Author's note: This is not, I repeat NOT, an entry in the new sequel contest. This is a tie-in to Broken Shards of a Frozen Heart that I wrote a few months ago as a tribute to Alan Rickman, who some of you may recall was my choice to voice King Gunther. Part 1 explores Gunther's backstory, while part 2 is a retelling of Broken Shard of a Frozen Heart from Gunther's POV.

Prince Gunther had always felt out of place in his family. As the second of four sons, his existence seemed superfluous. His elder brother Georg had his path laid out for him, spending most of his days locked behind closed doors with their father and his entourage of advisors in training for the day he’d become king – something that Gunther did not envy at all! Even his two younger brothers, the twins Gerhard and Gregor, were starting to chart their own courses. Gerhard was the top of his class at a prestigious military academy, and Gregor was avidly studying politics. But Gunther had no idea what he might do with his life.

A shy and sensitive child, Gunther didn’t think he was cut out for combat or politics, and he wanted no part of ruling a kingdom. He was sure he’d go mad under the weight of so much responsibility! On the off chance he inherited the throne, his plan was to abdicate it to one of the twins. His real passion was for literature and the arts. While his brothers were sword fighting and his parents entertaining foreign dignitaries, Gunther was most likely to be found in the library. His brothers scoffed and mocked him, and his father tried to encourage him to find a more masculine way to occupy his time. He didn’t see what he was doing wrong! He wasn’t bothering anyone… so why did his family want him to change?

Only his mother understood him. She would often bring him a plate of sweets or a cup of tea while he was sequestered in the library. She’d ask him about the book he was reading and listen as he talked, sometimes for hours on end. Before she left, she would kiss his cheek and assure him he’d find his place one day. He wasn’t sure he believed her, but it was nice to know she had faith in him.

Just before the young prince turned seventeen, a deadly typhus outbreak ravaged the kingdom. Not even the royal family was immune. For weeks, Prince Gunther was confined to his bedchamber in a delirious fever. When he finally opened his eyes, he saw the chancellor and a number of his father’s advisors huddled at his bedside, wearing grim expressions. For one wild moment, Gunther thought their presence was just another fever dream. What could they possibly want with him? “So glad to see you’re awake, Your Majesty,” one of them said.

Why are they calling me Your Majesty? Gunther thought. That title was normally reserved for kings and queens. Then his frazzled mind finally started to piece together what was going on. “My father… is he dead?” he demanded. The advisors exchanged worried looks, but their silence was the only confirmation he needed. “And Georg?”

The chancellor was finally the one to tell Gunther what had happened. The typhus outbreak had already claimed the lives of his father and all three of his brothers. Before he had the time to process the fact that he was now king, the chancellor broke another piece of news, one that turned his world upside down. His mother had held on the longest, but she wasn’t expected to survive the night. His heart dropped. He had to say goodbye to her! He sat straight up in bed, but the chancellor pushed him back toward the pillows, insisting he rest.

Hours passed, but Gunther lay awake in his bed, waiting for the inevitable news of his mother’s passing. He glanced at the clock on the nightstand; bright moonlight shone in from the window, illuminating the hands stopped at 2:30. Somehow he knew she was dead, even before the chancellor informed him the next morning. He showed no emotion at the news; his only reaction was to ask when her funeral would be held. The chancellor tried to dodge the question, but Gunther saw it in his eyes; there was something he wasn’t telling him. When he persisted, the chancellor said he was still too sick to be allowed to attend his mother’s funeral and slunk out the door before he had a chance to argue.
A sob tore form Gunther’s throat the moment the chancellor was out of earshot. He buried his face in his pillow, but it did little to drown out the sound. Now he was truly alone in the world. It just wasn’t fair! Why had he been spared? He had no future planned out for him; no one (with the possible exception of his mother) would miss him if he died. It should have been him; he wished it had been him. Maybe then the rest of his family would still be alive…

He had no idea how long it had been before he heard whispers rising from the hall. He could only make out bits and pieces of what was being said: “…can’t be expected to hand power over to him…” “…too young…” “…ill-equipped to rule…” “…will need constant supervision…” Gunther continued to listen to his advisors talk about him, and he was suddenly angry… angry at his advisors for underestimating him, angry at his father and Georg for saddling him with the responsibility for ruling a country, angry at Gerhard and Gregor for leaving him with no way out of it, but more than anything else, angry at his mother for leaving him all alone. He defiantly dragged a hand across his eyes. His mind was made up; he would not be that fragile little boy his advisors saw! At that moment, Gunther vowed no one would ever again see a hint of vulnerability in him.

