"I still think this is a bad idea," Elsa scowls, chucking her crown on the dresser and tying a checkered handkerchief over her hair. Her singular blonde braid had been undone, and tied into a pair of pigtails.
"Your majesty, if I may be so bold to reiterate, your Father did this on many occasions." Kai says, keeping his gaze lowered at the Queen's feet. Gone are her glittering ice slippers, replaced by a pair of humble clogs.
"He didn't tell anyone when he went out into the towns," Gerda quips as she ties a wooden cowbell on Elsa's plain milk-maiden's dress, "all his advisors would have to stay one step ahead all the time, since he knew right away what was going on in the Kingdom."
"It's not like he had ice powers capable of freezing over Arendelle. I don't know how I'm going to answer to the people if it happens again."
"You'll be fine, your majesty," Kai says, holding a pair of soiled leather gloves in his outstretched hands, "this will be good for everyone. All this seclusion has created a rift between the Palace and the People; we hope you can see it as a chance to reconnect with the Kingdom."
"How do I even know if this outfit is going to work?" Elsa sighs, staring at her reflection in the mirror. To her, all she sees are dark circles under her eyes and how plain her skin looks without makeup. To anyone else, the sight of a humble peasant girl immediately looks out-of-place in the regal setting of the Queen's chambers.
Gerda and Kai give each other a smirk, "may we suggest Your Majesty start with a visit to the palace stables?"
"Alright then, let's get this over and done with," Elsa says, pulling on the gloves. They fit tightly, and she wonders if it's a trickle of sweat running between her fingers – or a chill.
Elsa should be in her study now, sipping on an after-dinner tea and admiring the orange glow settling upon the North Mountain. But instead, she's wandering the Palace stables looking for a bucket and soaking in the stench of horse manure. Used to the silent, distant attention of handmaidens waiting on her – the sudden jab of a riding crop on her shoulders causes her to flinch. She whirls around and comes face to face with the stable master's imposing presence.
"Why're you still bummin' around at this hour? For fuck's sake, get the shovelling going in the pens! It's near sundown already!" he yells, and Elsa's blood runs cold at his voice.
"Conceal, Conceal, Conceal, don't feel," her brain whispers, and she looks down at the hay-strewn stable floor.
"Yes, sir," she mutters, and he leaves just as her gloves freeze over.
Gerda rushes in and bows before the Queen.
"Your Majesty, my humblest apologies. Kai and I thought it was a-"
"Save it," Elsa hisses and sticks out a frozen hand, "at least I know the disguise works."
"I found you a bucket, Your Highness," Gerda says, placing a damp wooden bucket by her clogs.
"Perfect!" Elsa smiles, swallowing her apprehension, "All that's left is for you to fetch my horse."
"It'd be more convincing if you walked," Gerda replies, "besides, they can recognize Palace horses by the saddles."
A lump forms in Elsa's throat as she curtseys and takes her leave from the stables. But an aching in her heart forces her to make one last request from Gerda.
"Could you do me a favour?" Elsa's voice drops to a whisper, "Please…look after Anna while I'm gone. I know it's just for a night, but I'm just so worried that she-"
"Of course!" she smiles, "we'll make sure she stays out of trouble."
With a heavy heart, Elsa leaves, but not before casting a disparaging look at the stable master on her way out.
The sound of lowing cattle gets louder as she trudges uphill to the livestock quarter of town. She's positive the disguise works; even beneath the dim glow of kerosene lamps, she doesn't catch anyone paying heed to the lone milkmaid making her way home from work. Her hands go cold when a group of young goat-herders point in her direction and giggle, but she keeps her head down and smiles back at the ground – confident that her beauty would appeal to anyone, whether she's the Queen or not.
She reaches the town centre with her shoulders aching from being jostled around by farmers, and her hands are warm for the first time in ages. I could get used to this, she thinks, sitting by the fountain and swinging her feet, being concealed in the crowds. Despite her distance from the palace, she can't help thinking about Anna; how she'd probably be running up and down the halls looking for her, and the lies Kai must be conjuring to explain her mysterious absence. Elsa stares at her leather-gloved hands, and tries to recall her laundry list of things to do.
The next two hours flurry by in a series of inspections. Elsa gags at the stench of half-completed sanitation works by the town limits, and smiles at the melody of children singing in the Orphanage. She resists the urge to interfere with soldiers harassing a beggar, and wonders if there's anything she could do about the harlots soliciting in the town square. The moon has risen over the North Mountain by the time she's done with her agenda, and she wanders around looking for a place to anonymously listen in on some Kingdom gossip.
With the bucket slung over her shoulder and the cowbell clattering by her hip; Elsa hunches over and strolls to the town pub, trying to keep the usual regal strut from showing in her paces – but not too much.
"Swineherd and Swillbucket Tavern," she mutters, peeking through the window at the glow of lanterns and the sound of raucous conversation, "good place to start."
The doorbell jingles as she nudges it open and tries not to let it show on her face when the stench of vomit-laced booze slams into her nostrils. A sigh of relief escapes her lips when she notices no one paying attention to her entrance, and she swallows back a cough from the cloud of tobacco smoke hanging in the air. There's an empty bench by the bar; more inviting than the table of rowdy, chortling farmers, or the group of overly made-up women chattering in the corner.
A burly man with fiery-red hair and blackened teeth appears behind the counter and grunts at Elsa.
"A glass of-" she starts, before clearing her throat and putting on a rural accent, "I mean, a pint of ale."
He sets out a wooden mug, brimming over with foamy ale, and a plate of brown food-like matter.
"What's that?" Elsa points, lifting the mug to her lips and taking a deep breath before sipping. She cringes as the taste of drain water floods her mouth, before the burn of alcohol washes it away.
