#OC: Lady Carfindel

[wickednerdery]

Title: Hoarfrost Hel: Abated Author: @wickednerdery Fandom: Marvel Pairing/character: Jotun!OC, Mer!OC, Elf!OCs Rating: Explicit Summary: “Take me to him.” Notes: This is the second part of what’s shaping up to be a legit trilogy (the first is FrostBitten) - the master list is here. The story on whole is gonna be very dark, this piece - which occurs a few days after the last Ulfr one - has significant graphic violence and so much angst. For consistency and length, it gets a “Read More”.

The pain is numbing, slips Grim in and out of consciousness, as Lady Carfindel’s men carry him off. It’s no matter, there’s no option to scream, to fight, and, as blood leaks from around tattered gills, the option of survival drains from him too. He can only cringe when dropped like a sack for the men to open the large vat of salt. While traditionally meant to cure meat and fish, whatever the kitchens might need, this one’s been marked for other uses long ago. The out and inside clawed from attempts at escape, the bottom blackened with blood, from past guests.

“It reeks!” Tir complains as they dig enough to make room for the slave.

Beria chuckles. “Yeah, well, some of them die and, if forgotten long enough...”  He shrugs before joining the other to lift and toss Grim in. 

The salt fires up his wounds, grates scaled flesh, as it goes red-to-black with his blood. If Grim could roar in the pain of it, he would, yet his throat is all but gone. Gills work to close, mouth gapes open in desperation, but he chokes either way. Flakes pull moisture from within, turning him all the more into the sea creature he is at his core. Tears flow, get sucked up, as the two men work to coat him and place the cover back on. Grim watches as the light leaves, the hope fades, and the darkness comes.

Once tasked with finding the Oarnér slave, Grim, by the princess, Maethril makes it her priority. Not because she finds it especially important, but because she herself suspects the slave has information vital to the crown. Close to the man who claims to be Prince Draugluin, now hidden away by Lady Carfindel, he surely knows something. Finding him may lead her to uncovering many secrets.

It takes her moons to discover his location, but when she does she rushes to inform the princess and gather reinforcements. While certainly capable of getting a slave out of the salt bath, she does not trust the Red Lady not to have it guarded. Even bewitched.

“Your Highness! Princess Rainaiel!” Maethril calls out as she rushes towards the caves the young woman finds solace in. “Your Highness!”

“Yes?” Ulfr turns from the overlook, assuming the call is for him.

The royal guard stops short in his sight; her heart begins to race all the more as his gaze goes from curious to understanding.

“You found Grim.” Time slows, his heart holding with his breath. “Where? Where is he?” 

She looks down. For the first time since her early days of battle she’s speechless, indecisive, too wary to make a move. Any move.

Ulfr’s breath returns in a shudder, his heart rushing ahead with his mind. “Where?!” Water fills his eyes, he shakes without control as rage and terror build in equal measure.

“In a salt bath past the kitchens, by the storage house.”

A place Ulfr passed many times looking for Grim; the knowledge makes his stomach churn with acid. “Take me to him.”

“Your Highness -”

“NOW!!”

Fingers fuse first, the webbing of his kind returning, then his toes. His feet...ankles...legs....the longer he stays, the more he dries out, the more fish-like he becomes. Normally, this is not painful, it is something he can do at will, but this is not normal. This is torture. A slow drying out that cracks skin, shrivels scales. Fangs long ago unused grow out as gums recede and lips puff and curl. Skin and scales split and bleed into salt that dries him out all the more. A vicious cycle that slowly drains his life and will to have it...

The vat is not guarded, but both can see its enchantment. Sealed in blue-green light Maethril halts in place, in recognition, as she extends arm to stop the prince. Her attempt goes unnoticed as Ulfr rushes past her. He knows the magic, knows he can handle it...knows it wouldn’t matter if he couldn’t. Grim’s in there.

“Your highness, no, it is freezing!” So cold it will surely burn any elf hand that dare touch it. He ignores, grabs and tosses the lid. She gasps as his hands turn azure, white-lined, before his illusion slips back into place. He is not the prince, he’s not even Ljósálfar! Yet the urge to put this mysterious, deceptive, beast down, the one she’s had since first suspecting him, only dampens...

The light burns Grim’s eyes even through lids, he shudders. His voice is gone, breathing barely there. What little water left in him leaks from the corners of his eyes as he’s lifted from crimson flakes.

