trowa was once again kneeling on the floor, bent over
the powdery remains of the Snow Queen's puzzle. Now he'll never know his real name, Quatre
thought almost giddily. Neither of them.
I have to say goodbye, now.
He did not feel his body as he went to kneel by Trowa, one last time. The other boy looked up
when he approached, and he looked angry.
"Look what you've done," he said in a dead voice. "Now I'll never know."
"I know," Quatre said, "and I'm so sorry." He could not feel his own heartbeat and wondered if
he had died without noticing. I can't die until I do this, though. He swallowed hard. "Trowa," he
said, "I'm going to touch you again. I'm not going to--to do anything. Just let me touch you."
Trowa did not move, only regarded him stonily, so Quatre reached out and took his pale face
between his hands. How cold his skin felt! Cold and hard like ice, not at all like living flesh. The
tears in Quatre's eyes scalding by comparison. Gently he tilted Trowa's face up and lowered his
lips to his frozen cheek. He did not kiss him, though. He inhaled slowly, drawing the other boy's
scent into his lungs and holding it there as long as he could. When his vision began to darken
he expelled the breath reluctantly, drew another, and then whispered, "I'm going to leave you,
now, because I don't know how to break the spell that holds you and I couldn't bear to cause
you any more unhappiness. But you'll always be with me wherever I go, and whatever I do. I'll
never forget you, and I'll be waiting if you should remember. You'll always be my best friend.
I'll love you forever." He kissed him on the cheek and on the brow. Then he stood, turned, and
began to walk away.
"Quatre."
He stopped.
"Quatre," the broken voice said again, "is that you? I can hardly see, I"
Quatre turned again and there sat Trowa, looking up at him, deathly pale and trembling violently
with cold. A tear sparkled as it rolled slowly down his cheek. A single tear, but it carried the little
sliver of the demon's mirror out of his eye. It fell to the floor where it was crushed an instant later
by Quatre's boot as he rushed to throw his arms around Trowa and hold him close.
"I'm cold," Trowa muttered into Quatre's neck. "Why am I so cold?"
Quatre took his coat off and wrapped it around Trowa's thin shoulders. He rubbed his limbs, his
face and ears, but it was not enough. He clung to Quatre, shaking and gasping in a drowning
voice, "I'm so cold, Quatre, please don't leave me, I'm freezing. My heart" He gasped. "It
hurts." A second tear slid down his cheek, and then another and another. Quatre kissed them
as they fell. Then he kissed his brow, his ears, his eyelids, and each blue, bleeding finger.
Wherever his lips touched him, color blossomed in his skin, and gradually the tremors that
rocked his slender frame eased. He lay limp in Quatre's arms and Quatre held him tightly and
wept--out of joy but also out of sheer exhaustion.
By and by Trowa's eyes opened and he stared up at Quatre uncertainly. "Where are we?" he
whispered.
"In the palace of the Snow Queen."
"I'm not dreaming?"
Quatre shook his head, smoothed the hair out of his face, and smiled down into eyes that saw
him and knew him. "You've been here a long time, but I finally found you." Tears blurred his
vision, but he wiped them away with the back of his hand. "Everything's going to be all right,
now. She has no power over you, not anymore."
Trowa frowned and reached up to touch the scar on Quatre's cheek. "This is new."
"Yes."
"Someone hurt you?"
Quatre nodded. "It's all right, though," he assured him, when Trowa's eyes darkened. He almost
laughed; it was the same stubborn, fiercely protective look Trowa wore whenever he caught the
older village boys teasing Quatre. "It was a long time ago."
"And this?" He touched Quatre's lip, which was still bleeding. His frown deepened. "I seem to
remember No" His eyes widened with alarm. "Quatre, did I?"
"No." Quatre took his hand and held it tightly. "It's nothing. Trowa, how much do you
remember?"
Trowa was quiet for a moment, remembering, or trying to. His fine dark eyebrows drew together
in consternation. "Not much," he admitted, finally. "No, I do remember some things, but it all
seems like a dream, now. I remember being back in the village. But everything seemed so
distorted and ugly. I didn't recognize anyone. I was frightened. That part doesn't seem real,
because how could I ever be afraid of you?" He shook his head. "I remember flying here in a
sledge with a woman. I remember the moon looking enormous. Then there were corridors and
endless rooms and I couldn't find my way out of them and it was always so cold and dark. There
was something I was trying to remember, but I couldn't. And then you were here and I could
ALMOST hear what you were saying, but The words sounded all wrong. It was like there was
another voice whispering in my ear, telling me that you were lying. I wanted to believe you, but I
couldn't make your words sound right, not until" He broke off and shuddered deeply.
Quatre stroked his hand. "Until what?" he pressed, although he thought he knew. "What did I
say that you heard? Was it that I love you?"
"Yes." Trowa's wonderment was plain. "I heard that as clearly as I hear you, now. Why is that,
when I couldn't hear anything else?"
"Maybe some things can't be distorted, no matter who makes the glass. I really do love you.
That's why I had to come. We can talk about it later, though." Yes, later he could tell Trowa
again how much he loved him and what he had gone through to find him, and ask if he could
ever love him back. Now there was no time. The Snow Queen could come upon them at any
moment, and he was anxious to learn the fate of the friends he had left outside. He kissed
Trowa one more time upon the brow, then took off his scarf, sliced it in half with the knife that
Lucrezia had given him, and used the pieces to bandage Trowa's thin, cold hands.
They rose to their feet. Quatre held out his hand, and Trowa took it and squeezed it and
together they walked back through the long, empty corridors to the front door. When they got
there they found the Snow Queen barring their exit. She was very tall and as beautiful as a
snowflake in her long white robes and with her long dark tresses that fell about her shoulders
like a waterfall by night.
Quatre was not afraid. He gripped Trowa's hand more firmly in his own and said boldly, "He
doesn't belong to you."
"He doesn't belong to you, either," said the Snow Queen.
"But you can't keep him here against his will!"
"I know." The Snow Queen's dark, dark green eyes were sad and for a brief moment she looked
like a human woman. "I have no power over free will. Go; I will not hinder you. I wanted only to
say goodbye." The words sounded strange coming from her lips, which were red as holly berries
and neither frowned nor smiled.
"Lady," Trowa said, "I don't think that I will ever see you again."
She lifted a hand, as though she meant to touch his face, but she let it fall to her side
again. "No, you won't, my child. But I might see you when the snow falls thickly, if you live in a
cold country."
A great gust of wind filled the hall then, and when it subsided she was gone.
Quatre stared at the space where she had been, and then at Trowa. "Why did she call you 'my
child'?"
"Let's go," was all that he said.
The door swung open before them and hand in hand they walked from the Snow Queen's
palace.

Notes:
[1] When my brothers were younger they were terribly afraid of spiders. I conquered my own
fear just so I could terrify them. Wasn't I wicked?