As The Ice Burns

As the Ice Burns


Scene 1.
Donovan
The setting rays of crimson sunlight illuminated the great mountains of Arradia, reflecting off the rolling waves of the North Sea. The High Warlord Donovan Ironhand of Arradia studied his young kingdom, leaning over a low balcony railing, watching the tides of humanity below him. They were busy building the new capital he had planned for them, content with their lot in life, content with the peace he had given them. He tapped his fingers, encased in spiked steel gauntlets, on the raw unpolished marble that made up his Palace. He had designed the building himself as a great fortress, leaving behind the comforts that being royalty provided. He turned around and walked slowly back into his throne room. The newly polished floor reflected the torches on the walls, casting light on the bare rock. He made his throne room as bare and functional as possible, to make the common people more at ease during visiting hours. After all, he had been one of them.
He stopped and looked to the silent black throne imbedded into the stone. It was a black mass of messily welded iron, square and devoid of the normal ornamentation that his Barons were so proud of, save the trio of cut diamonds set into a triangle of gold wire above where his head would be. His Vizier had insisted on it, and he had reluctantly accepted. The diamonds had been recovered from the ashes of the great city Tresdakine itself, the only remnant of the old Kingdom. Of course, it meant something completely different to him. He set on the steps leading up to the dais where the throne stood, and thought about the last ten years. After he had risen to power among the chaos of the Unending War, ending it as abruptly as it had started, he had immediately set to work on systematically destroying the corrupt remnants of the Warlords and the old Kingdom. He set into motion laws that made the common man equal to the High Warlord himself in a court of law, and while the Barons did not like it, they had been too afraid of him to protest much. He smiled grimly. They were still afraid, but now they also respected him. Had you seen the Highlord from a distance, his youthful face, dark eyes, and black hair made him seem years younger, but up close, his eyes told the truth. He had seen too much for his twenty-five years. Donovan contemplated the future. He had ended the seemingly unending death and destruction made by the warring factions, ushered in new trade agreements that would make his country great as in the Golden Age, and his people loved him. He had given them peace, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not bring peace to himself. Yes, serving others eased the pain, but it could not replace it. He unlaced the chains wrapping his wrist, and removed one of his gauntlets. His pale hand, strangely slim for its strength, shone orange in the setting sun. He stared at it in silence, his black eyes trying to interpret its secrets. What he had done with these hands had taken so much from him, but they had also given his people this peace, so he had eventually decided it was a gift, for them. But not for him. His musings were interrupted as the great doors at the far end of the chamber opened and two of his favorite people walked in. The first, a tall, broad ox of a man, knelt on the floor in front of him. He spoke in his deep voice, perfect on the battlefield, his many scars hidden underneath a thin beard and sideburns. "Your Majesty, the ships are ready for departure." Donovan gestured impatiently.
"You know how much I hate it when you bow to me, General Harid, but I suspect that is why you do it. Please stand. I hate looking down at people. Anything else I need to know?" The other, a tall girl with jet black hair down to her waist in a thin braid, dressed in dark form-fitting leathers, chuckled and said softly, "That 'Lord' Donovan fancies himself a jester. Why not sit on your throne, Your Majesty?" The General stared at her with wide eyes at her effrontery. Her golden eyes and fine features on a dark face marked her as Uru'stai, a warrior race inhabiting the deserts far to the East, and her longbow and twin knives marked a warrior. The former was a rarity in these parts, but the latter was unfortunately all too common. Donovan sighed and leaned back; savoring the pain the stone steps gave. "Iy'ate, why can't you annoy someone else for a change? And thank you, Baron, for the news. Your troops are ready, I assume? We depart at dawn." He stood uncomfortably, but saluted and strode out of the room. Iy'ate watched him leave, but as the doors thumped shut she turned back to Donovan and sat next to him on the steps.
"You're really going through with this, aren't you? Those rumors really stirred you up." Donovan nodded in silence. She stared at him expectantly. He relented. "Yes, you can come." Her smile made her so much more beautiful, and she reached for his unarmored hand before realizing and touching his shoulder.
"Thank you, era'ti ." she called him.
"You are ready for anything the world throws at you, and I am... very proud of you." She placed her head on his shoulder. She asked softly. "What will you do if the rumors are true?" He thought for a second.
"I truly don't know."
The rumors had arrived four months before, about the Kingdom in the North that had been cursed in eternal winter by the Ice Queen, subjecting her people to unimaginable horrors. When he heard, he immediately set out to find the truth about this Queen and her curse. Even if they were exaggerated, he wasn't taking any chances. He had learned of the Kingdoms' location and its name. Arendelle. It was a city-state with an extensive trade network, and because of that, had enjoyed peace for centuries. He was traveling there, to meet this queen himself. He grasped Iy'ate's hand in his armored one, and they stood together. As the sun fell out of sight behind the waves, she asked him another question, this one hesitantly.
"What will you do, if... the, other rumors-"
"Then I will show her responsibility."
"If she refuses to be shown?"
"If she refuses. Well." He stood and shut the double doors that led to his balcony. He raised his unarmored hand, and small flames danced between his fingertips.
"I will show her power."