To Know The Dark ; frozen fanfic

chapter i

The funeral procession had been a lengthy one, especially without any bodies. Emil affixed his mourner's shawl, looking at the stack of royal documents he'd been proofreading. He sighed, sliding the chair out from its place under the desk and gingerly sat in it. He hadn't attended the procession - he, under his parent's rule, wasn't permitted to leave his room. He had to watch from the window. He looked up, dull blue eyes meeting the frostburned panes of the window in front of him. He couldn't even see through it, no matter how hard he tried to be rid of the ice. 

A shiver wracked his body and suddenly, he felt cold. That ... wasn't supposed to happen. Emil controlled the cold - he'd never been affected by the chill a day in his life. Something wasn't right and, all too suddenly, everything seemed a bit too tilted to the right. He shot from his chair in fear, the overstuffed thing tipping and knocking to the ground with a glassy thud. The prince spun, eyes wide as he realized the floor was layered thick with ice ... it was creeping from his feet like an evil, malicious being searching for a victim. His heart dropped into his stomach and he tried his hardest to pull it back. Nothing worked. It creeped under the door, making the poor wooden slab creak in its hinges. He froze, his stomach dropping beneath his feet. It wasn't supposed to get out - he was supposed to control it. 

A scream from behind the door unstuck Emil's feet, rushing forward. The cry had sounded not like Alexander, but still someone familiar. Throwing the door open, the prince could only stall, eyes unable to glance away from the gory scene before him. (Y/n), sweet and soft and gentle and innocent (Y/n), pierced with giant daggered shards of ice. His blood and tears ran thick in his pinned state, sorrowful and betrayed gaze aimed right at Emil. He'd done this to him, hurt that poor sweet boy, skewered him in the air like some villainous apostate. (Y/n) shakily opened his mouth, but all that came out was a wet 'pop!' and a pitiful wheezy gasp, jaw brokenly clicking out of place as another shard formed right under his chin. It grew in sharp jerky movements, inching towards the tender soft of the boy's underchin. The white haired prince wanted to shout, to beg for (Y/n) to turn his head, to please save himself. To please not hate him for doing this. But (Y/n) stared right at him, pleading to save him, to help him and tell him everything was alright. But Emil was paralyzed in place, unable to move an inch even if he so wished.

He squeezed his eyes shut just as the shard stabbed forward and ...

The sound of brain matter splatting on the ground and (Y/n) wet, bloody gurgles were still fresh in Emil's ears when he jolted upright in his bed, heart beating a mile a minute. With one hand gripping at his heart, the other flew over to the other side of the bed, feeling around for the comforting warmth of (Y/n). But the space beside him was empty and cold. A twinge of panic shot through him before his memory caught up to speed.

(Y/n) hadn't slept beside him in two years. But two years was not long enough to erase 11 years of consistency. He still called out to (Y/n) for company, for opinions, for thoughts, and was met with nothing but silence. Flopping back onto his bed, he stared up at the frosted drapes of his four poster. He'd been the one to push (Y/n) away and send him to God knows where. Without his snow friend to keep him company, Emil felt alone and isolated and bathed in unfriendly silence. 

The prince groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes before dragging himself into sitting. He had to bathe and get ready - today was his coronation and he'd be let out of his room for the first time in 11 years. He threw his legs over the edge of his bed and stretched, remaining unflinching as his bare feet met the lightly iced wooden floor. He delicately made his way over to his basin in the corner, flinging his shoulder length hair out of his eyes as he dragged the large wooden tub to the flimsy paper divider. He'd used it most when him and (Y/n) had been younger and the other had little to no concept of personal space. It felt useless to use it now, but old habits died hard. The dumbwaiter had given him tubs of water to bathe with, but by the time it was poured in the basin, it was chilled and no longer gave off steam.