For three years, King Gunther ruled with cold detachment, rarely venturing beyond the walls of his castle. His advisors still hissed in his ear, offering their unwanted criticism and disapproval at every opportunity. They still belittled and condescended to him, still ignored his orders, but more than anything else, they still complained at having him in power. He was surprised they hadn’t tried to assassinate him yet… he didn’t put it past them! He had become so suspicious of his advisors that he now carried a knife with him at all times, just in case they got any ideas. Gunther was only half listening as the advisors’ voices droned on. They pestered him to spend more time outside the palace getting to know his kingdom, to marry a worthy woman and produce heirs to the throne. Although he tried to ignore their constant carping, he eventually caved to their demands and agreed to host a ball.

Every high-born maiden from the surrounding kingdoms descended upon his castle, and Gunther hated every moment of it. Their incessant giggling and gossiping drove him mad! Most of his night was spent on the fringe of the ballroom, watching with disinterest as the women twirled by in blurs of bright color, but this offered him little escape. Every so often, one of them would sidle over to him. She would curtsey and flash him a simpering smile, usually accompanied by a twirl of her fan. Then she would link her arm through his, resting her head against his shoulder. He detested being pawed by all these strange women, but when he tried to pull away, his advisors would shoot him a reprimanding look. Under their watchful eyes, he would bow and kiss her hand, then lead her through a stiff, awkward waltz. She would glide along beside him, shooting the others a look of smug satisfaction at being partnered with the young king, and babble about how handsome he was or how lovely his castle was or how fascinating it must be to rule a country. They recited every fawning line they could think of to get him to let his guard down, but he knew better. They only saw him as their ticket to a life of grandeur. If only one of them wanted me instead of my crown, he thought sadly as he detached from his latest dance partner.

After the disaster of a ball, King Gunther ordered his advisors to never put him in a situation like that again. They smiled and fawned, but their compliance didn’t last long. Only months later, they invited a diplomat from a faraway kingdom to solve a national crisis and only bothered to tell the king the day before the scheduled arrival. Gunther was beside himself when he found out. He didn’t know what was worse, knowing his advisors thought he was too stupid to handle the problem on his own or the fact that they’d acted on his behalf behind his back! He summoned them to his study, where a heated argument ensued. He wanted to fire every last one of them, but they blackmailed him into letting them stay on with threats of political unrest.

Gunther balked at the idea of personally greeting his guests. He didn’t see why his advisors couldn’t handle it, but they insisted etiquette demanded his presence. He put on his best fake smile as he was introduced to the Baron of Adelonia. Then he saw her… she was unlike any woman he’d ever seen, a stark contrast to the pale lifeless-eyed living dolls his advisors kept trying to force upon him. There was a rosy glow to her cheeks, and her blonde curls flowed freely, rather than being pinned atop her head. But the thing that struck Gunther most was her eyes… brilliant green eyes that sparkled with inextinguishable happiness. At first he thought she was an angel, but when he saw the way she linked her arm through the baron’s, the way she smiled and kissed his cheek, he knew she must be his daughter.

At first, all Gunther could do was stare at the girl. One of his advisors gave him a gentle nudge toward her, and his mannerly side took over as he bowed with an air of kingly formality, pressing her hand to his lips. He half-expected her to giggle but she didn’t, and when she smiled at him, it was the same warm genuine smile she’d just given her father, not like the false fawning ones the girls at the ball had worn. Her name was Edith, a name that echoed in his mind as he led the group into the castle.

In the following days, Gunther watched the baron’s daughter from afar. She was everything he lost when his family died, and he envied her… her joy and innocence. He wanted to possess her happiness! A part of him wished he could lock her away inside his castle forever, to shield her from the harshness of the world. His advisors encouraged him to talk to her, but he knew it was all for naught. He was too jaded and callous to have any common ground with her, and he refused to taint her with the darkness of his heart. Besides, opening up to her would only invite rejection.

The majority of Gunther’s time was spent hiding from Edith. Whenever she walked into the room, he would pretend to be engrossed in something else or, preferably, make a hasty excuse to leave. On the rare occasion he was forced to speak to her, he kept to superficial subjects such as the weather. He never returned her smiles and refused to so much as meet her gaze, lest he should become lost in her eyes. Over time, his encounters with Edith were fewer and farther between. She no longer greeted him with a smile, and that twinkle of joy in her eyes that he had fallen in love with was starting to vanish. He didn’t have to wait long to find out why. As he passed the baron’s room, he overheard Edith complaining to her father… about him. “…such an unfeeling man, cold and hard inside, like a stone! I’m starting to think he has no heart…”

The words were like a knife being plunged into his heart. So that was it… he’d finally succeeded in pushing her away. She loathed him, and there was nothing he could do about it. He’d destroyed his last chance at happiness. He knew this was coming, but it didn’t make it hurt any less. He instinctively retreated to the library, as he always did when he was in emotional turmoil, trying in vain to lose himself in a book. His eyes stung, blurring the words on the page, as Edith’s biting remarks echoed in his mind, but he would not allow himself to cry. She’d already wrung enough emotion from him! He slammed the book shut, glancing up at a painting on the wall of his mother, father, and brothers… a bitter reminder of his own loneliness. “What do I do now, Mother?” he wondered out loud.

