Meltdown
by Concolor44
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Chapter 1: Delegation
Ah, well, one couldn't have everything, could one?
Where, after all, would one put it?
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There were four facts about his life in Arendelle that combined to give Kristoff Bjorgman a headache on a fairly regular basis.
The first: He was a tall fellow, just shy of nineteen hands, which placed him well above average.
The second: He loved ale. This was certainly not unique, as hardly anyone who lived there didn't love the local brews. It actually comprised a decent chunk of their export trade. Of course every householder brewed his own ale. They had to, since it wasn't safe to drink plain water. But the true brewmasters ran the taverns, and that was where the best ales (and akvavit, and mead on occasion) could be had.
The third: The people of Arendelle, by and large, were traditionalists. They took the view that if something wasn't broken, it didn't need fixing. They tended to view that attitude as economical and efficient as opposed to lazy.
The fourth: Most of the buildings housing the taverns were very old, which meant that they were built back when people were shorter, which meant that the doors seldom had more than eighteen hands of clearance. And since they had served for two or three hundred years, nobody was of a mind to fix them.
When he hit the lintel coming through the door this time, Kristoff actually knocked a fine fall of dust off the near rafters, and it pulled a mighty grunt from his rangy frame. Nevertheless, he rubbed the numbness out of his forehead, ducked a little lower, and came on in, whereupon he called out, "God save Queen Elsa!"
A dozen steins were lifted high, a dozen voices rang out in response, "God save her!"
Still rubbing his head, the Royal Ice Harvester stomped over to the bar. "Lief? I was about to order a stein of Best Blond."
"Yeah?" answered the bartender, "you change your mind then?"
"I did." He pointed at the red patch on his forehead. "Make it two steins."
He chuckled. "Comin' right up." The Red Crown was neither the best nor the oldest tavern in Arendelle, but Lief Falstad, the jovial, balding, comfortably fat man who ran it, loved it no less for that. He kept his fire warm, his ale fresh, and his customers happy. As with every other tavern-keeper in the city, he lived on the premises (in two fairly large upstairs rooms in his case) and did most of his own cooking. He was relatively well-known for a spicy stew that he kept hot in a cauldron by the smaller hearth near the bar, and for his love of bad jokes.
Also, like every other tavern-keeper in the city – like practically every other citizen, for that matter – he held Arendelle's monarch, Elsa the Snow Queen, in extremely high regard.
This was a state of affairs that Elsa had worked very, very hard to achieve. She had known, upon returning to assume her rightful throne after the unpleasantness associated with the revelation of her ice-powers, that she had an uphill battle in placating the fears and winning the hearts of her subjects, but she was determined to make it happen. Fortuitously, the date of her birth (and thus of her coronation) helped a lot, coming right at the beginning of July: she had the pleasant summer months to do her initial planning and enact her ideas.
She started by examining the policies relating the ruling family to the rest of the populace. Her father (and his father) had been just and fair in their administration of their kingly duties, concentrating on improving things in-country and staying completely out of the plethora of wars that engulfed the rest of Europe, so she knew what to do there. Sort of. (She had records, and lots of them.) Being mostly isolated all those years meant that she wasn't going to become a people-person overnight, but she genuinely cared for Arendelle and its subjects, and she genuinely wanted to do what was best for them. This made her something of an oddity among Europe's reigning monarchs in the early years of the Nineteenth Century, but she didn't know that. Nor would she have cared.
Basically, the only thing she could come up with on short notice was that there was a very large discrepancy between the wealth of the average citizen and the size of the royal treasury. That was understandable when she thought about it. After all, running a country was significantly more expensive than running a greengrocer or a tannery. But when she turned an eye toward the list of taxes, she hit pay-dirt. She decided quickly that the tax load was a bit too high, and called a meeting with the Council of Elders to see which ones could be reduced or eliminated.
To a man, they were pleased that she wanted their input. Her father, though a good person, had been quite the take-charge-and-do-it-my-way sort of king, and he rarely asked for the Council's opinion. Right off the bat, they recommended discontinuing all the various (usually stiff) taxes on alcohol.
As the Councilors had predicted, this brought a swift and measurable uptick in tavern custom, which soon spread to other areas of the local economy. She also reduced a few land-use taxes, took the fine off the hunting of wild game near the city, and eliminated the fee for fishing in the fjord, all of which made life somewhat easier for everybody. Suddenly, she was the most popular monarch in anyone's memory.
Then came the winter. Through Kristoff, the trolls had warned Elsa that this would be the worst winter anyone had seen in a century, and that all of Europe would suffer. She had managed to get a few particulars from them about what they thought the extremes of temperatures and storms and snowfall might be. Then she got busy and laid out a plan to protect her kingdom.
