49 | ARENDELLE
"SO yeah, my life is currently a mess and I am having a major identity crisis and I'll probably have trust issues to the max for the rest of my existence," Winterfell sighed having taken the last hour or so explaining everything to her cousin.
Winter came clean about everything. From her hair to her name to getting possessed and even about Harry Hook being her soulmate. Sitara is currently pacing the length of her bedroom, eyes huge and running her hands through her hair.
Shaking her head, Sitara muttered the first sentence that comes to mind, "yeah well everyone has trust issues so I wouldn't worry too much about it,"
Winter delivered her cousin a weird look seeing as that was the only thing Sitara seemed to have to say. However, this thought was interrupted by Sitara suddenly lunging forward and attempting to pull Winter's shirt up.
Winterfell yelped in shock, the two girls wrestling for just a second.
"What're you doing?! Stop it—!"
Her sentence stopped dead in its tracks as Sitara managed to lift her shirt up and find exactly what it was she was looking for. The two girls were silent and frozen. Winterfell watched her cousin with wide eyes and Sitara licked her teeth before breaking into a small smile.
"You actually have his name scarred to your hip," she snickered while shaking her head and dropping her shirt, "your parents are so going to kill you..." she sang.
"They aren't going to find out," Winterfell hissed in annoyance.
"Uh-huh? Even when they eventually meet this Harry bloke?" Sitara clicked her tongue.
"Yea — actually, I'm not going to pull up my shirt when they meet him and be like 'lookie here, Harry's name is permanently scarred to my skin too!' Honestly, Sitara..."
"Haha okay, but firstly — bitch, pull yourself together,"
Winter's eyes went wide, "what?" She asked in confusion.
"I said what I said — what is this 'identity crisis' that you speak of? You know who you are, you've always known, and I know this pep talk is coming about four years too late, and..." Sitara passed swooping forward and placing her hands on Winterfell's shoulders, "I wish I had known, I really do, but you cannot keep letting Auradon push you around. People will always judge ... and ... I really don't know where I'm going with this cause I'm bad with pep talks and we both know that," both the girls fell into laughter and Sitara embraced her cousin.
Winterfell hugged her back tightly feeling some sense of relief as her mind quieted and her anxiety left. Digging her face into the crook of Sitara's neck, she allowed her older cousin (practically sister) to hold her and stroke her hair.
A few minutes later they pulled away, but Sitara allowed her gaze to bore into Winterfell's. The blue eyes that everyone in the family had, save for Winterfell seemed to stare straight into her soul.
"Now, go run yourself a hot bath and take your time. We'll talk more when you're finished,"
Winter nodded, standing from Sitara's bed and making her way across the room to where she knew the bathroom to be. Although Winterfell was raised with rooms and bathrooms of such a grand scale, after being at school for the past few months and growing accustomed to the size of the bathroom and rooms there, she was again taken off guard by Sitara's bathroom.
The size was grand, with a giant tub in the middle and a shower wall to the right. A small carriage of towels and other amenities spread around the bathroom. It was surely the size of her entire dorm room. Winter shook her head with a smile, closing the door behind her and strolling to the large tub.
She hummed before running the water, making sure that it was hot enough to leave her skin just slightly pink. Winterfell lay in the bath for an hour, simply thinking casual easy thoughts to herself and resting her eyes.
When she got out she made sure to dry herself well before wrapping the towel around her and exiting Sitara's bathroom. Sitara was standing by her window that overlooked the main front courtyard of the Arendellian castle. Her breath caught as she gazed upon her uncle Jack messing around with Soren and Alexar.
Elsa stood idly by with Anna and Kristoff laughing at the scene.
Soren had finally gained the courage to tell his parents about Alexar (apparently Jack already knew somehow, both he and Elsa were shocked to find the other already knew and they both did not tell each other). Anna and Kristoff were, of course, only happy for their son (just as Sitara had been telling him) although they were not happy to find that Soren and Alexar had defiled nearly every inch of the castle.
