After the crash, there's a strange ringing, like a wet finger on the edge of a wineglass- somewhere mingled with a dying echo of the Queen's dovelike cries of panic.
Just for a moment, it seems wrong to move, or make a sound.
Corporal Aksel Haugen sees for a moment Prince Hans standing, wrested crossbow in hand, staring open-mouthed at the little shimmering body under the wreckage, looking suddenly very young and unsure. It's not a face that the lads ought to be seeing on a commander.
Thankfully, there's plenty to do.
"Riiight, look to it- you three on my left, unpin that man- rest of you, get a rope and follow me out there! Look alive Naess, you're carrying it! Baardsson… stop gawping, Baardsson. That's for Prince Hans to decide."
The balcony would have offered some spectacular views over the mountain if the most arresting aspect of the view had not been that they were standing over chasm on an outcrop of perfectly smooth ice, where the rail had fallen apart. It might have been an option to push the iceberg which had pushed the man from Wesselton over the edge out of the way, but it wasn't worth seeing whether it was free enough to be pulled by a man standing on said balcony. Fortunately the iceberg gave enough handles for Haugen to climb up from a crawling position and put the rope round it, and the man from Wesselton thankfully had his nerve enough to hold on and fall off the edge to be towed up.
He comes up over the side like a hooked fish, still with brow furrowed and jaw set for extra manliness. He did kneel a while to catch his breath, but as soon as he looked up he grunted:
"The Queen…"
Haugen looked over his shoulder, through the smashed door and over the boys with the rope, back in the golden room. It seemed not as brightly-lit as before.
He could just about see Vilhjalmsson coming up the stairs with a bundle… oh yes, the bundle of clothes that had been for Princess Anna, and the medical bag clutched between his teeth.
Haugen shuffled backwards across the balcony to see what was happening, but all was unchanged and Vilhjalmsson is approaching Price Hans, who's bent over the Queen, knelt among the glittering debris, his great white-gloved hands spread like swans over her in a gesture at once protective and strangely reverential, his face… what? Tender? Beatific?
You'd think he'd never seen a woman before. Or at least, oh dear me, one with her bare ankle- and then some- spread-eagled across the floor, in a dress that made it clear she wasn't wearing a great deal underneath.
And her a lady, too. Thank goodness the Prince seemed to have packed Princess Anna a sensible cloak.
At the foot of the icy staircase, beneath the flickering sky, there's little need to bother the Prince, save to inform him that they're all saddled up so that he doesn't think he's been forgotten about. The two Wesselton men indicate that they're none the worse for wear, naturally, though they unbend enough to accept a flask of brandy in a this-doesn't-mean-we-need-it fashion.
The Prince, meanwhile, has managed- somehow, of course the uniform suggests he was a sailor, didn't it?- to bear the Queen over his shoulder as he got past section of the staircase with only one rail. Now mounted, he's securing her to his bosom with the rope that had been used to bind her legs. Why had he put it on, to reassure the men?
Haugen wonders why he's lumbered himself with a woman who clearly didn't want to come home and who's not only capable of impaling a man with a thought but, from how the Prince has her so carefully wrapped up in her sister's cloak, looks to be painfully cold to the touch- and decides it's political and he's not going to ask. Perhaps he knows something- perhaps he'll talk her into turning back her magic.
At any rate, no order is forthcoming to slit the Queen's throat, and Haugen is grateful for that small mercy. Perhaps there were people muttering about her cursing the land, but Haugen at least could remember what they'd said about her two days ago, and how his little niece Sofie had discussed Princess Elsa's goodness and brilliance and beauty incessantly for a week until his sister had kept a chart on the wall of how many hours Sofie could go without mentioning the Princess.
"Company ready to move off, your Highness," he says, and Prince Hans looks up from his assumed sister-in-law with something like surprise. Don't tell me he's sweet on her now, Aksel Haugen thinks. A handsome young man will make enough chaos in a house with two maiden sisters without being flighty himself…
"Thank you. We'll return to the castle."
The sound seems to wake the Queen, she stirs and her face contorts in a wince.
"Hey, hush now," the Prince gathers her under his chin like he's known her for years rather than haven maybe spoken to her a couple of times, "Corporal, have you a water bottle? Thank you… there… just a little…" The Prince juggles it round to his spare hand, then does something unexpected- from within his pocket he produces a tiny bottle, fiddles it open and manages to press it between the Queen's lips. She takes maybe two or three drops before she screws her face up- whatever it was it's foul enough for her to notice it even in that state.
"Good girl, Elsa," he says. "That's it. More water. Take the taste away. Enough. Good girl." The Prince passes the canteen back down to Haugen. "That'll do. Thank you."
Haugen gets out of the way as the Prince turns his horse around to take the head of the column, with his iridescent burden curled up against his chest like a little girl with her Papa.
It was sensible, of course- for the Queen is mad, and dangerous, and a few of hours of heavy sleep might be the best thing for her. Such treatment might save her life, in that it might make her safe enough to be spared. Certainly it's the best thing for the party trying to take her down the mountain.
And yet… for some reason a chill is sinking into Aksel Haugen, and it's not because he's standing to the top of his boots in snow.