A faint rustle caused Gunther to wheel around suddenly to face a pair of green eyes… the eyes of the last person he wanted to witness his moment of vulnerability, Edith’s eyes. “Your Majesty?” she said, but he ignored her. She was staring right past him now, to the painting of his family. “Is that your family?” she asked. “Where are they?”

Gunther scoffed; he was in no mood to share his tragic past with her, not after what she’d said! “I think we both know the answer to that question, Lady Edith,” he said through clenched teeth. Her eyes softened, and he knew she’d caught the meaning behind his words. He hoped her curiosity had been satisfied. “Now, if you would kindly get out…” Edith didn’t budge, just stayed rooted to the spot watching him, studying him, almost as if she was trying to see into his heart. “I said, ‘GET OUT!’”

Overwhelmed by anger, Gunther grabbed the nearest object – a vase of flowers – and hurled it at the wall behind Edith, where it shattered with a loud crash. He expected her to scream or burst into tears or call him hurtful name or at least run, anything but what happened next. She approached him, cautiously at first but more boldly as she neared, and tried to hold his hand! “Please… tell me what’s wrong,” she whispered.

“And why anything be wrong?” Gunther snapped before he could stop himself. “That would imply that I had a heart…” Edith gasped, her eyes widening; he could tell he’d struck a nerve. He chuckled sardonically. Now she would know just how deeply her words had cut him! “You’d like that wouldn’t you… to see a crack in the stone?!” He couldn’t resist using her own words against her just one more time. “It’s hardly as if you needed to see me weak to have reason to hate me…”

A quiet snuffling sound told him he’d finally made Edith cry, but he coldly turned his back to her. Here it comes… he thought angrily. Now she would go running to her father to complain how he’d upset her, and the baron would undoubtedly tell his advisors. He could hear them now scolding him like an unruly toddler.

“I-I’m so sorry!” Edith sobbed, and Gunther stared blankly at her. He couldn’t believe it… he’d berated her and she was sorry?! “I didn’t understand… I never would’ve said those horrible things about you if I knew…” Gunther stiffened as Edith threw her arms around his neck without warning, dampening the front of his coat as she buried her face in his chest. He awkwardly stroked her hair, unsure how to react. “These past few days I’ve missed my home but… I can’t imagine what I’d do if I lost my mother and father… and to be handed so much responsibility on top of it!”

So her tears were for him, not because of him! Gunther wasn’t sure if he should feel resentful or gratified. “Lady Edith, I don’t need your pity,” he said, brushing a stray tear from her cheek.
Edith managed a weak watery smile. “I don’t pity you,” she sniffled. “Well, I suppose I do, but… I think you’re the strongest person I’ve ever known.” That was the last thing Gunther expected her to say! Before he could think of anything to say, Edith gently tilted his head down and kissed him. He didn’t know that was stranger, that she’d kissed him or that he let her! She turned away without another word, leaving him gazing longingly after her.

From then on, Gunther knew he had Edith’s heart. She gave him back the happiness he thought had died long ago with his family. For the first time in three years, sunlight poured in through the castle’s open curtains, and the fires in all the rooms were lit. Gunther traded his dour black outfits for the royal colors of blue, gold, and magenta and started spending less and less time in the castle. Every morning, he would greet Edith with a kiss and a bouquet of fresh daisies; then the pair would sneak out of the castle while her father and his advisors were distracted. During their long strolls throughout the kingdom, Gunther became better acquainted with his subjects, their hopes and concerns, and grew more confident as a ruler. Edith gave him the courage to finally stand up to his advisors. Their threats of disapproval no longer worked, for he knew what whatever they thought of him, he still had the people’s support and Edith’s love.

The one dark cloud that still followed him was the knowledge that one day Edith would go back to Adelonia. He tried to put it off for as long as possible, pretending to be too busy to attend his meetings with the baron and shooting down every suggestion he had. The more time passed, the more he noticed the shadow of sadness growing in Edith’s eyes; he knew she missed her home. On the last day of her visit, he begged her to marry him then and there, but she insisted they wait. She promised she would come back soon, but first she needed to spend time with her mother and father.