The story of how Winterfell found out only made Anna scold them and Jack to fall into hysterics. It was a memory that Sitara would cherish, like many that involved her family.
She looked out the window feeling slightly guilty as she knew how much their family missed Winterfell, and not to tell them that she was within the same vicinity. But not now, more chaos is not what Winterfell needed.
And so, Sitara drew her curtains before turning around to face her younger cousin.
Winterfell was puckering her lips curiously, "what's going on out there?" She asked.
"Nothing of importance," Sitara waved away before motioning to her body that was only covered by a towel, "but you, on the other hand, need to fashion yourself some new garments? What're we thinking?"
Winterfell hummed, "can't I just borrow some of yours?"
Sitara gasped as though that was the most outrageous thing she had ever heard. "Do you know how many people would die to have the power to create their own clothes from thin air? Make yourself useful and let your imagination run wild ... give me something that just screams Winterfell,"
Winterfell scoffed but could not argue with her. It was quite a convenient skill to have.
Dropping the towel Winter allowed her magic to coat her. Now -- pause, because here is the thing that even Winterfell herself forgets more than frequently. She is -- quite literally -- the Winter Princess. Winterfell has an actual attire that she usually only wears on occasion; however, for some reason, it was the only thing she could think of.
The short dress made entirely of snow magic was whiter than even some of the freshest fallen snow that Jack himself had brought to Arendelle for the cold season. It is strapless and short, and the bottom flares out in a tutu-styled fashion, ice and gems sprinkling over Winterfell's right shoulder. Her legs are covered with white skin-tight stockings that are adorned with sparkling gems wrapping around her ankles.
And finally, her shoes are pale snow boots that came up to her ankles.
The dress itself reminds many people of the white swan from Swan Lake -- it is what Winterfell based it on, after all. Winterfell is a very talented ballerina. Figure skating and ballet go hand-in-hand for Winterfell, she is incredibly gifted in both.
In fact, last Christmas Winterfell played the Swan Queen in the ballet for Swan Lake that Arendelle had put on for the people.
And before that at the last Auradon ball held by the previous King Adam and Queen Belle about two years ago, Winter had performed the Black Swan dance, Odile's Coda, as her performance for everyone. At least one prince or princess from each kingdom was expected to perform a dance of some sort whenever a ball rolled around.
Her outfit was perhaps the best embodiment of herself that she could think of at the moment. Of course, she had many other outfits that represented herself as the Winter Princess, but this was one of her favorites.
Her long white strands were pushed back by a simple white bandana encrusted with blue and white crystals. Everything about her embodied the winter spirit. Not even Christmas necessarily, just simply everything that was about the cold season.
"Well damn," Sitara admired her cousin, she could not remember the last time Winterfell had worn this.
"Don't worry this isn't actually what I'm wearing back—" Winter was unable to finish her sentence, for Sitara was racing to her closet.
"But of course, everything is just right but you're missing..." she paused as she disappeared into the room, apparently digging through various garments based on the noise of objects flying.
Winterfell rose a brow as Sitara popped back out with a large fur cape that clipped over the shoulders and had an even larger hood attached. It was not something unfamiliar to Winter -- they lived in Arendelle, an area known for a harsh winter season. Not only that, but they were Nordic in nature, and the history of Arendelle stemmed from Vikings -- Aredellians historically are Vikings.
Winter was taken off guard when Sitara spoke to her in Norwegian -- which by technicality is their mother tongue -- but rarely anybody uses it. Other than on traditional nights when a celebration is at its finest.
"Våre forfedre overlevde de kaldeste vintrene, seilte de stormfulle hav - førte krig gjennom landene og gikk seirende ut. Vi er beskyttet av gudene: når en viking blir født, slår gudene en mynt og verden holder pusten," Sitara preached.
[Our ancestors survived the coldest winters, sailed the stormiest seas - waged war through the lands and emerged victorious. We are protected by the gods: when a viking is born, the gods flip a coin and the world holds its breath.]
