(A/N: This is a giftfic for kuro-d for Jelsa Secret Santa on tumblr :) The inspiration was: Victorian theme, angst.)
A Tale in New Hammington
by L.C. Li
::-::
Her name was Elsa Crystalsworth, and she was the daughter of a Very Important Person.
This Very Important Person was the governor of New Hammington, and he was so Important that he could not be bothered with the meager task of taking his daughter to get a new pair of shoes; so she was taken by her governess to the inner city, where the struggling citizens dined on stray pets and unsavory folk lined every corner. The best tailors were there—or so her governess claimed.
Elsa thus met Jackson Frostbury inside a rickety shack with a dilapidated sign proclaiming, "FROSTBURY SHOEMAKERS." He was twelve, one year her senior, but smaller than her. He went barefoot and had a face perpetually smudged with dirt and he was apparently the one who would be making her shoes.
Elsa Crystalsworth was not pleased by this turn of events and thus proceeded to do the only thing that ever captured her father's attention: she threw a tantrum.
"Why is a little boy making my shoes?" she said petulantly. "I'm the governess's daughter!"
"Quiet yourself, Elsa," her governess said sternly. "He is the best shoemaker in town."
"He's not even wearing any shoes!" Elsa said heatedly.
"My lady," said Jackson Frostbury's father; he had a patient and warm smile, the type of smile that Elsa often wished her own father had. "Please trust him. Jack understands the human foot better than anyone."
Elsa glared suspiciously at Jack, but he only returned it with an impish grin.
"You gon have th' best shoes ever, missy," Jack drawled in his uncivilized inner city accent.
"If you say so," Elsa said snobbily, and swept out the door.
She tripped on a pebble lodged in the doorway. Jack Frostbury laughed. At that moment, Elsa decided that she very much hated the laugh of Jackson Frostbury.
::-::
Jackson Frostbury was a shoemaker who was the son of a shoemaker.
He hadn't been educated much on his family history, but he could say with moderate certainty that his grandfather had been a shoemaker, and his great-grandfather, and his great-great-grandfather, all the way until shoes were first invented. Jackson Frostbury knew nothing aside from shoemaking, but shoemaking he knew better than everyone else.
(This was a very ironic fact, as Jackson Frostbury never wore shoes himself.)
He worked hard on Elsa Crystalsworth's shoes. It was not because she was the daughter of the governor, nor because she was remarkably pretty, even for a young girl; it was simply because she had issued the most daring challenge that a wealthy could issue to a Frostbury, for shoes were the pride and joy of the family.
So, when Elsa Crystalsworth arrived at her appointed hour, Jack could not hold back a smug smile as he presented her shoes.
She loved them; he saw it at once. When he whisked the silk covering in a grand reveal, she stood very still, staring at the elegant, dainty little slippers as if they were the grandest things she'd ever seen.
"Oh," was all she said.
"Give 'um a try, missy," Jack drawled easily, nudging the shoes forward with his bare foot. "They gun be the comfiest footsies ya'ver wore. That be the Frostbury guarantee."
He didn't receive a condescending look for his uncivilized accent, unlike last time; Elsa Crystalsworth was far too absorbed in the shoes to do anything of the sort. She even halted the governess to slip them on herself, her pale feet sinking into the cushioned feathers of the lining. She walked about, hesitantly, flexing her feet to test the shoes, but Jack knew he'd already won.
She turned to him, and he straightened. He was ready. For her arrogant comment, her snobbish remark, something that he could counter with gloating. Something that would shut her up.
"These are quite incredible," the girl said plainly. "Thank you. I'm sorry I was so very rude to you."
He only gaped as she took her purse from the governess, slipping four whole gold coins into his callused hand.
"Three for the shoes and one for the trouble," she said elegantly. "Really, I apologize. I... I was simply cross that day. I oughtn't have been so childish; Father has taught me better."
She gave a smile. It was a weak, frail thing, but something about how it lit up her eyes made the fringes of Jack's developing heart tighten on his chest.
Elsa Crystalsworth then left Frostbury Shoemakers, and Jack was rendered speechless, ripped away from his visions of gloating and vengeance. At that moment, Jack decided that he very much hated the smile of Elsa Crystalsworth.
::-::
Elsa wore the shoes for the first time a month later. It was the only day in the year where she could see her mother.
