Hello! For new readers, the name's Black Rose. For readers acquainted with my works, my other work will be updated before Easter. I am not dead and apologize for my simulated death. But spring is the season of new life, and I am risen! Haha...anywho, there's been this grand hubbub for the movie Frozen that I will confess I am a part of. And ever since I first lay my eyes upon a fan's picture of the Jack and Elsa couple, I realized I saw the embodiment of wintry perfection. And when I came across the popular tumblr pic with Jack and Pitch talking about a certain "someone" Jack reminded him of, I was inspired. I know many other fans have been writing stories for the couple, and I've read a few. I frankly wasn't satisfied with them. And whenever I'm unsatisfied with a story, I find myself writing it myself. That being said, I wrote this story. I hope you enjoy!
I am obligated to state that the characters nor original plots belong to me...but if they did, they would sure as hell be converging as written.
Prologue: One Wintry Night
Perhaps the moon would at last speak with him tonight. As much as he would have liked to suppress it, he couldn't help the growing surge of anticipation in his chest. It had been so long—perhaps a hundred years now—since the moon had last spoken to him. And the only thing the moon had told him was two words: his very name.
Jack Frost thumped his staff on the ground and tilted his head up at the pale luminescent orb, the terrible hope welling up within so great it pained him.
Please…speak to me.
He released the breath he had not known he had been holding. "It's me again," he said to it, his voice low and hushed. "You know—the one you brought up out of the lake and then abandoned?"
Silence answered him. He swallowed firmly, and then persisted, "I'm here, but what am I here for? What am I supposed to do? Why can't anyone see me? Please…it's been a hundred years like this, and I still don't know why. Answer me…please."
He waited for some time. Eventually the lingering silence hollowed his core of the hope that had filled it moments before. He hated it, hated that false and excruciating hope.
His knuckles whitened to a greater pallor as he tightened his grip on the staff. "Of course," he muttered morosely. "Why do I even bother with you?"
No matter how many times he had tried and failed, the ultimate feeling of disappointment still crushed him. But clearly it never crushed his hopes. He often wished it would.
Jack growled and stamped his staff sideways, leaving a chaotic trail of frost crackling on the ground. Every night he spoke to it, and every night the moon left him embittered.
He kicked at the freshly fallen snow. What should he do now?
Do what he's done after each failure, he supposed. He heaved a sigh. He absolutely refused to remain glum. "Be that way," he said at last as he glanced back at the moon. A smirk crept on his lips as he added, "But you're not ruining my fun."
He jumped into the air at that statement. A wind brewed and carried him away from the forest clearing into the sky. It buoyed him along with his mood, for he soon found that his sullenness dissolved into shouts of glee. It was an effect flight always had on him. He laughed now, determined to not let his hundred years of solitude gnaw at him. Yes, he was alone, but he was alone and free.
Jack stared at the moonlit earth beneath him. Where should he visit tonight? What mischief should he wreak? He whooped and shouted, his spirits literally soaring. He thrilled in the riding the wind, relished the whistle of the winds as they disheveled his hair. He came to the decision to simply let the wind carry him to its whim. It appeared he had all eternity to rouse mischief, anyway.
He was subtly descending—so gentle was the wind tonight—toward deciduous forest. Snow coated the leaves and blanketed the ground, glistening in the moonlight like diamond dust. He lowered his staff as he gracefully alighted into the wintry scene. Summer, he found, was always a bore, because he had nothing to do but amble listlessly in the Himalayas or some such mountain range. It was either that or travel down to the Southern hemisphere, and the winters there were hardly any fun. It was why he was so glad it was presently winter here up north.
He fluidly leapt onto the highest tree branch, grabbing the leaves to support himself. Laughter bubbled out of him as he leapt from branch to branch. He continued that way as the land sloped downward, downward where the trees became sparse and he was forced at last to settle onto the grass again. Not that he minded—the blades of frosted grass between his toes felt refreshing.
He surveyed the landscape before him—or perhaps more accurately said, the kingdom before him. He saw a grand fjord beneath him, ships at dock. Beyond the fjord were houses still lit within at the late hour. And beyond them…
"Wow," he breathed as he gazed on in amazement at the majestic, towering castle before him. He'd seen a few in his wanderings, but not many left him breathless as this one did. It, too, had its lights still burning within.
A lopsided grin played on his lips. That would mean the staff was still up and about…and they were where he could find the source of his entertainment. Heck, if he was lucky, maybe he would come across the king and queen.
He chuckled mischievously as he floated down to the kingdom, nimbly sliding off snowy roofs and leaping onto the next. He kicked up a wind and let it usher him up onto the parapet. A garden greeted him on the other side, beckoning him to descend. He did so, all the while admiring the gardeners' ability to maintain a measure of greenery in spite of the season; then again, spring was not far in coming.