Winterfell's mouth dropped slightly from how intense that speech was for no reason. Do not get her wrong, it is a pretty good speech, especially from Sitara (but then again, if her cousin is passionate about anything, it's war and their Viking ancestry) -- but damn, she was not expecting it.
"So," Sitara finished in English, draping the large and heavy coat over Winterfell's shoulders, "you must adorn the finishings of our traditions," she clipped it into place.
Turning to the mirror, Winter had to admit that it looked good. Blinking, her plain pale boots transformed to white fur boots which went far better with this new outfit.
"Very well, cousin," Winter slipped into Norwegian, "Thank you for this -- I suppose that I should be leaving now though,"
"Very well cousin," Sitara smiled, placing her hands on Winterfell's shoulders.
But she frowned soon after, a slightly guilty look appearing on her face. Winterfell frowned as well.
"What's wrong, Sitara?" Winterfell questioned, only to receive no response.
Sitara only stared at her with that guilty look.
"Sitara?" Winter said in a lower and much more serious tone.
Sitara sighed, taking her hands away from Winterfell's shoulder and turning away. "I am truly sorry, Winterfell — I am not supposed to speak a word of this to you, but I feel you have a right to know ... especially considering what you have told me and seeing as he is after you..." her words were mysterious.
Winter paused, the girl tilting her head as newfound worry ate at her.
"Cousin," she stepped forward, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, "please..." she spoke softly.
Sitara sighed, turning back around to face Winterfell.
"It's Wenlock," and those two words just about shattered Winterfell's world.
Memories -- long locked away that she had desperately tried to forget surged forward. Her vision flashed, and sounds and screams echoed throughout her ears.
A little girl with long white pigtails -- once fearless with an everlasting smile, mischief that danced in her eyes. A child who used to dance at every Arendellian celebration -- who pulled pranks and allowed frost to appear wherever she walked.
Jack and Elsa loved her more than they even loved themselves.
Winterfell could see it -- memories sparked -- her screams. Wenlock, the evil warlock who would kidnap her in the midst of battle -- not strong enough to beat the spirits of Winter dead-on, but cunning in his planning. Cause a big enough distraction to capture the princess while the rest of her family was busy in battle.
She was a brat -- Winterfell remembers how often Wenlock would call her that. Especially upon his attempt to take her, she had put up a good fight at just eight years old. But he was a warlock that was centuries old, he had bested her, and Winterfell was taken for two weeks before her parents tracked her down.
Them even being able to track them down was impressive in itself, but the love for a child is strong -- stronger than anything and when your parents are the spirits of winter and guardians, then it makes it a bit easier.
"What about Wenlock," Winterfell finally spoke after minutes of silence, swallowing and staring at her cousin.
Sitara stared back. "He's back," she barely whispered, the terror in her tone an obvious indicator that this was not some fucked up joke.
"He's back?" Winterfell echoed back, much like a broken record.
Sitara nodded, "He has returned."
"How?" Winter questioned, falling into a sitting position on Sitara's bed.
Sitara sat next to her and shrugged. "We have no clue -- we don't believe that he was ever really gone, simply weakened..."
The age of Wenlock, the period of a year where the evil warlock was terrorizing all the Northern lands is a dark time. To the South of Arendelle is Auradon and the kingdoms that make it up. Wenlock had no need to go there -- not only that but to go to Auradon was to get closer than comfort to the Isle.
Wenlock was smart, he did not want to chance getting thrown into the Isle like the other villains that ever roamed the lands. Not only that but because he never directly terrorized any other kingdom than Arendelle and what was North of that -- King Beast (at the time) cared, but not enough to send armies.
He sent men, of course, small armies to help -- but the bulk of protections was the Aredellian guard and what would soon become the Northern armies. The North unified upon the attacks, all the Northern lands bending their knee to the powerful King Frost and Queen Elsa. They would be known as the Immortal Viking Guardians of Winter.
They went head-to-head with Wenlock and his forces, and many lives were lost in the battles. It also did not help that Wenlock allied himself with Pitch Black, a powerful demon of nightmares. Pitch Black was a direct enemy of the Guardians -- basically, he made the entire situation worse.