Her father was too Important to be bothered with the daytime trip, so, once again, she was taken by her governess to a formidable estate in the country. They travelled by carriage for two days, and by the end of it, Elsa was sore all over; but she could not be cross, because she was visiting her mother.
After they had settled, Elsa picked a fresh bouquet of flowers in the adjacent field before heading into the hills. Her governess waited at the foot of the road and Elsa went up to a simple, elegant stone with a date far too recent engraved upon its marbled surface.
"Good day, Mum," Elsa said quietly.
The stone did not reply. Elsa wept.
They returned to New Hammington in silence. Elsa stared out of the window and made empty wishes to the stars as her governess knit a pair of white stockings. There was not much to do, so for one day and half a day, Elsa examined the embroidery on her shoes. They seemed to sing stories to her ears.
They entered via the inner city, trodding down a road that was clogged by citizens in unrest. Torches burned high and the air was hazy with smoke as they marched down the cobblestones roads, crying loudly in a roaring clamor that made Elsa clamp her hands over her ears and wish she was safe at home. Something terrible happened then; Elsa heard the tearing of metal into flesh, and everyone was screaming and pushing and her carriage toppled over, pouring her out into the heartless street.
She was blind. Blind from smoke and fire as the splattering of blood upon her pristine, little dress. She thought she would die when a sudden hand, small as her own, grabbed at her sleeve and dragged her out of the chaos.
The hand belonged to none other than Jackson Frostbury.
He led her to Frostbury Shoemakers, weaving expertly through the alleys as only Jackson Frostbury, the boy who went without shoes and spoke like a ruffian, could weave through alleys. Elsa said nothing and tried to wipe the red tears away from her face.
They finally entered and Jack shut the door and all was quiet. Elsa crumpled to the ground, fighting to keep her tears back; for a lady mustn't cry, a lady must be strong and dainty and elegant, and a lady oughtn't be seen bawling into her dress with uncomely snot dripping out of her nose. But Elsa was not yet a lady, and so she did exactly what a lady oughtn't do.
Jackson Frostbury stood awkwardly in the corner, as most boys do in the presence of a crying girl. Presently, he cautiously nudged her with the tip of his foot, like a man might to a demented creature.
"What was you doin' out there?" he said roughly.
Elsa sniffled lightly. "I... I don't know," she said miserably.
"You be lucky I was deliverin' some shoes," Jack said. "You mighta died, missy."
"Died," Elsa echoed quietly.
Jack sighed, tossing a light blanket in her direction. It hit her straight in the face. "They been out there some while now. Real mad 'bout th' new tax."
"New tax," Elsa echoed.
"Yeah. I dun reckon much, but it's summat to do with money. Always is." Jack settled neatly next to her, flexibly cross legged. "So. Why was you there?"
Elsa wanted to bawl again and say she didn't know, she just wanted to go home and find her governess and go to sleep; but she couldn't do that, because she was still the governor's daughter. "I... I was coming back from the country," she began hesitantly. "We had just arrived..."
"Country! That sounds grand," Jack said. "Figures wealthies go to th' country. No chap in his mind would stay in this hellhole."
Elsa shuffled, bearing with his vulgar words. "It... it wasn't so lovely."
"Course you'd say that," Jack muttered. "You don't see what's a metre in front of you. You take it all for granted, you do."
"I didn't like it," Elsa said emptily.
"Why? Couldn't ride your bestest horsie?"
Elsa's lip trembled. "My mother," she snapped. "I went to visit my mother, not to play, and she's dead, alright, so you oughtn't be so awful about it!"
She pulled the blanket over her head and didn't move. Jack shuffled around her.
"Pardon, missy," he mumbled. He paused. "You hungry? I got an apple."
Elsa lowered the blanket, but didn't look at him as he held out the morsel. "I'm not hungry."
He stared at the apple for a moment and tossed it to her anyway. It hit her on the side of the head.
"Ow," she said miserably.
Jack plopped in front of her, grinning. "C'mon, cheer up, missy. Ain't th' end of th' world. You be safe n' sound now, no?"
His bright smile prompted her to pick up the apple and eat. She was, after all, quite hungry. She forgot her misery for a moment.
"There's a girl," Jack said soothingly. "Say, wanna go play?"
"Play?" Elsa balked.
