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𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐔𝐃𝐄 𝐕𝐈: 𝐀 𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐒𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐓
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63 | HE CAME FOR HER

10 YEARS BEFORE THE PRESENT DAY

   WINTERFELL had proven to be a rather easy-going child in the years since she had been born. She took after both Elsa and Jack equally in terms of personality: essentially she was a much rowdier version of Elsa and a calmer version of Jack.

She was seven, it had been two years since Jack and Elsa had been foretold of a rather grave future for their daughter. They had been heavily on the watch since, but after a few months of nothing happening the two became much more relaxed.

Now after two years, the couple hoped that perhaps something had changed in the winds and there was not some oncoming misfortune for their daughter. Despite this, the entire council of Legendary Figures was aware and agreed that they would keep an eye out for anything suspicious as well.

At the current moment, the village of Northuldra was thriving. Jack and Elsa were paying a visit to the people having brought along their young daughter. Now, while Elsa spoke to the elders of the people — Jack was playing with the kids leading an amazing snowball fight.

Winterfell had previously been involved in the antics, Jack loving to play with his daughter. Plus, he loved it when she made new friends. The ages between 7 to 10 were the perfect ages in Jack's eyes, the best age for belief and wonder to run heavy in the hearts of the children. The best age for fun was because the kids were old enough to truly have some fun but not too old to where there was no longer the same belief or wonder.

His daughter was at the ripe age of seven, and you could bet Jack was going to have a blast for the next three years of Winter's life. He already knew these were going to be his daughter's golden years. It certainly had been for both Soren and Sitara and just about every other child that Jack had ever come across.

However, in the midst of the snowball fight, Winterfell managed to sneak off to a less populated area of the Enchanted Forest. Sadly, her father had yet to notice — perhaps Winter was a little more sneaky than her parents gave her credit for.

"Gale," Winter had laughed as the wind ruffled a pile of leaves, "shh, don't tell my parents! I'm trying to read my story about the pirate and the princess without papa hitting me with a snowball!"

Gale fluttered in response, moving the cloak that Winter wore over her white locks. The princess huffed and angrily moved her cloak back to its rightful place before huffing and plopping down on her backside.

She cracked open her book with a smile, reading from where she last left off. Winterfell loved to read in the Enchanted Forest: it was peaceful for her.

Winter had only been reading for a few moments before she heard the rustling of footsteps. The child sighed in disdain, bringing her book down at the footsteps. She knew it would not be long before her father realized she was gone and went looking for her.

Her parents did not like it when she wandered off too far. She was not quite sure why, but she realized that they liked to keep her where they could see her. Otherwise, she was only allowed to travel through Arendelle if accompanied by both her cousins and her parents knew where they were planning to go.

The forests were off-limit unless they were with her.

Winter opened her mouth, ready to apologize and play on her father's heartstrings for wandering off. Surely, her father would be a bit upset and worried about her sudden disappearance, but Winter had learned long ago that her father was a softie for her big brown eyes.

Elsa was the authority figure of her parents, it took a lot for her father to truly get upset and give her a real scolding.

Closing her book, Winter placed it on her lap and looked at where the footsteps came from. She expected to be greeted with white hair and a worried look drawn on an ever-youthful face.

Rather she was greeted by a tall man with long dark hair and a rather aristocratic face.

His cheeks were hollow with a straight nose and calculating ruby eyes. He was wearing a rather odd cloak: green and brown mixing for his tunic with an emerald cloak. His trousers were brown and his boots far nicer than she would expect.

Sleek black leather boots.

Interesting.

Winter was not scared of this man, rather she was curious. Especially as his ruby eyes seemed to light up when he spotted her. She quirked a brow, her young face examining him. One might consider his ruby eyes pretty another perhaps daunting.

Winter was not quite sure how she considered his eyes just yet.

"Are you lost?" She questioned, voice far sharper and more intelligent than most would expect a seven-year-old to be.

The man tilted his head, a bemused look coming across his face.

"Not exactly," he spoke, slightly impressed by this child's intelligence.

Winter noticed the staff in his grasp, a long black shiny stick with a glass circle at the top. A blue mist swirled in the staff.