Near the end of the long one-year reign of terror that pursued the North, Winterfell was kidnapped for a span of two weeks. Even to this day no one truly knows exactly what happened in that period -- as a child, Winterfell hated speaking of it, and she was scarred for years after it. And as she grew older, the young Winter spirit only spoke less and less of it.
However, the day that she was found was the final battle. The tipping point to a short but terrible war.
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"Winterfell? Winterfell -- darling, please open your eyes," Elsa was beside herself, the Snow Queen crying as she kneeled down holding her daughter in her arms.
The child was unresposive, ash coating her white hair and face. Her clothing was tattered and messy from over two weeks worth of abuse -- Elsa could not even imagine what her daughter had gone through.
Elsa herself was dressed for battle, the Queen's hair tied back in braids and the woman adorning a long white tunic with breeches. Snow was falling over the area harshly -- the temperature continuing to drop.
Around them was chaos -- the guardians all fighting against demons, wicked elves, and other monsters who followed Wenlock. The guardians fought alongside elves, fae, and the Arendellian army.
Jack, Elsa, and the other forces arrived just in time to stop Wenlock from completely killing their daughter and draining her of her life force. Now Wenlock was fighting against the masses.
"Mother—?"
Elsa's breath caught in her throat as Winterfell slowly turned her head and opened her eyes -- the little girl of just eight was incredibly weak and on the brink of death. There were only a few times that the child had ever felt cold, and now was one of them. The child shivered, her body tremoring as the ice cold hands of death lay within reach of her soul.
Elsa sobbed pulling the daughter that she considered her miracle child close to her -- she had to get Winterfell medical help as soon as possible.
"My love..."
Elsa jumped, moving one hand away from Winterfell and protectively out to where the voice came from.
However, she relaxed upon seeing Jack — her husband — standing a few feet away looking to the two most important people in his life with worry. He had just come from the sky seeing that his wife had found their child.
But now, upon seeing the state that his daughter was in brought over an intense amount of anger and sadness. The child he loved with all his heart, the child that eight years ago he believed to be impossible.
Jack realized then that his fears of having a child had come to life -- he had been scared to have a child out of fear of losing them, now this fear was almost a reality as Jack could see the life slipping from Winterfell. They had to beat Wenlock quickly and bring their daughter to help.
He moved forward, kneeling beside his wife who was holding Winterfell.
"She is very weak -- she needs help," Elsa cried squeezing her daughter to her, it was only then Elsa realized that Winterfell was shivering.
"She's cold," Jack said, his voice portraying all of the worry he felt.
He wasted no time in reaching down and grasping her small hand within his own.
"You'll be okay snowflake," Jack assured his daughter, clutching her hand tighter as he allowed his powers to flow into her.
He gave her strength and protection against the cold -- it worked as immediately she stopped shivering and seemed to settle within Elsa's arms. He sighed in relief, knowing that he had just bought them more time concerning Winterfell's life.
Elsa was doing the same, pushing her power into Winterfell allowing the child to build up more strength. Seeing as Winterfell's powers were a reflection of both Jack and Elsa's combined -- then by both of them doing it she was helped a lot.
"Papa?" Winterfell muttered, her eyes barely open now.
Jack brought his daughter's hand up and kissed it. "I'm right here, sweetie -- I am always with you, we will always protect you,"
Winterfell was unable to say anything to that, the girl simply settling and falling unconscious within the arms of her parents. Jack's anger was growing as he saw the state that his daughter was in -- what that monster had done to his precious little girl.
"No wealth, no ruin, no silver, no gold -- nothing satisfies me but her soul..."
Both Jack and Elsa's eyes snapped to the familiar snake-like voice.
There he stood in all his wicked glory -- the true baddest of the bad. The one villain who could not be caught -- the villain who would reign down destruction and ruin with an iron hand.
The sorcerer supreme himself -- Wenlock.