"There be this real nice place, clean n' grassy n' real cold. Dun think most chaps know 'bout it, it be empty all the time." Jack's grin widened. "Some a time it snows, even out o' winter. 'Tis a magical place."
Elsa blew her nose daintily on her handkerchief, trying vainly to keep any scrap of dignity she had left. "But... but a governor's daughter oughtn't play..."
"Cor, what be you, a statue?" Jack exclaimed. "You can't play, can't cry, can't e'en stay alive—what does you spend your time doin'?"
"Nothing," Elsa said miserably. "Sewing. Dancing. Curtsying just the right way. Eating correctly with a fork. Singing. Playing a bit of the pianoforte. Reading. Tea parties with awful women."
Jack was silent for a long moment. "Color me stunned," he said solemnly. "Here I be thinkin' you wealthies did all you wanted, but it be soundin' like I'm more free than you is."
Elsa only shrugged, tossing her now finished apple. "It isn't so bad, really. I simply wish sometimes that I could... run. Leave it all behind. Be someone else, even if just for a moment."
Jack's eyes glittered. He quickly grabbed Elsa by the arm, hoisting her out the door. She pulled against him, eyes wide.
"What are you doing, Jack?" she said frantically.
"We gun go be somepeoples else," Jack said with a light laugh. "C'mon, Elsa! You e'er wanted t' build a snowman?"
He tugged her down the streets and the alleyways and into a small stretch of untouched field, behind the lengthy lines of brick buildings and dense columns of smoke. They must have looked ridiculous—the governor's daughter and the grubby boy, lobbing snowballs at one another with glee—but Elsa didn't care. At that moment, she decided that she no longer hated the laughter of Jackson Frostbury.
::-::
Jack did not see Elsa Crystalsworth for quite some time.
He continued to make shoes; plain shoes, leather shoes, tough shoes. Days passed the same as days always passed before Elsa came: dreary, grey, forgettable.
He missed Elsa, only because he missed making delicate, exquisite shoes. Or so he told himself.
Jack passed his thirteenth birthday in the same dreary fashion, making shoes in the morning, afternoon, and night. He stayed inside when the torches were lit and the night rang with metal against metal. He did not visit that magical place behind the buildings again.
This is what his life would be until the day he died, Jack realized.
He was half past thirteen when his shop hailed a familiar visitor: Elsa Crystalsworth, made quite different by the hands of time. The baby fat in her cheeks, once prominent, had begun to thin into high, elegant cheekbones, and the dress she wore was several tiers fancier and several layers thicker. Only a little over one year had passed, but she was practically a different person: much lovelier, much more graceful, and much more like the governor's daughter.
He didn't know how to act around this new Elsa. He didn't know if she was even the same person. So he lowered his head, curbed his accent, and spoke softly.
"Good day, Miss," he said. "What brings you to this humble shop?"
She balled at him for a moment. "It's just me, Jack," she said.
He felt a flood of relief. She was still Elsa Crystalsworth, the girl with whom he had a snowball fight. She was still Elsa, the sensitive, yet sweet girl he'd gotten to know, even if just briefly.
"You sure took your time, eh?" Jack said with his trademark wide grin.
She smiles back, a genuine sparkle of merriment to her eyes. "I wanted to come earlier, truly," she said. "But my father was unhappy with my governess, and he forbade me to leave for some time, and I... I didn't know how to properly thank you."
He only chuckled. "Dun be so stuffy!" he said, pulling her out of the store. "You be here. That's what matters, eh?"
"I prepared a gift...!"
"Dun need a gift," Jack said. "C'mon, let's play!"
And Elsa Crystalsworth's shoulders slumped and her smile widened and she loosened her hair, just like she did a year and half a year prior. They frolicked around that magical area behind the buildings, pretending that they could form ice with their bare hands and control frost with the power of their mind.
At that moment, Jack decided that he no longer hated the smile of Elsa Crystalsworth.
::-::
Throughout the years, Elsa visited when she was permitted and when time allowed. As she blossomed into adulthood, she was kept under greater scrutiny, much to her ire; however, she could not betray the family she loved to the depths of her heart, so walked under obedience.
Still, in every day spent without Jack, she would often long for his presence. His quick smile and dry word would never fail to extract a laugh from her—and how rare was true merriment in a house of gossip and falsehood. She grew to be the belle of the city, as her father wished she would; quiet, polite, well-spoken, skilled at the needle and music and dancing... but inside, she longed for freedom.
