Chapter One - A Little Marzipan Can Do Wonders

"Six o'clock, your majesty."

Hedda, one of the few ladies-in-waiting employed at the royal castle, entered the young prince Bjorn's room. Lately it was in her routine to wake the young prince, though the job had been previously reserved for the castle steward. The man had recently quit his job, making quite the scene at the time, storming out of the castle and throwing curses over his shoulder. She and the other ladies still tsked over it, and they all agreed that the man was lucky the royal family of Arendelle was so forgiving.

She drew the shades and the young prince groaned, pulling the blankets over his head.

"Lemhp me alonph," he mumbled into his pillow.

She suspected the steward quit because of this sort of difficulty. Hedda braced herself for more of such behavior.

"Now you know I can't hear you when you mumble like that," she responded, laying out his clothes for the day delicately unto a wooden dresser. "And I recommend that you make it to breakfast on time this morning, lest you upset your parents." Even as she said it, Hedda knew the threat was weak. Princess Anna and Jarl(1) Kristoff were not known for their sternness. If anything, it would be the young prince's master who would scold him for any tardiness.

"Fivmf morf mimphts," he said.

Hedda sighed and shook her head, realizing the situation was futile. Her opinion of the prince's ex-steward morphed from condemnation to understanding pity. Leaving the room and closing the large wooden doors behind her, she resolved in her mind to seek the prince's master's assistance. She was about to go on her way when she saw a familiar figure in the long hall walking toward her.

It was the elder prince Isak of Arendelle – elder by just six minutes to prince Bjorn. Their age (sixteen) and their figures (tall and lanky, though Hedda kept that opinion to herself) were about all they shared. Isak had short, neatly trimmed blond hair and narrow, discerning blue eyes. Bjorn, quite the opposite, had shaggy, ginger hair that's length hid large, mischievous brown eyes. Personality wise, they were also poles apart.

"Good morning, Hedda," prince Isak said, nodding his head to her. Hedda bowed in return, as custom. He stopped in front of her, and with a slight, knowing tilt of his lip asked, "Is my dear brother giving you trouble?"

"He always is, your majesty. He seems unwilling to part with his bed sheets." Hedda threw a disapproving look over her shoulder toward the sleeping prince's closed doors. "I was about to go grab Ingolf…"

The prince held up his hand, cutting her off. "Please, Hedda, allow me. I have no problem helping my brother get ready."

She was unsure.

"Really, I want to. I won't tattle either," Prince Isak assured her.

Reluctantly, she nodded and bowed her head. "Many thanks, your majesty." As she walked away, she felt a wave of relief wash over her. Master Ingolf would not have been pleased with her for failing.

She hoped Prince Isak would be able to carry out the task. Gods know it was never easy when the young prince Bjorn is involved.

Bjorn heard Isak before he saw him.

His brother had a very specific manner of carrying himself, one that could be heard – and Bjorn began to familiarize himself with it at very young age. It began with his brother's shutting of the doors behind him, gingerly, but with determination. His brother's shoes tapped softly and swiftly against the marble as he walked, and one could hear the meaning and confidence put into each step he took. His brother never breathed heavily, or yawned, or – Bjorn laughed inwardly thinking about it – let out any sort of gas be it from the mouth or places more crass. In many ways, Isak was a walking mannequin, at least around other nobles. It was what made him the most likely candidate for king, and Bjorn had no problem with that.

"Bjorn." Isak's voice was quiet, yet sliced through air like a knife through warm butter. The single word was laced with disapproval.

Bjorn threw the pillow that had been covering his face to the side. Light shined into his eyes and he winced. When they adjusted, he sat up and saw Isak leaning against the wall, one leg propped over the other, arms crossed over his chest. "Don't 'Bjorn' me like that," the ginger boy said groggily, rubbing his eyes.

"Why is it that you cause your attendants so much trouble?" Isak asked, ignoring him. "You know they just desperately want to do their jobs."

"All I wanted was five more minutes…" Bjorn said, sticking out his upper lip at what to him was an obvious injustice.

"Oh, quit pouting. Just get up. Mother, father, and Queen Elsa are waiting for us to join them for breakfast in the dining hall."

Isak grabbed the clothes Hedda had laid out and threw them at Bjorn. "Hey!" the younger prince yelled, getting hit in the face by a pair of trousers. "Watch it!"

"You have five minutes to get ready. I'll be waiting outside your door."

"Alright, alright, just get out of here," Bjorn conceded.

"Five minutes, Bjorn – I mean it."

"I get it, just go!"

"Fine." Isak left but before shutting the door, he poked his head in, saying, "Also, I forgot to mention – the cooks prepared your favorite this morning – marzipan torte(2)."

