He was not surprised to hear the sound of bells. The snow-dusted woods were so scenic he could hardly expect a young couple or a happy family to pass by the opportunity to view them. What did surprise him was the sleigh skidding to a halt at a woman's imperious command. He pressed closer, through the bushes, and met the ice-cold eyes of a woman dressed entirely in white furs.
"You there," she said.
Jack blinked. She couldn't possibly-
"How long are you going to keep us waiting?"
"You can see me?" Jack asked, pushing through the leaves.
"That is no way to address her majesty, Queen Jadis of Charn and Narnia," a stumpy old man growled.
Jack started – the man was no taller than his waist.
"I-I'm sorry," he stammered. He managed to find some semblance of a formal bow – his form was rusty and probably very old-fashioned to the queen's obvious elegance, but when he looked up, she was settling back into her furs with an air of contentment.
"Tell me," she said, "just what do you need such a powerful staff for?"
"Do you even want to know my name?" Jack asked. "Your majesty," he added hastily.
"If you insist," she said coldly.
"My name is Jack Frost, ma'am," he said, inclining his head. It wasn't necessary to do a full bow again, was it?
"Jack Frost," the queen said, "what a curious name. Now tell me, Jack Frost, what do you do with that staff of yours? And-" she looked down and noticed his bare feet "-what manner of creature are you that you do not need to protect yourself in this sort of weather?"
Jack faltered. "Ma'am, I-I don't really know," he admitted.
"You don't know?" the queen asked incredulously. "How do you not know what you use your staff for?"
"The staff helps me work, um, I guess you could call it weather magic. I can make it snow, make it windy – oh, and freeze water. I meant that I don't know what I am, really."
The queen arched one finely sculpted eyebrow. "You don't say."
"Um, I do, ma'am."
"Well Jack Frost," she said in a tone of voice so suddenly sweet and persuading Jack had a hard time remembering her previous intimidation, "why don't you come sit a while with me. It's not every day I meet a handsome, talented young thing like you. Why, I have some magical powers of our own – perhaps we could discuss techniques."
"Oh, no ma'am," Jack said, shying away. "I couldn't- I don't have any sort of technique."
"Nonsense," the queen said. "Even if you are untutored, you must have developed your own methods. And of course, I could tutor you if you so desired."
Jack discovered that he had put his staff behind his back, both hands gripping the uneven wood, and was pressing the staff against the back of his thighs protectively. Stop that, he scolded himself. There's no reason to fear her – she can see you! That's fantastic.
"Well, I-" Jack began, but the queen had changed tracks.
"Of course, we are speaking of the distant future," she said, smiling cloyingly. "Perhaps you would first like to share a meal and pleasant conversation with me." She shifted her furs – Jack realized the seat of her sleigh was lined with the same white fur she wore – and gestured invitingly.
Jack had not eaten anything in nearly a century, having given up on food soon after he realized his new state rendered him immune from hunger. He had also been hard pressed to find good food without stealing – a level he was not quite ready to stoop too, given his aforementioned lack of appetite.
"What would you like to eat?" she asked.
Unbidden, the image of a full pot of stew came into his mind – it seemed familiar, the dent on the rim of the pot and the sprigs of herbs floating on top. "Venison stew, your majesty," he blurted, chasing away the image.
The queen smiled and took a delicately carved copper vial from her voluminous cloak. Removing the stopper, she tilted the bottle so that a single drop of the liquid within fell to the ground. A moment later a similarly decorated bowl appeared, filled to the brim with a stew that looked and smelled better than anything he could remember. Jack began to reach for the bowl, but the queen stopped him with a single glance. The bowl then began to float, and settled comfortably on the seat beside her, where a matching spoon materialized next to it. Jack figured that it was no harm to accept her invitation, and gingerly lifted the bowl and climbed into the sleigh, settling the bowl and spoon in his lap. The queen shifted her furs so that he was more comfortably covered – a needless concern, but one he appreciated in spite of himself.
The stew, when he lifted the first spoonful to his lips, was sublime.