After a month without seeing her dearest friend, Elsa determined that she'd had enough. Under the pretense that she required new shoes for some socialite's important party, she headed to the inner city and directly to Frostbury Shoemakers.
Entering the shop felt like visiting an old friend in and of itself: the bittersweet scent of leather, the unchanged interior, the echo of distant hammering... She smiled as she settled by the door, waiting.
"Elsa?"
Jack emerged from the back room, clad in a simple, dark shirt that was rolled up to his elbows, two of the top buttons undone. The fabric seemed to bunch and fall around his body in a way that highlighted his lithe, athletic frame. Elsa felt a flush crawl into her cheeks and she quickly turned away, coughing daintily.
"You sick?" Jack said, rushing to her side. Elsa's heart leapt in her chest at his proximity.
"Don't...!" she whispered.
He quickly backed away, frowning in concern.
"Where you headed?" he drawled, the baritone of his voice warming her veins. "You be dressed all fancy."
"A... a party," Elsa said, recollecting herself. "I need new shoes."
He smiled at her, but she swore there was a hint of sadness to his eyes. "Well, glad you fancy our shoes so," he said, and started to the backroom.
"Jack," Elsa blurted.
He turned, his face unusually open and... vulnerable?
Elsa glanced around. Thankfully, her guards were outside, and the rest of the shop was empty; propriety could be forgotten. "I... I missed you," she said. He seemed distant, somehow, standing by the back room with his fists clenched and his eyes shadowed. "Have you been doing well?"
Jack's eyes dropped to the ground, his expression closing. "Been fine enough. And you, Elsa?"
She bit her lip. Why are you being so cold? Do you not care? "Well enough," she said. "The House is quite dull." She steeled herself to be bold. "I would much prefer being here. With you."
Jack's gaze shot to hers, ice-blue, piercing. She held them, shoving away the tremors inside her body. Had she been impudent...?
"Elsa," Jack said hoarsely, "dun say things like that."
She swallowed the shame that washed over her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply..."
He suddenly strode to her, his hand curling around her shoulder. Fire bolted down her arm to the tips of her fingers; she had never been touched so audaciously by a man.
It... it was thrilling.
"Please," Jack said, his breath washing atop her ear. She shivered. "Please, Elsa, dun come again. I... I can't."
She clenched her hands in her skirts, a sudden, terrifying vortex of emotions welling up inside her. "Can't what?" she said.
Jack's eyes drifted downward until—were they resting on her lips? They couldn't be—he suddenly pushed away, hissing between his teeth.
"Cor! Why be it like this?" he exclaimed.
"What bothers you so?" Elsa said. "Did something happen?"
He groaned. "I be a blasted fool, Elsa. That be what happened."
"Tell me," Elsa said quietly. "I wish to help."
"Help?" Jack laughed abrasively. "No. No, Elsa, never mind me. Let's get you your shoes."
He motioned for her to step upon a slight platform so he could measure her feet. She obediently complied, but examined him all the while. Why was Jack acting so strangely? He had been completely normal just the previous month—did something change?
"So," Jack said absently. "This be for the Corona party, no?"
"Indeed, it is," Elsa said. She was almost surprised that he knew, but if nothing else, word travelled swiftly at New Hammington.
"Lookin' forward to it?"
There was an edge to his words that she did not understand. "I wouldn't say that. Parties are dreadful."
"Funny that. It be in your honor."
"They did not ask me."
"You gun like it fine." He smiled, but it was empty. "You gun meet some dashin' prince who'll love you to hell and back."
Elsa felt a sudden, inexplicable stab to her gut. "I suppose," she mused.
Then it dawned on her.
News of the party had been released within the past few days. Could... could they be the source of Jack's sudden change?
"Jack," Elsa said, "I shall ask you a question, and I should like for you to answer me with honesty."
Jack faltered, but continued his measurements. She took that for agreement.
"Have you ever been jealous of me?"
He dropped his tools at that, staring up at her in bewilderment.
"Pardon?" he said.
"You... you wish you could go to the party instead of me, do you not?" Elsa said, her confidence fading rapidly.
Jack stared for a moment... then burst into sudden, hearty laughter.
"Go to the—'course you was thinkin' summat so daffy!" He grinned lightly at her. "Cor, Elsa, I'da sooner shoot myself than go to one o' them balmy parties!"