Voices pierced the serene silence. He perked his head, trying to pinpoint their source. They were coming from one of the towers, shadows moving frantically about the window. Curiosity drove him to float up and hear more easily.
"…very sorry, Your Majesty. I'll open up a window so the room won't be as stuffy," said a woman—he guessed a maid—and a maid accordingly approached the window and opened it.
"Thanks for the convenience," he said to her, leaning against the roof with his staff with a slow smile. She unsurprisingly gave no reply as she withdrew, and he only chuckled as he peered in.
A woman lay in bed breathing heavily, clutching the sheets in a vice-grip. The maids were fluttering about like frightened hens—a sight he'd seen as well as incited. He became ill at ease as he began to guess the scenario, but relaxed slightly when he heard muffled cries. One of the maids held a bundle of blankets in her arms along with the source of the crying. It appeared he had just missed the event and was now watching its aftermath.
He was preparing to leave when the maid holding the baby said, "It's a girl, Your Majesty. A beautiful baby girl with the prettiest blue eyes."
"Really…" said the woman—who was undoubtedly the queen—tiredly. She slowly relaxed her grip on the sheets. "That's…good."
He really had nothing to do here. But something propelled him to stay longer, a curious desire to see the newborn child. He had time to kill, in any case.
"What shall you name her, my queen?" asked one of the maids.
"Hmm…" said the queen as the child was placed into her arms. "My husband and I…agreed on a name. Elsa…her name shall be Elsa."
"Elsa. What a pretty name, my queen."
"Yes. And what a pity His Majesty is off conducting diplomatic negotiations of some sort."
"Yes...yes…"
Some time passed as the maids went about trying to accommodate their queen and attending to the child. Jack meanwhile diverted himself by tapping his staff on the glass and making designs from the frost that emerged. Glad I don't have to worry about stuff like that, he thought.
He was designing nearby windows when he looked back and saw that the light was at last snuffed. He promptly glided over and laughed under his breath when he saw that they had forgotten to close the window, no doubt in their focused ministrations. They even have minds like frightened hens, he thought humouredly as he stepped inside.
His gaze passed over the queen asleep on her bed to the crib close by it. He walked over to it, twirling his staff absentmindedly. He gently pulled away the edges of the canopy and peered down at the object of his curiosity.
The baby was peacefully asleep, her little body swathed in blankets. He smiled slightly as he watched her, debating as to whether or not he wanted to wake her. Even if she was a child in her infancy stages, she was still a child, which meant she could still have fun. And nothing brought him greater joy than bringing just that to children.
But awakening her proved to be unnecessary. He looked back at her face and saw brilliant blue eyes gazing back at him. It slowly dawned on him that the baby was looking at him—that the baby could see him. He was still in awe as she smiled in delight, reaching out with her unbelievably tiny hands.
He realized he was simpering, so contagious was the baby's smile. The child could see him! It was unexpected, so wondrous, that he hardly knew what to do with himself. Seeing that she kept reaching out to him, he held out a forefinger, and the baby wrapped her own fingers around it.
"Hi there," he murmured with a growing smile. "I'm Jack Frost. And you're Elsa, right?"
The baby only beamed, and he chuckled. The infant girl released his fingers and was now reaching for his staff. He laughed quietly and decided to appease her. Taking the staff into both hands, he playfully waved it above her, and she grinned. He waved it again and shook it slightly, sprinkling snowflakes on her. She grasped at the white flakes with her mouth agape, having never seen such things before in her hour of life.
"You like them? They're snowflakes, and I can do a whole lot more than that. You really like the staff, don't you?" Jack asked her with a smile as he saw her futile attempts to grab it. He stopped tantalizing her and gradually lowered it within reaching distance. She eagerly closed her fingers around the crook.
There was an abrupt flash of blue light and a crackling noise. He quickly pulled back the staff, but not before his frost magic seeped through the child's fingers. The girl froze along with his breath, a pregnant pause that scared him.
Then her face contorted, her mouth opening soundlessly. He cringed and braced himself. She loosed a shrill wail as he expected, those blue eyes screwed shut in distress. Jack staggered back, guilt-stricken and utterly mystified as to what had transpired in that mere second of contact. But he wasn't sticking around to find out.
As the mother leapt out of bed in alarm and rushed to the child, Jack was hopping out of the window and into the night. As she called out anxiously for her maids, he was being swept away by the wind. He cared little where it took him, so long as it took him away from there.
He had created more mischief than he had intended. In fact, it had been entirely unintentional. The guilt wouldn't leave him. Even though the child had not appeared harmed, but his magic had clearly caused it discomfort.
He never glanced back, didn't want to glance back. But he continued seeing a contorted face in front of him. And the farther he distanced himself, the farther the wind took him...the clearer he could hear those wails...louder than the wails of the wind itself.
Thank you for reading! Please review! I confess that life often makes me terrible at updating, but reviews are what motivate me to make time and write the next chapters sooner. :)