He stood watching the small family with a tilt of his head, his hair long and darker than night and eyes that glowed red and seemed to be carved straight from hell itself. His skin was pale, but not like Jack, Elsa, or Winter's -- rather it was sickly pale and purple bags lay under his eyes.
The sorcerer stood with his back pin straight and red eyes focused on the dying the child. He held out his hand and immediately Winterfell started to gasp in her unconscious state -- it was apparent that she was choking.
Jack Frost wasted no time, muttering a small "I love you" to his wife and kid before soaring at Wenlock.
Wenlock got the breath knocked out of him as the Winter Spirit tackled him, and suddenly they were flying high into the sky away from Elsa and Winterfell.
On the ground, Winterfell once again turned into a peaceful state of being.
Jack kicked Wenlock away from him -- Wenlock tumbled through the clouds before he caught a hold of himself. He hovered high in the sky with Jack flying just feet away -- the two circled each other.
Both men took in the sight around them, the sound of fighting on the ground below, the smell of ash in the air, and the snow that fell around. Wenlock was determined -- soon it would all be his.
He sent a blast of red magic toward Jack -- once he destroyed the Winter King then he would truly have it all. Jack dodged the magic of destruction, and instead sent back a burst of powerful magic that took to the color of blue.
Wenlock was just barely able to dodge it -- flying was not his forte, it took quite a bit of energy for him to continue to hover in the air.
Electricity lit up the clouds of around, and with Jack's anger came a force of thunder that rattled the Earth around. Jack could feel it within himself, the anger bubbling to the surface and the power that ran throughout his being.
Wenlock pursued his lips as his enemy's eyes began to glow pure white and electricity seemed to run rampant over his hair and fingertips. The socerer prepared himself as the temperature dropped to uncanny degrees, but he refused to lose.
At the same time both of them brought their arms and two forces of magic clasped in an epic light of red vs. blue.
"For all the innocent lives that you have taken..." Jack growled, his power becoming even stronger as he fought against the socerers.
Wenlock roared, using even more force to push his destruction to Jack Frost.
"I will destroy you, protector of the realm -- and your daughter will be mine, her powers will be mine! YOU WILL NOT STOP ME!"
The red surged forward only to be stopped by the blue force of magic -- Jack remained calm in his speaking. And yet, his voice still seemed to thunder.
"For all the ones who have suffered..."
Blue surged and began to overcome the red force of destruction, and beyond that the Earth once again shook. Jack Frost's entire being began to glow blue. Wenlock's mouth fell open as he watched the form of a large crown of ice take its place on Jack's head -- the crown was tall twisted over itself.
He stared into the white eyes of the Winter King and shouted, "I will not be defeated!" With one last futile attempt at pushing his magic to dominate the spirit's.
"For my family -- for my daughter -- I CAST YOU OUT!"
And with that -- Jack Frost used the full force of his magic, the blue powers demolished that of the red hitting Wenlock square in the chest, directly in his heart. The socercer screamed upon impact, and immediately the man began to fall through the air his own power of red encasing him. Just before he hit the ground, the red overcame him completely and he disappeared never to be heard from again.
The King of Winter remained in the sky as the champion.
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Jack Frost defeated Wenlock the Wicked -- and he has never been seen since. Never found, so while there was always the chance that he shall return -- everyone hoped that perhaps he was dead.
But now Winterfell can see that this was not the case, and the warlock has now had nine years to recover and replan. To change the flaws in his old plan.
"It is starting the same way it did the first time -- small attacks. Children waking in the night from horrible nightmares..." Sitara explained, and Winter remembered being a child and experiencing one year straight of nightmares.
The Sandman -- a good friend of her fathers -- would need to stay the night with her on occasion in order to give the child a break from the horrors. Elsa and Jack could only console her nightly weeping so much before it started to break them.
However, everyone had felt it during those times -- that dark year. Laughter became rare, and Jack (even though he was one of the sole players in that ghastly time) had to work extra hard to keep the laughter alive at all. He worked extra hard to keep some fun around for the children. But that made it all the harder when it seemed he could not do so for even his own daughter.