His laughter eased her trepidation. "Then... then what bothers you?"
His smile turned melancholy, but he was no longer distant. "It be my own scrape. Dun worry 'bout it."
He steadfastly turned to her shoes, leaving them in peaceful silence. At that moment, Elsa decided that she loved the laughter of Jackson Frostbury.
::-::
Jack saw little of Elsa in the days that followed. He heard of the festivities, of course; but he refused to steal a look, even when convenient.
He hardly required another sign to show that he could never love Elsa how he wanted to.
He hadn't realized it, really; not until he had heard about that blasted party. He had been certain that Elsa was merely a close friend, a dear friend, someone whose company he enjoyed, but for whom he would never hold affections. He had been so certain that he had ignored the obvious.
It had taken an uncouth rumor and a night in the bar to prove him wrong.
Now, he could hardly stop thinking about her. Talk of the governor's daughter was around every corner; festivities were abound, since Elsa Crystalsworth had just reached the eligible age. Everywhere he went, there was Elsa. Every moment awake, there was Elsa.
He toiled at his shoes and went outside as little as possible, pounding at soles to soothe the ache in his heart.
He fully expected that he would never see her again. He might find her in the papers, or her marriage might be highlighted; but surely Elsa herself would have no time to visit a lowly shoemaker, friend or no friend.
A month later proved him wrong. So very, very wrong.
At first, he thought he was in a dream. He was working on specially commissioned shoes at a late hour beneath candlelight, unable to sleep. Then, he heard a light knock at his window.
It was Elsa, dressed in riding clothes, crouched on the sill of his second storey window.
He hastily opened it, ushering her inside. Her hair was tossed by the heavy wind and her face was flushed and her dress was plain, and she was more beautiful without the layers of caked cosmetics. He kept his distance, knowing that one touch would sink him.
"What be you doin'?!" he said, aghast.
"Visiting," Elsa said primly, wrapping her cloak around her.
"At this hour?"
"I'm here, am I not?"
"What for?"
Elsa paused. "Let's play," she said suddenly.
"Play?"
"In the snow," Elsa said. "Like when we were children."
Jack stared. "Now? What be in you, Elsa? You actin' real strange."
"I am," Elsa said. "I'm miserable. These parties are killing me. I don't fit anywhere, even if Father thinks I do. Anna is thriving; she has always loved people so! I cannot handle it."
Her eyes fixed pleadingly on Jack.
"Let us just forget," she begged. "Let me be someone else, if for just a moment."
Before Jack registered his own actions, he had raised his hand, brushing the back of his fingers against her cool, smooth cheek. "Your wish be my command, Majesty," he whispered.
More than she would ever know.
Hang it all. Tonight was for Elsa. Tonight, he would let her be free.
"Come, Snow Queen!" he crowed, extending his hand. "We must discover the ancient city of Atlantis!"
Her eyes shone as she slipped her fingers into his. Electricity thrummed up his arm. "What is Atlantis?"
"A city beneath the sea," Jack invented, grinning at her. He leapt upon his sill, pulling her next to him. "We are at its gates. In order to enter, we must make a powerful leap!"
To demonstrate, he bounded onto the roof of the adjacent building, landing easily on his feet. He turned to Elsa, smirking as he beckoned to her.
She bounded across, landing agilely at his side. "So, we are in?" she laughed, her eyes sparkling.
He could only stare at her in silence, every thought vaporizing his head but one:
This isn't fair.
It wasn't fair to have Elsa, but not have her; to see her, but not see her; to be able to touch her, but not be able to touch her. The smooth curve of her neck, the light tendrils of hair curling away from her face—he jammed his fingers into his pockets.
Elsa's smile faded to concern and she reached out, her hand drifting lightly over his jawbone. Fire sparked through his blood as he all but leapt away.
"Dun do that!" he exclaimed.
Hurt clouded Elsa's eyes. "Why ever not?" she said.
He fought for a response—anything but the truth. "You be the governor's girl. The... the governor's girl, out with some dodgy chap—"
"Don't say such things!" Elsa exclaimed. "Jackson Frostbury, I have more than enough people telling me what I ought to do and oughtn't do, what I ought to say and oughtn't say, with whom I ought to be and to whom I ought to be pleasant—I came to be with you, not to be scolded!"