"Why do you carry a walking stick, you do not appear to need its assistance," Winter said, and it was true.

The man appeared hardly old enough to require a walking stick — perhaps around her aunt and uncle's ages. Somewhere in his thirties.

The man let out a small chuckle, stopping a fair distance away from her as though not to scare her off. He looked at his staff, moving it  from one hand to another. Right hand to left hand and then back again.

"Mmm, it is not quite a walking stick, child. Rather a staff that helps me to control my power,"

"Power?" Winter said curiously.

The only other magical beings she had interacted with were the magical spirits of the forest and the others on the Council of Legendary Figures.

This man was certainly curious.

"Ah, yes," he spoke with a nod of his head, "I am a warlock, you see..."

"Really?" Winter sat up straighter, eyes wide, "You can do magic?"

The warlock shrugged, "sure," and with that statement, he whirled his hands, and in the air, a wreath of flowers ranging in colors from purple to red to pink formed.

Winter watched in wonder as the wreath was quickly finished and floated toward her.

"A gift for you, beautiful child," the warlock said and Winter reached out to grab the wreath which now floated close to her figure.

As she delicately grasped the wreath, her shoulders sagged and her eyes became sad as frost overtook the wreath. The wreath was now made of dead and frosted flowers — a beautiful white sheet encasing it.

Winterfell did not notice as she looked at her gifted flowers sadly, but the warlock appeared ecstatic. As though he had just won the lottery.

"I am sorry — I'm afraid my powers are not quite as beautiful as yours," she sighed, using the wind to make the flowers fly back toward him.

It was not quite as controlled, but the warlock wasted no time in grasping it. The wreath of flowers turned to dust in his grasp.

"Now," he clicked his tongue, "I would say that there is great beauty in these powers of yours..."

Winter quirked a brow but did not say anything in response. Rather, she asked another question. "What other types of magic can you do, sir?"

The warlock appeared thoughtful, "Hmm, well I can do many types of magic..." his fingers danced, "electric," electricity bounced between the palms of his hands, "fun magic," he explained before easy images of birds appeared before his head, "fire..."

Winter gasped as he blew out fire from between his lips, the girl's eyes widening.

"Can you do that with ice too?" She was quick to question.

The warlock shook his head sadly, "No, I'm afraid not — but I've always wanted to..."

Winter shrugged with a smile, "it's definitely not that fun," she explained, "there are just a lot of things you can do with it!"

And with that, she stood up easily showing off her powers: snow flurried around them and various figures of ice and snow appeared.

"And I guess I can fly, so that's kind of cool!" She cheered while flying in the air and spinning around.

"Me as well, child," the warlock smiled while flying up and meeting her in the air.

Winter smiled at him before they both floated to the ground. Her big eyes were wide with happiness and wonder. And for the first time, the warlock's smile was real and his eyes softened as he gazed at the child.

"You remind me of someone," he muttered, moving forward and taking a long piece of white hair between his fingers.

Winter did not flinch, only tilting her head in curiosity at his sudden sadness.

"Who?"

The warlock sighed, "her name was Everly and she was..." he tilted his head, "someone very important to me,"

Winter looked at him with wide eyes, "like mommy is to daddy?" She questioned.

The warlock gave a sad smile, his eyes distant, "yes..."

And that was that.

"What's your name, sir?" She questioned curiously.

The warlock brought himself back to reality, "why — my name is Wenlock, dear child..." he said with a wicked smile

"Wenlock," Winter tried the name, the words rolling oddly against her lips.

"Yes," he grinned, "and I have a deal for you, see — it appears to me as though we are both in a bit of a... pickle you might say,"

"Okay," Winter nodded, "what pickle?" She asked in confusion, looking into Wenlock's eyes.

He stared down at her, still incredibly close. The warlock continued to play with her hair.

"I believe we might be able to help each other, Winterfell—"

"How do you know my name—?" Winter's question was interrupted.

"You appear to have too much power — it's inconvenient for you, uncontrollable, you could hurt people and you don't want that, do you?" Wenlock asked with a raised brow and the child looked at him with uncertain eyes.