Ulfr lowers with care, wincing on his lover’s behalf as the ground proves unforgiving, uncomforting. “Gr-Grim?” He looks down at the being that bears so little resemblance to the man he knows, loves. As badly as he wants to touch, to reassure, he doesn’t dare for fear of hurting.

As Maethril watches she’s at a loss for words. She’s seen death, seen cruelty, but this is something new. New and terrifying. The slave is not simply undone, he’s changed in a way that reminds her of the blackest magics. She knows why the urge to take the imposter down isn’t coming - whoever, whatever, he is, he loves just as any of them. He is in pain, he is scared, and he is in love...more than the prince ever was.

Even the drip of Ulfr’s tears on his flesh causes such pains that Grim’s breath stops. “We...We need to get him out of here.” Ulfr wipes his face quickly, both to prevent tears from falling as to hide them. He can be seen to care, perhaps, but not too much. Not in front of the guard already so suspicious of him. “Get him...help.”

“H-How? ...Where?”

“Do not ask me, just help me!!” The Jotun roars at the she-elf before taking a deep breath in. His jaw flickers in tension, the tears coming once again. “Please...” His voice softens to a plea. “Help.”

Maethril opens mouth, but has no answer. No solution. If they move the Oarnér they may kill him, but they surely cannot leave the man here either. She raises a hand in hopes of staving off more orders while she thinks. The black burns of the slave’s throat, the creature he’s become, it’s like black magic... “I...I may know someone who can, but...”

Stomach tightens in fear. “But?”

“She’s deep in the woods. I’ll have to find her, convince her.”

“Order her, tell her I order her.”

“She’s not one of your people, our people.”

“Tell her she may have whatever she wishes, if she heals him.”

“Your Highness, that is-” Not a risk to take with one such as this witch.

“GO!!” He doesn’t care, whatever warning she has for him doesn’t matter right now. The only thing that does is Grim. That Grim is alive, that he can be healed. The woman bows, heads off, and Ulfr moves to lay on the ground beside the other. He lets his façade fade, goes Jotun and freezes the ground beneath them...Grim always says too cold is better than too hot and, as the ice melts, it turns to the water that’s he so desperately needs. 

**

Rassëiel smells the she-elf the moment she steps beyond the boundaries of the kingdom and into her woods. “You are not welcome here, Ljósálfar.”

“I come with a message from...” Who? An icy imposter? “Prince Draugluin.”

“My answer will be your death.” The dragon-witch is not blood-thirsty, but protective. Her freedom, her land, her happiness was hard-fought and she’s no intention of going back - the best way to assure that is to deal with all elf trespassers brutally. Still, she is curious, so waits...

“He requests, begs, your help, my lady.”

“With what?” She spits back, knowing the type of help requested by the last like him.

“His love.”

The woman laughs. “I’ve no interest in helping the Red Lady, she’s worse than he.”

“No, not her. A fossegrim slave.” Maethril takes another step, hands up to show she’s no wish to battle. “You gained your freedom, would you deny another dark creature his?”

**

“You are not allowed to die, do you understand me?” Ulfr mutters, freezing and refreezing the ground as the Alfheim sun continues to melt it as quickly. “If you die, I’ll kill myself.” After all, what was a fugitive Frost Giant to do when, again, the one good thing in his life leaves.

Grim hears, but cannot respond save to keep breathing what little breath he can find the strength to take.

Not gonna lie, writing this was a wild ride from beginning to end for me, haha! Now I’m hoping that that’s a good thing and translated into a great (and wild!) piece for you guys as well. There’s still more to come - not in the least because we’ve got a new player on the board, haha! - but I’ve a pretty good idea of what. Also, no, Ulfr doesn’t realize he’s given himself away to Maethril. AND the concept of a dragon lady actually came from a character @chibiyanai​​ thought of first and I hope she doesn’t get cross at me for using the genius idea, lol!

Gifs found on Google, combined by me

Word Glossary (in order of usage):

Carfindel - Red-Haired (Sindarin) Oarnér - Oar - Child of the Sea (Qenya); nér - Male (Qenya) Draugluin - Blue (Were)wolf (Sindarin) Beria - To protect (Sindarin), used as name here Tir - Guard (Sindarin), used as name here Ljósálfar - Norse Light Elves Rainaiel - Sweet-faced princess (Sindarin) Maethril - [Female] Warrior (Sindarin) Alfheim - Home of the Norse Light Elves Rassëiel - [Female] Horn (Quenya

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