"Fires in the middle of the night -- forest fires that have taken dozens of homes and lives -- dark magic spreading, and at first we hoped that it was perhaps another villain as the Isle was just released, but it's not possible—"
Winter finished Sitara's sentence for her, "Most villains are still on the Isle or surrounding areas of Auradon,"
Sitara nodded at her words, "And these attacks are too similar to the original and now becoming too frequent that it can no longer be denied -- there is a war coming and Wenlock is behind it."
They sat in silence -- Winter stirred with these thoughts and frustration bloomed. She could not wrap her head around it, she truly did not understand. Her parents knew this for how long? And they have not mentioned a word to her about it?
Sure, she did not speak to her parents all that much while she was away at school, but when she did speak to them there was no talk about Wenlock returning! She could not believe this. Winterfell stood up and began to pace, her breathing growing heavier.
Over the summer there had been rumor about the possibility, sure, but that had never been confirmed to her knowledge. Well, until now that is.
"Winterfell," Sitara said slowly, she knew what her cousin was thinking, "your parents did not want to worry you while you were away at school -- I promise you they would have told you when you returned for the Christmas holidays," she tried to explain.
"It does not matter," Winer ground out, she was certain the Beleth possession was in some way connected to Wenlock's return. "How could they do this? Wenlock is after me, he waged this war -- all of this misery, all in the name of taking me! He wishes to drain me of my life force to become the most powerful dark sorcerer who ever lived! He kidnapped me and nearly did kill me if my Dad did not find me in the nick of time..." Winterfell was visibly upset, pacing and her voice got louder with each word.
Sitara made no move to go near Winterfell, simply eyeing the room around as frost grew on the walls and floor -- the room dropping many degrees. One glance out the window and her fears were brought to life upon the sky outside turning dark and the wind visibly picking up from what she could see. If she did not calm her cousin down soon then it would not be long before Jack and Elsa knew of their daughter's presence in Arendelle.
"Winterfell..." Sitara tried, holding her arms up.
"Seconds, Sitara," Winterfell rounded, her big brown eyes turning glassy before beginning to glow white -- Sitara let out a small "oh shit," in response. "If my dad arrived seconds later than he did then it would've been too late -- I would have been gone and Wenlock would have won. And you're telling me that I don't deserve to be told that he's back? As if I am not one of the first people that should know."
It was only when Sitara heard people outside yelping because of the wind that she knew this had to stop now. She stepped forward, cringing as her foot stepped on ice that cracked.
"I get why you are feeling frustrated, Winterfell -- but you know even better than I that your parents love you more than anything in the world. Trust me when I say that they have not told you for your own good, and truth be told if this is your reaction then I should not have told you either." Trust Sitara to tell someone what they needed to hear, not what they wanted. "Now, unless you wish for your parents to realize that you are here then I would stop this shit," Sitara motioned around before muttering a small, "brat,"
Winterfell's eye twitched, and before Sitara had known what happened a force knocked her back and caused her to fall into her bed harshly.
"Bitch," Winterfell uttered in response but said nothing more.
She had heard what she needed to, and this was usual behavior from Sitara so she was used to it -- to a degree at least. Winter took a deep breath turning away from her cousin with her hands fisted into tight balls.
Okay, yeah -- she would admit that maybe the whole Beleth thing may have given her the slightest bit of a temper. Or perhaps it simply pulled what had been lurking under the waves for much too long to the surface. Jack Frost was known for having quite the temper at times, and admittedly there had been moments where Winterfell mirrored it.
Out of nowhere, her once short snow-white dress grew in length, the ends sweeping the floor. Gold straps appeared connecting the front to the back in a strappy fashion and the once pristine white turned to a light blue.
The dress was not at all puffy, but rather form-fitting and flowy toward the bottom. Winter wasted no time in kicking off her boots allowing her bare feet free. Although it was covered by the length of the dress — Winterfell was quick to begin knotting front pieces of her hair into a classic style of Norwegian braiding.
