Author's Note: I'll try to be brief here. This is my first Frozen fanfiction. Well, first fanfiction ever, really. I have the bones of this story planned out, and I am endeavoring to finish as much as I can before I return to university for the spring semester this Tuesday. What this means for you, dear reader, is that my updates will be sporadic at best, with droughts of unknown time between. If you hate unreliable updates, proceed with caution. But if you believe good things come to those who wait, advance with assured pleasure.
Warnings: Mentions of violence and torture, nothing particularly graphic.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything associated with Frozen except the plot I set before you in the hopes of entertaining you!
Laissez le bon temps rouler.
He was awoken by the splash of ice-cold water on his face. He spluttered and coughed as the water soaked his hair and beard, dribbling into the tattered rags that served as clothing. He moved to hold the pain in his chest caused by his cough, only to be stopped by an unseen force accompanied by the rattle of chains. Though it took much effort, the prisoner looked up to see his wrists bound by shackles in the ceiling. The reminder stung him. He was still captive in his personal hell.
He heard a riding crop snap against a boot. He resumed his customary thousand yard stare, noting that Albert was his visitor this time. Good. He was the gentlest of them.
The pain begun, as it always did, with a reminder from his punishers. "You have brought shame to your country, your title, and your family. The punishment for such a heinous offense is the stripping of all such ties. You have nothing. You are nothing." The words were followed by a vicious strike to his shoulders with a riding crop, which had been scarred after years of flagellation. After several more vigorous hits, old wounds reopened and began dripping warm liquid. Time to run his list.
S is for Situation. A hit to the face. Where was he? Probably hell on earth. What was his situation? He was a prisoner in his fifth year of punishment. What did he have at his disposal? No equipment. His body was shrunken and hollow, scared and bruised from malnutrition. There are few breaks, mostly his ribs- kick to his face- and now nose. At any rate, his strength was woefully insufficient. He had infinite time, though. Small comfort. He was dragged up into a kneeling position.
U is for Urgency. Undue haste makes waste. He would love to be his own man again- his hands clenched involuntarily at the chains of his shackles- he would happily wait for three days ago. Plan your moves. He can't move.
R is for Remember. Who's an ally? No one. Not even the rats like him. Who's an enemy?His captors, he supposed. Although he did commit a crime, so they're really only doing their job. Something warm was running down his face. Was it blood? Arthur's spit? His own tears? He wasn't sure which was better. Fear is an enemy. Most emotions, really. He didn't have enough energy to be sad or angry. Where are his vital resources? Food and water is brought to him. He owns nothing else, so he reasoned he didn't need anything else.
V is for Vanquish fear and panic. Something heavy connected with his skull, rendering him dizzy. He blinked rapidly, trying to regain his thoughts. Hey, in five years, his schedule never changed. Solitude, solitude, breakfast, solitude, rats visit, torture, torture, torture, bed time. How could he be afraid of what he knows?
I is for Improve. Can he change his situation for the better? Not anymore. He tried putting up a strong front, he tried acting weak, he tried being remorseful, he tried being cold. The hits were becoming less frequent now. He had tried bribes and barters and promises. He had no contacts outside of the dungeon cell. No chance of escape.
V is for Value Living. His life is his. They cannot take it.
A is for Act. Be as they expect you to be, satisfy their expectations and they'll satisfy yours. He screamed out hoarsely as the whip landed upon a particularly painful rib.
L is for Live by your wits. He smirked even as he heard the cell door clanged shut and the sound of boots fading. He was still alive. He still survives.
Elsa sighed wearily, pinching briefly at the bridge of her nose before gazing out her window at the picturesque fjord beyond. The weather was warm and beautifully sunny. Ironically, summer had always been her favorite time of year. Something about the heat that the sun smiles down upon the land lifted her spirits and soothed her soul. Elsa vaguely wondered if Olaf's love of the summer had anything to do with hers. He was her creation, after all, and she was the one who had always loved warm hugs, and that transferred to him. She could hear the warbling call of gulls and of fishmongers calling out their catches of the day. She smiled faintly. Her kingdom was same as ever. Ever since her coronation five years ago, she has worked tirelessly to sustain trade and avoid war. The politics involved was a complicated tango- fast paced, passionate, and all for show. In the end, other kingdoms will do as they please. If they desire nothing but trade, as Arrendale did, then exchange wares was all they did. But some craved war, such as the Vikings who continuously prowled the shores of the North, like wolves of the sea preying upon merchant ships.
Elsa stared down at the letter on her desk. It was yet another correspondence expressing distaste that she was the sole monarch of her kingdom. Her features morphed into a glare. As if they would voice such doubts were she a man. What was required of a monarch that she could not provide due to her gender? Lead armies to war? She could create armies of ice creatures and set those upon her neighbors if she was so inclined! Even so, Elsa suspected that the aim of insulting her rule was not to make her feel remorseful for bearing the crown. The sender was the King of Jeimhold, who had three unmarried sons. Although no mention of marriage had been made in his letter, others had made their interests clear. In addition to leading her kingdom through the troubled waters of regional politics, she had to carefully decline offers of union.
