Author's note: This little story takes place in the Frozen universe. Young Akðar is the future King of Arendelle, Elsa and Anna's father. This is just a little idea of what the princesses' genealogy might plausibly look like and a little bit of where Elsa's power might have come from. I haven't written fanfiction in literally decades, I completely blame myself for watching too many documentaries about the British Royal family while working on a boring sewing project and under the influence of Frozen. Also, Opa is German for Grandpa.
The Young Prince - A Frozen Prologue
When Akðar was five years old, Grandma-ma had been on the throne for as long as most people in Arendelle could remember; Mama was in heaven; Father, the Crown Prince, was at the polo grounds, or the theater, depending on the time of day and Opa, was always in his study. Akðar loved Opa's study. Opa had come to Arendelle specifically to marry the Queen long ago as a young prince of a foreign kingdom, but he had fallen as in love with his adopted home as he had with his royal bride. The Prince Consort had served the kingdom by encouraging the cultural and artistic heritage of Arendelle. Not only did he meet and patronize artists and writers, he had even, when he was younger traveled the kingdom, collecting evidence of it's folklore and history. Now he spent most of his time in his study pouring over this material and arranging for it's preservation. His door and his books were always open to his curious and lonely grandson.
When Akðar was twelve years old he studied the languages and geography of Europa and began to forget the years when Opa's ancient stories of trolls and frost giants seemed true. But Opa's study was still his refuge. In fact, that was were he was, conjugating verbs in Old Europan, when the messenger arrived to inform them that Father's pony had stumbled over a clod of dirt on the polo field. The Crown Prince had been thrown from his saddle and crushed by his own horse. He was buried, next to Mama, with much ceremony and Grandma-ma donned deepest mourning black, even during her own Diamond Jubilee. This was despite the fact that Father was widely considered to have gone somewhere that was not Heaven and was only truly missed by his favorite actresses. Akðar, now the new Crown Prince, vowed to himself to follow his better examples and combine the wisdom and openness of the Prince Consort and the royal dignity of the Queen.
When Akðar was 20 years old he was in his rooms at Hambridge University in the Duchy of Weselton. There he was studying politics and diplomacy alongside the scions of Europa's other great and powerful families. In those days, dueling was a much in fashion as a method for young nobles to test their diplomatic skills. As a young man who did more than occasionally crack a book, Akðar was frequently insulted and so found his skill in fencing coming in handy. Despite his bookish reputation, he did often prevail. One beautiful late spring afternoon, near the end of term, Akðar was composing a strongly worded letter to one of the boys from the Southern Isles, who had made fun of his new mustache, when a messenger wearing deepest mourning black appeared at his door and abruptly ended this period of Akðar's life. Grandma-ma was gone. Akðar would be leaving immediately for her funeral and his own coronation.
On the morning of his coronation Akðar appeared at the door of his Opa's study. The widowed, and now former- Prince Consort looked up from an album of drawings of his own dear Queen's coronation and started to rise. The words "Your Majesty" were nearly on the tip of his tongue. But he looked up at his grandson and the young man was so nervous he looked wide-eyed with fear. A lifetime of royal protocol died there on the grandfather's lips and he said, using the prince's childhood nickname, "Aggie, dear, please come in."
Akðar was so nervous in fact, that he could not put his fears even into words. He just stood there rubbing his hands together and blowing on them for warmth, for an unnatural chill had come over him. The old Prince Consort was suddenly reminded of an incident long long ago from his own courtship when, while nervous over her adviser's insistence that she be the one to propose marriage, the Queen had poured cups of ice cold tea from a pot that had been steaming hot mere moments earlier. He touched his grandson's shoulder comfortingly and said, with an almost experimental air.
"Do you remember the tale that your line is so old you are descended from the very Frost Giants? They said your ancestors could veritably defeat their enemies by merely freezing their ships into the port."
Akðar managed a slight smile. "Your folktales, Opa. I could almost believe them today."
For awhile they stood there, the old Prince Consort, not removing his hand from his grandson's shoulder but comforting him as though he were still a small boy. And Akðar, the soon-to-be-king, calmed down a little and thought of reason and of power and of Frost Giants.
"It is merely the cold winds that come down from the North Mountain. Even in Summer, storms can touch the capital." he said partly meaning the chill in his fingertips and partly meaning the origin of the old stories.