She did it quickly and with precision as she had been braiding practically her entire life.
Sitara -- who currently had her own set of braids fashioned into her hair -- sat up on her bed with a raised brow. Her cousin currently looked indescribably like Elsa. Sure, Winterfell's hair was slightly brighter, and she was quite skinny not at all adorning the soft feminine curves of her Elsa, but still -- the resemblance was uncanny.
"You will make a great Queen one day," she spoke out of nowhere, and it truly caught the frustrated Winterfell by surprise.
She froze in her braiding before continuing with a swallow, "and what makes you say that?"
Winterfell did not want to mention how she had been feeling many more doubts the past few months. Sitara was easygoing about most things, but this would certainly concern her cousin.
"You have the qualities, cousin."
Sitara had known all of her life that she was not destined for the throne. Soren was the heir, but that was okay because she had no desire for the throne. It was to the point that if anything ever happened and Soren was unable to take the throne to Arendelle then it would not even be Sitara to take it -- it would be Winterfell.
Sitara had chosen this a few years ago, she would never forget her family's surprise when she announced it. And like a true royal who knows her duties -- Winterfell accepted. Though their family was much more unconventional — eccentric — than most royal families, they still understood their duties.
The crown is not a static thing resting forever on one head, it is moving. The crown represents the changing face of changing times -- and one day it will be Winterfell to wear it. She must be ready, this has been known since day one. She has been prepared as much as possible, it is now only a waiting game as to when she will officially claim her throne.
And what a fantastic Queen she would be.
"You still don't get it, cousin." Sitara stood at her silence. "People believe in you -- we need someone who can be as strong as a storm but equally as gentle as the ocean waves on a calm day. You were born out of love and magic, you have old Viking blood and the blood of magic running through your veins -- you still believe you were born out of coincidence or chance? No, you were put on this world for a reason -- magic brought you to us for a reason. You are Winterfell of House Oldenburg -- people have named lands after you. You are Princess -- soon to be Queen of the North -- the protector of the Northern Realm—"
Winterfell finished her braid, but she could not listen to this any longer. She loved being at home, but being in a school full of Princes and Princesses sometimes made her forget just how many people tended to worship her as the future Queen. Especially seeing her heritage.
"Jeg vil se deg om noen uker i ferien, Sitara -- takk. din fetter, jeg elsker deg," Winterfell said in straight Norwegian before practically sprinting out of her room.
She could hear her cousin yelling for her to "wait" and "come back" but Winterfell was already halfway down the corridor. She yelped upon accidentally running into a servant of the castle. The woman let out a small noise of surprise blinking a few times before recognizing the familiar face in front of her.
"Princess Winterfell?" She said in confusion.
It was no secret to the townspeople that Winterfell was in Auradon currently at school -- or at least supposed to be.
"Hello, Agnete -- goodbye Agnete..." she greeted and said goodbye in one sentence before moving past her to the open window behind.
Without any caution, the princess leaped out into the open allowing the wind to shoot her sky-high. She was immediately flying fast not wanting to chance anyone else seeing her. The hair that was not braided back whipped along with her dress, but the girl only flew faster chasing the setting sun.
Again, she paid no mind to the oceans she shot over nor the lands or towns that she flew over. It was not until she saw the lights of Auradon just a few minutes later that she began her descent toward where she knew the campus to be.
Located just off the coast was Auradon Prep -- the school surrounded by the ocean on one side and the forests on another.
It was dark when Winterfell arrived at Morton Hall, the daughter of spirits choosing to hover outside of her dormitory window before slowly pushing it open with her foot. She crawled inside her dark bedroom, landing on the ground softly before she flicked her lamp on.
She sighed at the sight of the school bedroom -- the place looking exactly as how she left it. Winter fell against her wall, frost climbing up everything around, the area falling in temperature.
She listened as the winds howled outside and the girl knew that she was once again making it snow, but she could care less for she only placed her head on her knees and allowed herself to breathe.