"Fried taters and lardons," he snorts, sprinkling salt on the dish, "you gonna eat it or what? The pigs will sure-"
"No, I'd love some," she says, selecting the cleanest slice of potato and hoping the salt will neuter her palate. It doesn't however; the taste of greasy paper twists her stomach into knots. Her attempts at concealing the taste fail, and a grimace spreads across her face.
The man guffaws, "You aren't from around here are you, miss?"
"Loftsbridge," Elsa mutters, taking a second sip of the Ale, which doesn't taste as bad as the first.
"Well, what's a young northern lass like you doing all the way here in Arendelle?"
"My father got called away to the Navy," Elsa says, trying to recall the rest of the cover story Kai made up for her, "we got no family left home, so he sent me to my uncle's farm up here."
"Interesting; thought foreigners wanted nothing to do with Arendelle after what happened."
"Oh, you mean Queen Elsa?" she says, trying to ignore the man's grimy fingers rummaging through her chips, "that was one cold winter huh?"
"It was awful to begin with, but most folk are glad it's over – and we're proud to have someone of her powers representing us in this part of the world."
Elsa refrains from sighing in relief, and searches her mind for another subtle question.
"Well, I'm sure there's a lot of catching up her Majesty has to do. I mean, no one's seen her for ages since-"
"Damn right!" he says, slamming his fist into the table, "She should do something about the water, I've had to ferment the ale for so much longer just to keep the taste from showing."
Elsa slowly lowers her mug, "you mean the water's unclean?"
"Yes! It's safer to drink Ale or boiled tea than water from the well."
"Oh," she mutters, "that's a pity." Elsa feels a chill go through her hands as the thought of those cheery voices in the orphanage having to put up with dirty water. What have you been doing all this while, Elsa? Shutting yourself in while your people suffer? Some Queen you are.
Conceal, Conceal, Don't feel. But her drink has already turned ice-cold from her frosty gloves.
"But, not all is grim," he chuckles, snapping Elsa out of her thoughts, "for once, we'll never have to worry about the Southern Isles taking advantage of us anymore."
Elsa tilts her head at the bartender, "Do we?"
"Of course! Have you not seen Queen Elsa's powers? That ought to strike terror into any Kingdom. In fact, most people are even suggesting that we do away with the military, since no one would dare invade Arendelle."
Oh, that'll save us some tax dollars. Looks like this trip is turning out way better-
Her thoughts are cut off by a roar of laughter as another group of milkmen make their way into the tavern. The bartender leaves to take their orders and Elsa is left sitting alone at the bar. Despite her earlier disgust at the Ale's taste, a peculiar malty-sweetness has left itself lingering on her tongue, and she feels a buzz spread across her cheeks. Maybe drain-water Ale isn't so bad after all, she thinks, looking at other wooden mugs on the customer's tables. She allows her gaze to wander from person to person, making up stories in her mind about families and jobs, hopes and dreams tucked behind their red faces. There's something real about being surrounded by peasants. No one's putting on a veneer of politeness, or scheming to win favors from her. Everyone's just being who they are, enjoying drain-water Ale as though it were the best thing in their lives.
Perhaps that's all the poor have to live for.
The bartender returns from serving his customers and grunts at Elsa again, "so, how do you find the Folk of Arendelle, rougher than Loftsbridge, I might suppose?"
"They look for the most part an honest and hardworking bunch," she says, before motioning at the table of women, "except for that lot over there – they look too well-dressed to be working in the fields."
"They're whores," the man replies, and Elsa edges her head back in response, "what're you so shocked at? Don't they have whores in Loftsbridge?"
"No, I mean, yes they do! I just didn't think they'd be hanging out in a good tavern like this."
"Hasn't happened until a woman from Tasselmills came in a few days past and paid for their company. Odd, I suppose, but that's precisely what happened. She only likes blondes though, so all em' brown-haired harlots are still out on the streets."
"That's queer," Elsa mumbles, taking another long sip. She looks at the group of fair-haired prostitutes and notices a woman sitting in the corner with an arm draped over another's shoulders. A shawl covers her hair, and from the way she's slumping against her companion for the night, the Ale has likely gotten to her as well.
"Is that her?" Elsa tips her mug at the lady, "from Tasselmills you say?"
The man grunts in reply, and Elsa's thoughts begin to churn. She rubs her hands together, but it does nothing to stop the chill forming between her fingers. Just needing something to distract herself, she fumbles through her purse and lays out coins for her drink, before excusing herself.
Luckily for her, the tavern's patrons are too boozed up to notice the mild drop in temperature forming as Elsa meanders her way between raucous shouts and gleeful singing erupting amongst the tables. She steels her gaze on the group of women, and readies a stack of gold coins between her fingers. Her stare intensifies at the two blondes sitting beside the woman in the shawl. Elsa's heart begins to pound, and it drowns out the sound of her clogs clattering against the floor.
"Excuse me," Elsa whispers to the first blonde, covering her mouth so that the frost on her breath can't be seen, "could you be so kind as to let me buy you and your friend out of this woman's company for tonight?"
The blonde stares into Elsa's eyes, and at the stack of gold held out in her outstretched palm. Her cheerful demeanor melts, and she mutters a curt, "Whatever," before snatching the gold and motioning at her friend to leave. In the absence of the blonde's shoulders, the woman slumps onto the table with a thump. Elsa takes off her gloves and pushes her up against the chair, causing the shawl to slip from her head.
Frost crackles from her fingertips as she twirls the solitary lock of blonde hair from amidst a tangle of red.
A/N: Slightly AU, Anna had her hair restored after the end of Frozen. (Leave a review if you didn't notice!)