As much as Elsa understood and supported the need for political marriages, she had yet to find an offer she felt tempted to accept. She was not worried about loving her husband, even if the feeling was not there initially, she believed that such feelings would grow. She would have to find a man with similar goals for Arrendale, and aid in her achievement of them. Her husband was to be a confidant and a continuation of her. She needed to give birth to heirs, and that required a King. If she could find someone that could support all those roles, she couldn't imagine not loving him.
Elsa's stomach growled lightly, interrupting her musings. She smirked to herself. What use was it being Queen when all her body could bring itself to care about was food? At any rate, it was time for dinner.
…
Dinner was lively, as usual. Though it was just herself, Anna, Kristoff, Olaf (who did not eat, but enjoyed the company), and Sven (much to Elsa's distaste. Though she loved the strange reindeer, she firmly believed that he did not belong inside the palace. At least she had persuaded Kristoff to stop sharing his meals with the reindeer off of his plate.) there was always a boon of conversation. At the moment, Olaf was regaling them with tales of tulip flowers and their many hues. At the end of his spiel, he produced a bouquet of them- red and orange and yellow all mixed together.
"These are lovely, Olaf!" Anna smiled warmly in thanks. Her happiness was infectious and soon the whole room was grinning with her- even Elsa's lips quirked up at the sight of her sister's joy. "Wouldn't it be great to have a spring wedding, Kristoff?" Kristoff's smile quickly disappeared as the temperature in the room suddenly dropped. If Anna noticed the tension, she gave no indication. "We could have all sorts of flowers! Tulips are my favorite. And everything will be fresh and-"
"Anna."
Anna turned to Elsa, still smiling stubbornly, though her eyes were unusually bright and moist. "Wouldn't it be great?" She whispered.
Elsa closed her eyes tightly before opening them again. "You know you cannot marry Kristoff unless I marry royalty myself."
"But how long do I have to wait, Elsa? It's already been five years and you're no closer to marrying!"
"None of the offers so far can give Arrendale the freedom it needs without causing a war with some other kingdom. Besides, you already know that the limit was three years. You've had two years' time to find some royalty with which to wed, and you willfully chose to stay with Kristoff."
"I love Kristoff! I would never leave him!" Elsa noticed that the couple were gripping hands underneath the table.
"I am not asking you to. I am merely pointing out that you chose this path. You and Kristoff are inseparable, you hardly need a marriage certificate to prove your devotion to one another! It is as plain as day."
"It's not about whether or not it's official!" Anna stood up abruptly, tears beginning to mark a trail down her cheeks. "I want children!" Elsa froze, back ram-rod straight as she watched her sister flee from the dining room, followed closely by a concerned Kristoff and Sven. The door slammed behind them and Elsa buried her face in her hands.
"What do I do Olaf? I hardly expect to live out my life alone, it would be unfair to Anna and Kristoff. But I can't rush into these things either, not with the fate of the entire kingdom at stake." She glanced up to find the snowman watching her with a frown that he quickly changed to his signature smile.
"I don't really know that much about these things," He said, walking up to her, "but you look like you could use a warm hug."
Elsa chuckled once before hugging Olaf tightly. Their moment was cut short by the sound of the doors slamming open. She quickly looked up, expecting to see Kristoff with bad news- perhaps Anna had decided to run off, or she had fallen down in her anger, or had sunk into despondancy- but, no, it was a royal guard. An out of breath one. Elsa's eyebrows drew together in thought as she stood to her full, regal height.
"Your- your majesty!" The guardsman gasped, thrusting a sealed letter out towards her. She took the letter, peering down at the crest impressed upon the wax seal, feeling dread wash over her as she discovered an all-too-familiar insignia. "A ship from the Southern Isles has arrived." The guardsman had regained most of his wind. "They bring the traitor- Prince Hans."
The fear the clawed at her heart froze the letter in her hands and spiraled out from her feet, putting her in the center of a circle of terror.
End Note: So, how did I do? Too wordy and overly formal? I feel that it is an unfortunate tendency of mine. I'll warn you now that I intend for this to be an Iceburn story. I do not know if it will work out for them, though. There are several endings available at the moment. Which becomes truth depends on how the story grows. Please, please review! Whatever your thoughts, whatever your feelings, I am always happy to receive!
Additional Credits: weather and trade of Arrendale are based on Norway's. I looked up this info in the CIA factbook. The SURVIVAL pneumonic comes from the Army Ranger Handbook (can be found as PDF online).
Until next time! Stay classy.