After Edith left for Adelonia, Gunther became more sullen than ever. He tried throwing himself into his work, but without his advisors to distract him, often found his mind wandering. Most of his time was spent brooding in the library or snapping at his servants. The more time passed, the worse he became; the only thing that would lift his spirits was the occasional letter from Edith. It was taking her much longer than he thought to wear down her father’s resistance to their marriage, so long that he began to suspect she had fallen in love with another man. Nearly year passed before the Baron of Adelonia allowed Gunther to marry his only child, and everyone in the castle, from the king to the lowliest scullery maid, breathed a sigh of relief when the royal wedding was finally announced.

Within the first few years of King Gunther and Queen Edith’s marriage, two daughters were born, neither of whom survived infancy. The first was Angeline, their angel child. He knew there was something wrong the moment he stepped into the room. His wife sobbed, but for some odd reason, the blanketed bundle in her arms did not. The king saw blonde curls and a cherubic round face peeking out from under the blanket, a face that he couldn’t help notice was unnaturally pale. The baby’s eyes were tightly closed, and at first he thought she was sleeping… until the midwife pulled him aside and whispered the words that shattered his heart, “I’m sorry, Your Majesty; she’s stillborn.”

He barely registered the midwife demanding a name for the child. Several moments passed before he finally christened her Angeline, after a character in a novel he’d read long ago. The midwife tried to take the baby, but Edith clutched her tighter to her chest. Gunther had to pry his wife’s hands off their child long enough for the midwife to make her move, and she dissolved into hysterical tears in his embrace. He wished he could weep with her, but she needed him to stay strong. The midwife turned away sadly, leaving the king to stare after the baby girl who never drew her first breath and wonder what went wrong.

Then was Matilde, a beautiful baby girl with expressive green eyes like her mother’s. For the second time, Gunther entered his wife’s bedchamber to find a silent bundle cradled in her arms, and he feared the worst. A pair of eyes stared back at him, and a tiny hand reached out. Before he had the chance to protest, Edith gently placed the newborn in his arms. One look in her eyes, and he understood. She was too fascinated by the world around her to want to cry.

As Matilde grew, so did her curiosity. She was into everything, much to the dismay of her mother and the royal governess. Much of their day was spent running after, warning her to “be careful!” or “Don’t touch that!” While they were kept in a state of panic, Gunther actively encouraged his daughter’s curiosity. After losing Angeline, it was a relief to have such a happy, fearless child, and in some ways, her inquisitiveness reminded him of a younger version of himself.

One day, just days before Matilde’s first birthday, the governess burst into King Gunther’s study in the middle of a meeting with the ambassador of some kingdom he’d forgotten the name of, looking even more frazzled than usual. He tried to dismiss her, but she insisted he follow her. He scoffed; this was hardly the first time she’d interrupted him to deal with an unruly Matilde. She was probably touching something she shouldn’t or refusing to lie down for her nap.

Gunther’s first clue that something wasn’t right was the lack of coos and giggles issuing from the nursery. The thought crossed his mind to reprimand the governess for tearing him away from an important meeting when Matilde was clearly behaving, but he thought better of it as he peered over the side of the bassinet. He saw his daughter lying still and silent, and panic set in. That wasn’t like her at all… she must be sick! His instinct was to summon the castle doctor, but a trembling hand slipping into his own distracted him. Edith’s green eyes streamed with silent tears as they met her husband’s, the same way they had when Angeline died; Gunther’s heart dropped. One look in those eyes, and he knew his daughter was dead.

When Gunther lost his first daughter, the initial shock numbed any other emotion, but now all he felt was blind all-consuming rage. “What happened?” he demanded, rounding on the governess. She tried to stammer an explanation, but he didn’t care. Her job was to protect his daughter, but she failed her in every way imaginable! “How could you let this happen?!” He continued to berate her, accused her of murder, threatened her with imprisonment and execution, but it did nothing to quell his anger; it only made it stronger.

The guards were immediately summoned. The governess wept and begged for mercy as they clapped her in irons, but Gunther ignored her. Someone had to pay for Matilde’s death! He was ready to have her sent to the dungeons, but before he could give the order, Edith spoke up. “Gunther, don’t!” she begged, looking up at him with pleading eyes. Her voice sounded so hoarse and tired. “Please… it’s not her fault.”

Gunther was taken aback by his wife’s request but nonetheless ordered the governess released. His anger momentarily dispelled, all he could think was why? Why must every shred of happiness he found be yanked out from under him? Realization hit him with a terrible jolt. There was only one explanation he could think of; his family kept dying because God was punishing him! Edith was right… it wasn’t the governess’s fault. It was his own.

