Burned & Frozen
A. J. F. Link
Disclaiming Notification: Frozen is owned by Disney, not by me in any manner. The original plotline, storyline, characters, and development belong to Disney. Plagiarism of the original story of Frozen without Disney's permission is a violation of the U.S. Copyright Act, especially in cases of unauthorized personal profit without being granted permission from Disney. Plagiarism of this self-created version of Frozen is a violation of the rules and guidelines of this website.
Reader's Notification: Feel free to like and/or follow this story and/or post a review. All reviews are appreciated; however, any inappropriate, pointless ranting, and/or purely hateful reviews and/or comments will be fully disregarded by the author.
Flamorin's current age compared to flashbacks: 16 years old.
Chapter I: Enigmatic Flames [Flashback: Approximately 6 Years Ago]
"Mom! Dad! Look at what I can do!" I shout while unknowingly disrupting mom's conversation with dad in their bedroom running up to them with hyperactive excitement. This is my third attempt at showing them a neat ability that I accidentally discovered on my own. However, every time I attempted to demonstrate it in front of them, I was too nervous to successfully do it. I am sure that I got it down this time.
"Can do what, Flamorin?" my dad asks with an interested yet fatherly amused tone. My mom has a slight smile upon her lips as she looks at me.
"Watch!" I cup my right hand and try to focus the flow of energy that seems to naturally course throughout my body into the palm of my hand. The only thing that seems to happen is the air around my hand becomes distorted like the effect a fire creates with the air surrounding it.
My dad sighs with frustration. "Son, have you learned nothing from the story The Boy Who Cried Wolf?" Even though I am only ten years old, I knew what my father was implying.
"You think that I'm lying?!" I feel my anger spike and flare within me. Heat starts to radiate and distort the air surrounding my entire body, yet mom and dad do not seem to notice.
Mom, being concerned if I have some ailment, places the back of her hand on my forehead for less than a second before she very quickly takes it away. "Ronald! Bring the doctor here quickly! Poor Flamorin is burning up!"
"Mom! I'm not sick!" The output of radiation surrounding my body seems to only increase and become more violent.
"Honey, you don't know that!" Mom says trying to assure me that I am not feeling well. Ironically, for her, I feel completely fine; in fact, this feels completely normal.
"Flamorin, listen to your mother. You shouldn't be making excuses for yourself when you're sick."
"I'm not sick! I'm not LYING!" An inferno erupts around my body, yet leaving me completely unharmed, as my anger seems to force the rapid output of energy being created out of me forcefully. The wooden floor around me ignites into flames. This causes my mother to yelp and jump away from me and my father to take a few steps backwards and mutter some very uncivil words.
"F-Flamorin! I-is this what y-your w-were trying to show u-us?" Dad asks with a look of awe but mostly fear for me.
"Yes!" For some reason, my father's realization of what I have been attempting to do calmed me down. As I begin to calm down, the enigmatic flames that appeared around me dissipated out of existence and the heat radiating from my body cooled down to a temperature that is slightly above the normal body temperature of a person. All the other spontaneously ignited flames extinguish themselves. This puts mom and dad at ease.
"Flamorin, honey!" Mom walks up to me giving me a gentle, motherly hug. "Why didn't you tell us about this sooner?"
"I-I was afraid that you'd get mad or yell at me." Tears begin to form in my eyes.
"We'd never do that, dear!"
Mom gives dad a panic look. "Ronald! We need the doctor now!"
"Heather, I don't think this is something that a doctor can help us with."
"Wh—"
"Think about it, Heather. This ability that our son possesses is considered neither common nor normal. In addition, if word of Flamorin's leaks out to the people of Weselton, the revelation may arouse hysteria. Our best option is to bring him to Father Bart. If anyone knows something about Flamorin's ability, he would be the most likely person." Though my father was just as worried about me as my mother, he does not let it seem as obvious as my mother.
Mom looks at me then looks back at dad. She gives an irritated sigh. "Fine. We'll take Flamorin to Father Bart." A small smile developed on my mother's face. "I do not think I've seen him since Flamorin's baptism."
Father Bart is a priest; however, his primary task is being the official Keeper of the Royal Achieves. Why has Father Bart not seen me since I was baptized, which was when I was three years old? Well, several days after having baptized me, Father Bart was relocated to the church in Arendelle, which is approximately 29 kilometers northwest of Weselton, for five years before being sent back to the church in Weselton. To complicate matters more, Father Bart is designated as the substitutionary priest for the church. This means that he only does the service when the main priest is unable to preform it for some reason.
"Well, I can tell you this," dad stated, "he has not changed much since then. Now, Let's get going."
Mom grabs my hand and dad leads the way out of their bedroom making a right down a long hallway until dad halts in front of a large wooden door with a steel knocker on it. Dad knocks three times with the metal knocker and takes two steps backwards while mom and I stand behind dad. After a couple of seconds an opening in the door opens revealing only the occupant's eyes.
"WHAT IS IT NOW CAN'T YOU SEE THAT I—King Ronald and Queen Heather! My apologies! I thought that you were, um, somebody else. Please forgive me!"
"It's alright Father Bart. Was that duke pestering you, again?"
"Yes! Yes! The old fool keeps spouting on about wanting to see some very old records of the construction plans for Weselton. And I kept telling him 'You need the permission from the King and Queen.' However that is not why your not here; is it?"
"No, Father." Dad suddenly becomes very hesitant. "It's…may we come inside to talk?"
"Certainly! Just wait a moment." The viewing slit closes and the sound of a ridiculous number of locks can be heard being unlocked and a wooden creak is heard as the door opens and swings open outward. A man wearing a brown monk-like robe emerges. The man is slightly taller than dad and completely bold with decently long, mahogany-brown beard. However, the most striking physical trait that he possesses is the color of his irises, which are a deep emerald-green.
"Please come inside," Father Bart says in a low volume gesturing for us to enter. Upon entering, my vision is struck with a very large room filled with several rows of bookcases with countless books and scrolls, yet there are still bookshelves that are empty. "Now, what can I help you with, your majesty?"
"Well, it's not me. It's my son, Flamorin." Father Bart looked at dad with a confused gaze before looking at me with the same expression.
"It would be easier for us to explain if Flamorin demonstrates it to you. Show him Flamorin."
I simply hide behind my mother fearing what the man's reaction will be if I show him.
Mom gives me a soft nudge forward. "It's okay, Flamorin. Show Father Bart."
I nod to my mother and cup my hand upward and concentrate on the energy flowing in my body to form a small flame in my hand. The flame appears this time, burning in the palm of my hand yet by no means bringing any pain or harm to me. In contrast, the flame feels pleasant and comforting.
The priest jumps back with wide eyes and the pigment of his skin turns slightly pales. "A-Another one?!"
"Wait you have seen this before?!" I exclaimed with the thrill and shock of the revelation that there is another person like me.
"Y-Yes, Prince Flamorin; however, it was ice, not fire."
"Father," mom spoke up in a hopeful yet fearful voice, "is there any way to cure our son from…whatever this is?"
The priest gives a guttural chuckle to my mother's question. "No, No, Queen Heather, it is not an ailment. Believe it or not this is actually completely natural, yet extremely rare. However, I think that it is safe for me to tell you that the firstborn daughter of the king and queen of Arendelle, who, if my memory serves me correctly, is the same age as you, Flamorin. She can do the same things as you, only with ice instead of fire."
My heart is pounding faster racing with anxiety. I need to know who this girl is. "Father, who is she?"
Father Bart gave me a warm smile. "Her name is Princess Elsa."