Bjorn eyes widened. "What! Marzipan torte? Why didn't you say something earlier?" And with that, the young prince launched into action, newly inspired to get ready quickly. He could hear Isak stifle a laugh just outside his door.

"Bjorn, you decided to join us for breakfast this morning, I see!" his mother, Princess Anna of Arendelle, observed, smiling widely. She was the younger sister of the Queen, and, like Bjorn himself, much more carefree and playful than her sibling counterpart. She was well-known throughout the kingdom for not only her kindness, but her notorious clumsiness. He believed he inherited much of his personality from her.

Smiling back, Bjorn sat down at his usual seat. His mouth watered for marzipan.

"It's been awhile since you've gotten up this early," his father, formally known as Jarl Kristoff, said. "I'd say it's about time. You boys are both too skinny. You need to muscle up like your old man." As he said this, he pounded his chest and grinned. His mother rolled her eyes.

Bjorn and Isak's father, built tall and strong, was not born into royalty, but rather married into it. It was not typical for a Princess to marry a commoner, but his mother was never one to abide by social norms, and the kingdom had fallen prey to his charming goofiness and generosity to those lower in class. He now commanded over much of Arendelle's trade and general economics.

Isak waited for the servant to help him with his chair so he could sit. When he did, he placed his napkin neatly on his lap. "You know we didn't all shovel ice in our youth, father," he said amusingly.

His father grinned. "Damn right you didn't – but this winter I'm teaching you the tools of the trade! I don't care what that old master of yours says – some outdoors time besides archery and horse-riding is just plain good for you."

"I'd agree with that," Queen Elsa said, taking a sip of tea. From the top of her glass, her eyes seemed to appraise Bjorn. His family was very close to the Queen, seeing as though she was his mother's sister. Still, he didn't talk with Queen Elsa much, certainly not as much as his brother Isak did.

To be honest, he found her a little intimidating. Not because she was strict or mean – she was really quite the opposite – but the amount of power she held in Arendelle was tremendous. Power, having two connotations. He had witnessed her ice magic many times before, and it never ceased to astound him.

Lately, she had been giving him strange looks. Like she knew something he didn't. It made him feel very uneasy.

His thoughts were interrupted by a heavenly smell. The servants brought out plates of fruit salad, various cold cuts, and oh – there it was – marzipan torte! Bjorn fidgeted in his seat, suddenly finding the distance from the other end of the table to his very, very long.

His mother laughed. "Someone's hungry! You look like you're about to jump out of your seat!"

"He's ravenous," Isak rolled his eyes, and – trying to hide his smile - plucked some fruit from his plate and brought it gingerly to his mouth.

"That's what I like to see!" his father exclaimed. "A healthy appetite! You should join us for breakfast more often."

"Only if you serve marzipan torte every morning," Isak murmured. Only Bjorn heard him, but he chose to ignore it. Nothing could distract him now.

When he finally got his wonderful torte, he dug his face in like a wolf attacking its prey. His mother threw him a sidelong glance, warning him to slow down. He did, reluctantly. He still finished long before the others, and wiped his sugar-coated mouth with his napkin.

"That was sooooo good," Bjorn said, leaning back in his chair and placing two hands over his stomach. "That meal gave me a food baby."

"Bjorn!" his mother and Isak exclaimed at the same time. A nearby servant looked shocked. Queen Elsa and his father laughed.

Eventually, the others finished one by one, and the servants came to take away the empty trays. Bjorn's mother looked toward him and Isak. "You two have your training soon, don't you?" she asked.

"Yes, mother," Isak said. He looked toward Bjorn. "We should probably get going." Bjorn nodded in agreement and they both stood, preparing to leave. "Thank you, Queen Elsa, for allowing us the honor of joining you for breakfast this morning," Isak said, bowing. She smiled and nodded her head, looking slightly uncomfortable. Bjorn crinkled his nose. Sometimes even he couldn't believe his brother.

AUTHOR'S NOTES

(1) Jarl - Scandinavian noble ranking immediately below the king.

(2) Marzipan torte - a type of sweet cream cake.

Aaaaaand that's the end of chapter one! This is my first attempt at fanfiction ever, so please, please, please, tell me what you all think!

-I just want to note that I am going to try and make things throughout this story as historically accurate to medieval Norwegian times as possible, though, because I'm not an expert – I will make mistakes. Let me know when I do! I may or may not change them though, depending on how much they affect the story. After all, it is fiction.

Anyway, I hope to update every week, and if I don't make that deadline, every two. Some chapters will be longer than others, and others will be shorter. Thank you for reading and I hope you come back for the next installment! Adios~