Matilde’s death nearly destroyed Edith. She stopped eating; she barely spoke. Most days, she refused to leave her bedchamber. Gunther saw his young, vibrant wife deteriorating before his eyes, and it broke his heart. He lavished her with affection and expensive gifts, but no matter how he tried, he couldn’t make her smile. He knew she wouldn’t survive another tragedy, and death seemed attracted to him like a magnet. Or worse, she could be the next tragedy! Gunther knew he would never forgive himself if anything happened to Edith. There was only one way to keep her safe… he had to push her away.

Over the next months, the king and queen saw less and less of each other. Gunther had his things moved into one of the guest bedrooms and kept himself distracted by his work. He only saw Edith at mealtimes; they were barely on speaking terms anymore. One day, Gunther overheard some of the maids gossiping, saying that Edith planned to return to her parents in Adelonia. He scoffed; Edith would never leave him. But a nagging doubt crept into his mind…

Gunther rushed to Edith’s bedchamber where he found her pulling clothes out of dresser drawers “Is it true?” he demanded, though the trunk on the bed behind her already answered his question. “What the servants are saying – that you’re leaving?
”
“I thought it best,” Edith replied coldly. She avoided his gaze, but he could still see the unshed tears glistening in her eyes. “Every day, I see you pushing me farther away, and now… I’m all alone!” She turned away, wiping her cheek. It was taking every bit of restraint Gunther had not to comfort her. He reminded himself that she was right…. it was better this way. “I suppose I deserve it for not giving you a surviving heir. I know you blame me-”

“I BLAME MYSELF!” Gunther shouted, cutting her off. He had no idea where the words came from, but there was no stopping them. “My mother and father, Georg, Gerhard, Gregor, Angeline, and now Matilde gone! Obviously I’m doing something wrong or I wouldn’t keep losing everyone I love-” His voice broke as the tears he’d held in sprang to his eyes. He tried to turn away, but Edith’s hand on his arm told him it was too late… she’d already seen. “Go… please,” he choked out. “I’d rather lose you this way than…”

Edith gasped as understanding dawned in her eyes. “Is that why you pushed me away? To protect me?” The only reply Gunther managed was a strangled whimper. Without another word, she gathered him in her arms, gently guiding his head toward her shoulder. He clung to her like a frightened child, half-expecting her to pull away, but she held him even tighter, making no effort to hush him as he sobbed into her.

The moment he’d regained composure, Gunther was ashamed that he’d allowed Edith to see him fall apart, but when he finally forced himself to meet her eyes, he saw none of the disdain he’d expected. “I’ve been selfish,” she said, reaching up to caress his cheek. “I was so caught up in my own grief, I forgot… you lost a child too.” She tilted his face so that his eyes were level with hers. “Look at me… I promise I’m not going anywhere,” she assured him before reaffirming her words with a kiss.

It was two more years before Edith was ready for another baby. This time, a son, Anlaf, was born. He was both of his sisters combined… Angeline’s angelic looks and Matilde’s inquisitive nature. The kingdom rejoiced at the birth of the heir, and Edith immediately fell in love with her new child, just as she had the ones before. Gunther’s joy, however, was numbed by the fear that the boy could die at any moment. He warned himself not to get attached, lest this child should be taken from him just like the others, but his son’s precociousness quickly tore down the walls around his heart.

Every precaution was taken to ensure the prince’s survival. Gunther hardly let Anlaf out of his sight, and Edith showered him with cuddles and kisses. The king and queen’s fear of losing him lessened after his first birthday passed without incident, but it soon became clear that their constant coddling had given their son an overblown sense of entitlement. Whip-smart little Anlaf picked up on his parents’ worry and used it to his advantage. When he didn’t get what he wanted, he threatened to do something dangerous. He bullied the servants, often with punching and biting, and on the rare occasion he was reprimanded, he would cry for his mother and father.

Then the endless string of sons started. Georg, Thurston, Herman, Anton. Alexsander, Erik, Bjorn, Franz, Vidar, Leif, and Lars… eleven more boys born over the course of sixteen years. After his sixth son was born, the wonder of fatherhood had started to wear off for Gunther. The birth of each child wrought less emotion from him than the one before, and he showed each child less attention. His growing detachment was not unnoticed by Edith. She urged him to spend more time with his children and did the best she could to make up for his lack of affection by spoiling the younger boys. She was so concerned by the change that she wanted to stop having children after Franz was born, resigned to the fact that she would never have a daughter, in the hope that he would take an interest in the sons he already had. But Gunther refused to give up. He would do whatever it took to give his queen the daughter she desired!