She knew that love was the remedy for the overfreeze she had laid on Arendelle when her powers erupted after the ball. She hoped it would work against natural weather as well.
When the first serious cold snap hit and the temperatures plummeted to forty and fifty below zero, she stationed herself on the highest tower in the city and … just absorbed it. In concentrating on her love for her subjects, she was able to moderate the gelid air up to an almost comfortable level, and keep it that way for most of a day. The effort exhausted her, but it also seemed to last a good bit past the point where she bent it to her will. They had mild weather for almost two weeks.
The trolls actually sent her a message two days before the monster storm hit, a month to the day after she recovered. It came snarling in off the Norwegian Sea, billions of tons of snow and hurricane-force winds that threatened to flatten the city with an almost palpable hatred. This time she didn't so much absorb it as re-direct it. She froze the fjord, then gathered the snow in a gigantic western wall across it, nearly as high and as thick as the surrounding mountains. This served as a shield against the wind, and protected Arendelle from the worst of the blows. What snow got over the top, she simply directed past the city, piling it on the already-burdened slopes until it reached truly dizzying heights.
She did this, neither stopping nor resting, for the three days the storm lasted. When she finally collapsed, utterly spent and near death, every family in the kingdom offered aid or food or medicine – in addition to fervent prayers on her behalf – and the lines of concerned subjects stretched around the palace four rows deep. It was three weeks before she could walk unaided.
Fortunately, the next two storms were nothing like as severe as that first one, and she handled them easily.
So well did she care for her kingdom that there was a complete absence of deaths that might be attributed to the wicked winter weather. Normally the kingdom would lose a score or more each season. And every last inhabitant knew exactly who to thank. On the Sixth Feast Day of Epiphany, in mid-February, the local bishop held a special service in Elsa's honor, and delivered a homily extolling her virtues and thanking a merciful God for sending her to them. She carefully and gratefully guided the worst weather around Arendelle through until Spring, earning (and basking in) the devotion of her people. And she was content.
Eventually there was another topic that had nothing to do with governance but which took up a lot of her time anyway: the relationship her sister, Anna, had cultivated with the Royal Ice Harvester. For reasons Elsa could not quite grasp at first, the smelly, uncouth fellow had captivated the Princess's attention completely.
Anna was, to use a ridiculously inadequate word, impulsive. Where Elsa was self-contained, reserved (if not somewhat shy), and basically serious about life and her place in it as Queen, Anna was an extrovert's extrovert, a cockeyed optimist who never met a stranger and who was just as likely as not to pull random passersby into a Maypole dance … or one of her spur-of-the-moment schemes. That quality had not served her well when that insufferable miscreant, Prince Hans of the Southern Isles, had made his play for her. Elsa huffed in remembered frustration. Sure, I'll marry you! Sure, I don't know anything at all about you, but you're gorgeous and you say you love me, so it's all good! What could possibly go wrong? Anna had met him, and that same evening had agreed to marry him? The very idea made Elsa's head hurt.
Well, at least with Kristoff, we've known him for close to a year now. And he has had something of a steadying influence on her. Now and then. Under the right circumstances. For brief periods of time. She loved Anna dearly, but some days Elsa just wanted to shake her until her teeth rattled.
Anna had dropped hints to the fellow for months (a few of the hints having been nailed onto his head with a hammer) that Kristoff ought to ask her to marry him, and he'd finally come around five weeks ago. Elsa understood that his, ah, 'family' had a lot to do with his reticence. Not that they disagreed at all … no, they'd been all for it. Quite enthusiastic about the match. But the trolls were fairly impulsive in matters of the heart, and Kristoff wanted to be sure – dead sure – that marrying Anna was a good idea, and not just their idea, or her idea. Inasmuch as he knew he'd have to make some fairly significant changes in lifestyle once he became the Prince Consort, he had talked it all over with Elsa in three rather lengthy meetings in the palace library.
In those meetings, she tore him into tiny, bite sized morsels, roasted each morsel until it was an even nut-brown, and scraped them all back together into a pile more or less resembling Kristoff. At the end of each session, he knew exactly where he stood with Elsa. It didn't help him sleep, but it did settle his mind over what he ought to do. For Elsa's part, she came to understand that Kristoff loved her sister more than life, and that was why he was being so tentative. He wanted the best for her, and had been pretty damn sure that he wasn't it. He figured she ought to hold out for (at the very least) some rich duke or earl or something. But Elsa stood on conviction more than convention, and she informed him that if they truly loved each other, it would be criminal to keep them apart.
However … looking at the fellow, she knew they would have their work cut out for them in making him presentable at court. Ah, well, one couldn't have everything, could one? Where, after all, would one put it?