"It still be there!" Jack said. "You dun wanna be a governor's girl and I dun wanna be a shoemaker, but you still be the governor's girl and I still be a shoemaker! Dun matter what either o' us want!"
Elsa stared at him, her lips parted into a perfect 'o' as understanding sparked in her eyes.
Zounds, he'd said to much. She was sure to know now.
She must have—she looked at him with a different light in her eyes and a different tilt to her posture. But Elsa did not squeal in disgust. She did not leave, or scream, or scoff, or... anything, really. She only smiled; not a lovely, pleasant, empty smile characteristic of Elsa Crystalsworth, but a daring smirk that welcomed danger and adventure and all things that a governor's girl ought not welcome.
"Then what do you want?" she said, slowly.
His restraint snapped.
Hang it to hell. He didn't care. He didn't care anymore; propriety or parties or so-and-so from the Southern Isles being seen with Elsa Crystalsworth and such-and-such an hour. Hang it all.
He reached out and ghosted an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest. She gasped lightly, but leaned ever so slightly into his touch, staring at him with wide eyes. His heart pounded at a terrifying speed beneath his chest as he tucked her hair behind her ear, his fingers brushing against her cheek. She shivered at his touch; he couldn't hide a smile as hope blossomed in him.
Was it possible...? Could Elsa possibly... hold affections for him?
He leaned in, but hesitated, reading her eyes for consent. She smiled at him. So he leaned closer and touched his lips against hers, relishing in sweet silence. The air sang about them as he pulled her closer, releasing the moment, committing that precious, beautiful gift to memory.
At that moment, Jack decided that he loved the smile of Elsa Crystalsworth.
::-::
Elsa decided that she loved Jackson Frostbury.
She approached her father—the father she revered, the father whose approval she craved—and spoke to him plainly. She did not love Hans of the Southern Isles. She did not want to marry Hans of the Southern Isles. She loved a shoemaker in the inner city, and she wanted to marry that shoemaker in the inner city. She was sorry to be a disappointment, but she hated this life—her life—and could not stand for it.
Her father was Busy, her father was Important, and her father had no time for trivial matters. So he told her to stay and marry Hans of the Southern Isles, or be disowned.
::-::
Jack decided that he loved Elsa Crystalsworth.
She came to him but a week later, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. The moment she spoke of her predicament, barely keeping herself together, he knew what he had to do.
He gathered his supplies, spoke quietly with his parents, and left in the night. He did not speak to Elsa; the message was clear.
::-::
The night was cold and dim; nights often were on the coast of Port Thane. In the heart of the city, a young man was at work within his established store, pounding at shoes from dusk until dawn.
A knock sounded at his door, extracting a hiss of irritation. Clearly, it was past business hours; he should not be disturbed.
Regardless, he rose from his station and obligingly cracked the door enough to say:
"We're closed."
He nearly shut the door, but a slender, pale hand slipped between the cracks, pushing against him with unusual force. Startled, he leapt backward, grasping his mallet in defense.
Elsa Crystalsworth, garbed in dark, sweeping robes, stepped into the shop of "VERGLAS SOLES," her hair loose and tumbling about her shoulders. She held the posture of a noblewoman, but there was a hard look about her eye that had previously been absent; something that made Jack tighten his grip on his mallet. And yet... she was as captivating as the day he'd left, and he could not stop the ache in his heart at seeing her again.
"Hello, Jack," Elsa said softly.
She shut the door behind her. Jack worked to speak. "Good evening, Elsa," he said.
Her eyes cut across him. "Well," she said, "here I was, thinking that you might not recognize me." She smiled without humor. "It has been quite some time."
He felt the edge in her words; it overcame his bafflement. "What brings you to Port Thane?" he said coolly.
She slipped into the nearest chair, eying her surroundings. "I could ask the same of you," she said, "but I believe that we know the answers to our own inquiries."
I came for you.
Jack turned to the window, watching flakes of snow flutter idly from the sky. "Are you going to ask why I left?" he muttered.
"No," Elsa said primly. "I came to do this."
She whipped around and promptly plastered him with a snowball.
Jack yelped as the powdery, biting snow tickled down his shirt. "Cor! What be you on about—"
Then Elsa started giggling.