But he could see it, he had planted the fear there, and now he only needed to water it.

"I mean your mother nearly killed your aunt by accident with her powers..."

Little Winterfell's eyes widened in terror at the thought, she had never heard that before. Her family still deemed her too young to understand Elsa and Anna's upbringing. When she was older and could understand better then they would divulge the full story to her.

"And I mean your father kills people with his brutal winters..."

Her eyes filled with tears.

"There is no telling the havoc that you will cause as you grow into your powers, after all, they will only get more powerful the older you get. And if you already struggle to control them then what happens then?"

There it was, and that seed of fear had sprouted within the little girl as she seemed to reevaluate herself.

Winterfell ignored Gale as he pushed against her, trying to warn her. But she still was not able to understand him fully.

"And me, child? Well, I can fully control the abilities I have now — and I have been looking to add winter to my collection. Perhaps you will allow me to help you, to take these powers off of your hands?"

Winterfell paused and bit her bottom lip. His words did make sense.

"What would happen after you take my powers?"

"Well, child, you would not be able to hurt anyone!" Wenlock said happily, as though it would solve all her issues.

Because she would be dead. The dead cannot harm anyone.

"How would you do it? Will it hurt?" She said fearfully.

"Not at all! We only need to forge a connection between our beings and I'll just suck the powers right up from you—!" Wenlock's easy answer was cut short by a shout.

He had been playing with her hair, manipulating the child. And it had been working till that damn Winter Spirit came bursting through the brush.

Jack's eyes were wide with fear, he had been searching for his daughter for nearly an hour. However, when he saw her alive but with a stranger (a grown man) touching her hair... well he just about lost it.

Without hesitation, Wenlock was thrown back by a blast of ice. He hit the forest ground with a pained groan and Winter yelped at the sudden act of aggression. She was barely able to say a word as Jack swooped in and grasped her in his arms.

"Papa!" Winter shouted worriedly as Jack tossed her behind him, his arms outstretched in front of him.

Jack ignored her, instead demanding to know, "Who are you?" He hissed to the warlock who stood up while swinging his staff.

He said nothing choosing to narrow his eyes. Wenlock had tried to play the nice-guy, his plan had almost been pulled off seamlessly. There had almost been no fighting involved, no mess he had to clean up.

"Papa no! It's just Wenlock, he was just talking to me—!"

Jack's eyes widened, fear breaking out in his system as he whirled around and grasped Winter's shoulders all but dropping twinetender.

"WHO?!" He hollered in her face, his cold breath hitting her.

She wrinkled her nose at her father, Winter was not scared but rather cautious. Jack rarely got upset with her: her mother was more of the authority figure in their family. But when Jack did get upset at her, well, it was not something Winter particularly looked forward to.

Just as suddenly he grabbed twinetender and whirled back around to face Wenlock who was staring him down.

His red eyes gleamed in a way that was suddenly not-so-nice. Winterfell whimpered at this, immediately grasping the back of her father's shirt and pushing her body as close as she could to him.

Wenlock's eyes fell away from Jack and turned to Winter. For a split second, those eyes softened at her frightened nature before hardening again.

There was no use in getting attached to that which he would need to destroy.

Winter swallowed heavily at this.

"Oh, come now, little Winterfell," Wenlock's voice was nothing but a growl and Winter jumped.

Jack Frost's eyes sparkled with newfound rage and protectiveness.

"Don't you dare address my daughter," he spat.

Wenlock looked at Jack with a nasty smirk, "perhaps I should address you then!" With that, his staff shot forward and red magic whirled out toward them aggressively.

Jack immediately blocked the act of aggression with twinetender before sending his own powerful wave back. Winter cried out as Jack pushed her back and out of the target zone. Storm clouds began to brew high in the skies, and the air around become crisper and colder as the wind picked up.

In no time it escalated into a full-blown warzone with shots of powerful magic being sent back and forth — one particular shot of red magic was sent hurdling toward Winterfell and just as it was about to hit her, Jack jumped in front of her taking the force of the blow.

