But then he looked up and saw the Great Crystal Palace, next to and above him. Tall it rose, gleaming in the cold sunshine, and he realised it was not crystal but ice. An ice palace! Standing close by, near a great entrance, was the figure of a man, dressed in robes so dark brown they might be black. No, not a man, for he spoke with the same cold, calm, deep voice the King had heard in the Dark Halls.

‘So, do you like your new palace? For this will be your home now and forever.’

‘But its ice, and I’m so cold. Where are my clothes? Is this my punishment? What is happening to me?’

‘This is not your punishment. You were made a promise by one who is the Great Deceiver, and it will come true. He meant to trick you, and you were foolish enough to believe him. But in this very trick lies your chance of redemption. It will not be easy, but I did warn you this was the difficult choice. Let us start by warming you. I do not think silk will help much here, so let us try this.’

And the King was suddenly clothed. Not in silk, but in thick rather coarse red wool.

‘I can’t wear this – this is peasants’ clothing’ he protested, ‘I will look ludicrous’

‘Yes,’ said the dark figure, ‘it does rather hang off you. This will make it a better fit’. And the King felt himself changing, his body shortening, getting wider, a belly appearing, his face being pulled and pressed by invisible hands.

‘Look in the ice now’.

The King stared in horror at his new shape, the round stupid-looking face, the red cheeks like a peasant who’d had too much sun and wine, the short legs and fat stomach. His jaw moved up and down without speaking.

‘Oh yes, one last touch,’

A great white bushy beard sprouted from the king’s chin where once his beautiful neat trimmed goatee had been. ‘Hmm, reminds me of someone’ the figure murmured, but the King did not hear him.

‘You’ll find it doesn’t need trimming. That was the promise of course – to never change or look older, wasn’t it? What’s next? The great steeds to take you round the world? It’s too cold here for horses, but you’ll find these are pretty efficient.’

The King’s horror turned to disbelief. Instead of his stable of beautiful of black and grey stallions were a group of the most bizarre animals he had ever seen. They were bigger than the largest horse, with long bowed backs and slightly ovine faces. Their coats were long, shaggy and untidy, and one of them had clearly scraped his nose on some rough ice. That wasn’t the strangest thing about them, though. Each one seemed to be growing a tree on top of their heads, a furry tree with no leaves but clearly with branches and a multitude of pointed tips. To the King, they were indescribably ugly, but he found his mouth just wouldn’t work to say anything.

‘Ah, I can see you like them, friendly creatures so long as you remember the carrots. Almost infinite stamina and we’ve got a vehicle for them to pull you with all the presents. Come into the Palace and you’ll see how the arrangements work.’ The sombre, sinister figure almost seemed jovial as he regarded the beasts. He marched into the Palace Entrance, a great open arch, waving for the King to follow him. The King’s new body would not move quickly or gracefully like his old one, but he found invisible hands almost propelling him into the ice building.

A little out of breath he puffed up to the dark figure.

‘What do you mean presents? What am I doing here? What can I do in an ice palace? What will happen to it when it warms, when spring comes?’

‘It never gets warm here. We are as far north as it is possible to get. Your palace will not melt. Was not that part of the promise, that you would never be too hot? And yet, here is the flame.’

The King saw he was standing at one side of a great white hall, with high clear walls and a ceiling so high that small clouds formed below it. In the centre of the hall was a hole, the size of a large well, and from this a blue cylinder of flames emerged. The flames were bright but gave off no noticeable heat. Suddenly a piece of paper came shooting up through the flame and fluttered out into the hall. Before it touched the ground, a short, stocky bow-legged person, dressed in green, came running out of the shadows, caught the paper and scurried away to the edge of the hall.

‘Thank you, Maeglin’ said the dark figure ‘You’ll find they’re all very helpful and will keep you well organised. So there are your messages from the flames, just as you were promised. All secret, of course, and you’ll find that children the world over have remarkably similar requirements.’