The sparkle returned to her eyes and her shoulders relaxed and her cheeks pulled into a tiny, adorable little laugh. The snowflakes crested between the edges of her hair glimmered as she bent over, pointing breathlessly at his dusted face.
"Oh, stars, you should see your face," she gasped, brushing at her elegant skirts. "Oh, my. It's been so long."
Despite himself—his hurt, his confusion, his hazy mind—he could not help but laugh with her. He had always loved her laugh. "Well, Snow Queen, you've met your match!" Before he knew what he was doing, he stepped outside, scooped up a handful of snow, and flung it wildly in her direction.
Elsa raised her hands in defense. "Do your worst, Frosty!" she challenged, stepping out with him. In a sudden, bold move, she dumped a handful of snow down the back of his shirt.
Just like when they were children.
It was a rude awakening for Jackson Frostbury. He dropped the snow that was piled in his hands, staring somberly into her eyes. "Elsa," he said. "Why are you here?"
The laughter died from her eyes; she opened her fingers, allowing the snow to filter to the ground. She was silent, her eyes pointing distantly beyond the world that Jack could see.
Jack swallowed. "I should hope you did not leave for someone as simple as me," he said hesitantly.
"I would be lying if I said you were no factor," Elsa said softly, "but there is more to it, Jack, as there always is."
Sensing her disquiet, he led her inside, shutting the door for security. He bundled another cloak about her shoulders; his fingers brushed against the nape of her neck.
"Then?" he said, hastily taking his own seat.
She smiled lightly. "I never cared much for parties and social gatherings. Nor was I enamored with the 'highbrow life,' so to speak; certainly not compared to Anna." She dropped her gaze to the floor. "It was difficult to leave them, and at first, I had resolved not to. But... Anna spoke to me. She was the one who changed my mind."
He nodded silently, giving her space to think as words poured out of her mouth—words that she clearly had been aching to speak.
"I never felt alive, not truly; not unless I was with you. The House is stifling. I was provided for, yes, I had everything I could possibly dream of, yes, but I had not the one thing I wanted most: freedom." She met his eyes. "Anna found that our mother was a singer. But I could hardly sing the songs I wanted at the House. Here—at the bar—they enjoyed my singing. I know it is uncouth, but they pay me well. And... it is silly, but I believe that I have found myself. And Anna... she is happy for me."
His heart swelled at her words, for the light in her eyes was the same as his when he had made his first shoe.
"And... it distressed me when you left," Elsa said softly, "but I am thankful. I know why you did."
"I wanted you t' be happy," Jack mumbled.
"I know," she said. A slight smile pulled at her lips. "Thank you. For listening."
"Any time," he said, and he meant it.
She spoke plainly and honestly, and he could love nothing more about her.
Elsa Crystalsworth then stood and returned his cloak, brushing powdered snow off her skirts. "Well," she said, "I suppose I just wished to see you. I ought to get going."
He stood with her. "Of course," he said. "I dun wanna keep you late."
She laughed. "You're speaking that accent again. I missed it."
"Did ya miss me the same?" He did not understand his own boldness.
"Certainly," Elsa said smoothly, unabashedly.
He only stared at her for a long moment, attempting to process the weight of her words. Certainly she hadn't just said what he thought he had heard.
She faltered. "Did I... misstep?"
"Misstep," he breathed.
He tenuously embraced her, leaning his cheek against the soft gold of her hair. She had always smelled so clean, so flowery—but now, she caught the scent of pumpkin and cinnamon, earthy, familiar, warm. She huddled into his touch, her fingers curling against his shoulders. They said nothing; they did not need to.
She is here. With me.
He pulled away slightly to stare into her face, letting his gaze trace the lovely contours of her jawline to her cheekbone to her glittering eyes. Through the sheen of desire, he could not help but laugh. What could he have possibly done to deserve such a blessing? He was just a simple shoemaker, and Elsa, unattainable, beautiful, adventurous Elsa—he thought he'd never see her again.
"Jack?" Elsa said. "What's wrong?"
Jack tilted her chin with his finger. "Nuthin'," he said. "Nuthin's wrong."
And he grinned and he kissed her as the snow drifted just outside the frosted window, whispering their names in arresting harmony.
::-::
Her name was Elsa Frostbury, and she was not a Very Important Person; not to the average resident of Port Thane, who knew nothing of the affairs of New Hammington.
She could not have been happier.
FIN