He groaned in pain as he was hit, if he was mortal that surely would have been a much more fatal blow. Thankfully, he was not, so he could handle the force of the blow. However, any more hits like that would surely take its toll.

"Run as fast as you can back to the village, Winterfell! Get to your mother! NOW — GO!"

Jack was shouting at her as he used twinetender in blocking a particularly powerful stream of red magic that Wenlock forced against him. The warlock's snarls were anything but kind, the wizard was determined to win.

Winter did not hesitate having sensed how serious her father was being, and Jack Frost was anything but serious most of the time. Turning tail, Winter ran to where she knew the village to be.

Her footfalls were heavy and her steps became so fast that she thought she was jumping at first. But then she ascended, and then she was soaring her arms outstretched as she flew at high speed toward the village.

In all honestly, Winter was scared of flying. She had only done it a handful of times and each time it was with her father.

Not just floating peacefully but truly shooting through the air.

People of the Northuldra gasped as the white-haired child suddenly crash-landed in the middle of the village, sobbing for her mother. Immediately, people ran into action to find Elsa who was speaking to the elders of the village.

Winter could not be sure exactly what was happening, all she knew was that she was surrounded by people attempting to comfort her. Other children had even come over in an attempt to help.

The child was hysterical; however, nothing could help her.

"Move out of the way, please!" Elsa called as she forced her way through the crowd, her long white dress whipping behind her.

She gasped as she caught sight of her hysterical daughter on her knees, tears rolling down her cheeks. Elsa practically fell forward as she grasped her daughter, pulling the young girl into her arms and frantically checking over her.

She was thankful to see that there was no physical wounds.

"Winterfell, darling, what's wrong?"

"Papa!" Winterfell practically screamed. "He—he..."

Elsa's eyes widened, it was the frantic way that Gale was moving the storm cloud overhead that gave it away. Not to mention it had dropped about 20 degrees Fahrenheit.

"What happened? You need to use your words, tell me what happened?" Elsa said, attempting to keep her voice calm.

"The wizard—Wenlock, I met him and then daddy found me and they started fighting and daddy told me to run back as fast as I could.

Elsa just about passed out. The foretelling, it was coming true. Over two years after it had been told.

"Okay, okay, you need to stay here," Elsa said, not wanting to leave her daughter but she had to find her husband.

He might need her help against the dark force of the wizard.

Winterfell clutched onto Elsa tighter, frantically shaking her head. Her breathing came out heavier.

"No, no, no!" She was mumbling shaking and digging her head into Elsa's body.

Elsa held her tighter against her, attempting to soothe her by running her fingers through his hair.

"My darling, I need to find your father—" Elsa was cut off by a figure dropping from the sky.

A breath of relief escaped her as Jack landed easily, looking nothing if a little scratched up.

"Jack!" She called, her voice portraying her relief and Jack turned his attention to his wife and daughter.

Winterfell was still shaking and crying. Jack looked at them sadly, in his grasp was the forgotten story that Winter had left in the forest.

Waltzing forward with the book in hand, Jack made his way through the people before crouching down beside Elsa and Winterfell.

The look they shared was silent, but it was known.

It was happening: the prophecy was starting, and Wenlock was officially coming for their daughter.

However, rather than say this out loud as the child was already in the midst of a panic attack, Jack only placed a hand on his daughter's back helping Elsa in soothing her.

"Papa?" Winterfell began to calm down upon feeling his hand, looking up almost in a scared manner from the warmth of her mother.

Her sad brown eyes met Jack's, and despite everything, the man did his best to place the biggest and goofiest smile on his face.

"I believe you dropped this, madam." He showed her the book about the pirate and the princess. "And aren't you a little young to be reading stories about romance?" Jack quirked a brow at the end, and despite it all — it was a damn real question.

Did he need to worry about boys on top of this evil warlock shit?

"PAPA!" Winterfell screamed happily, leaping from her mother's arms into her father's. "You're okay!"

Jack yelped dropping the book and twinetender in order to catch the snowball of his daughter.

"Yes," he kissed the top of her head, "I'm okay and so are you," he muttered to himself if anything.

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CONCLUSION OF INTERLUDE VI
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