But we digress.
Kristoff was working on his second stein when Olaf ambled in. The self-aware snowman was a great favorite of the townspeople (the children in particular), and loved to just wander the streets, meeting and greeting. Anna had gone to the trouble of writing up a ceremony whereby he was declared the Royal Ambassador to the People of Arendelle, and it had thrilled him to pieces. Literally.
Two men near the door noticed him and called him over. "Olaf, my boy!" said one, "how's the world's smartest snowman today?"
"I have been playing football with the orphans!"
That earned him a frown. "Football? What's that?"
"That is where the children kick a ball around with their feet."
"Oh. I guess that makes sense. So are you any good at kicking?" Given Olaf's rather, ah, basic structure, it was a fair question.
"Oh, I did not do the kicking." He pulled out his midsection and held it up in one stick-hand. "I was the ball!"
Everyone laughed at his joke. He replaced his pseudo-thorax and wobbled over to Kristoff. "Hello, Mister Royal Ice Harvester, Sir!"
"Hey, Olaf. What's new?"
"Oh! That is right! I wanted to ask: did Queen Elsa buy the big, new, shiny ships or do they belong to someone else?"
blink-blink "New ships? What new ships?"
"There are new ships in the fjord. I just wondered …"
Kristoff leaped off the stool and out the door (missing the lintel this time) and ran over one street until he could he could see the open water. He got a chill that had nothing to do with the cool breeze ruffling his hair.
Five warships sat at anchor at the mouth of the fjord.
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Elsa stood at a window in one of the towers, watching as a skiff from the flagship rowed steadily in toward the docks. Her keen eyes had picked out eight figures, six of them at the oars, and two opulently-attired horses, and she liked this not at all. While the flagship of the small war fleet flew the colors of the King of Norway and Sweden, the delegation – for that is what she assumed was coming – came in under the banner of the Church.
"What do you think they want?"
Elsa glanced over at her sister who stood there beside her, then snaked an arm around the girl's waist. "I'm sure they'll waste no time letting us know, once they reach land."
Her voice very small, Anna asked, "Do you think it's my fault?"
That startled the Queen. She cocked an eyebrow at Anna and asked, "Whatever in the world would give you that idea?"
"Because of Kristoff. I've … heard some things. Some of the townspeople say … well …"
"That you should marry within your station?"
"… Something like that."
"That's puffin poop."
Anna was so shocked to hear her stately, staid sister use such an expression that she actually took a step away. "What?!"
"Kristoff loves you to distraction. He places your well-being above his own. I would venture to state that you would not find such qualities in some self-important Continental dandy." Elsa placed a reassuring hand on Anna's shoulder. "And I know you love him as well."
"Oh, yes! Lord knows, yes!"
"Then I don't see the problem."
"Maybe. But you're a kinda special case." Nodding toward the fjord, she added, "I don't expect that kind of open-mindedness from anyone else."
"We are a sovereign state. It is none of their affair whom you choose to marry."
Anna hesitated for a second, then threw her arms around Elsa. "I'm so glad you're my sister!"
Returning the embrace, Elsa just nodded in agreement. After a moment, she said, "I had better go down to the receiving chamber. One must keep up royal appearances, after all." Patting her sister's back, and keeping her own fears secret, she added, "It will be fine. You'll see. It's probably only some official congratulations from King Charles."
"With five warships?"
Elsa shrugged. "Piracy has been on the rise. One can't be too careful these days." She turned, guiding Anna toward the door. "Let's go meet them. You'll see."
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The octet formed up at the dock and began a steady march toward the palace, the banner-man leading the way, followed by two of the men on horseback, with the remaining five making up the rear-guard. All of them wore dark, heavy, ankle-length hooded robes emblazoned at breast and back with King Charles's seal. People lined the streets to watch, but no one spoke to the visitors, and they seemed entirely disinclined to speak to the people.
It wasn't very far to the palace. The guards ushered them into the reception hall where Elsa sat in a small throne, the Scepter and Orb of Arendelle on a deep blue velvet pillow to her right. Then they formed up in a rank to either hand.
The herald stepped forward. "Anfred Nordmark, First Baron of Rosendal, emissary of Charles III, King of Norway and Sweden!"
The herald stepped aside and the man on the right stepped forward. He lowered his cowl, pulled out an elaborately embellished scroll and began to unroll it.
Elsa spoke, "Baron Rosendal?"
He gave her his attention, but did not speak, a lack which irritated Elsa. "Has the King's Court forgotten the basic courtesy of a greeting?"
He fired off a supercilious stare for several seconds, finished opening the scroll, and read,
"Be it known to the
People of Arendelle that Charles III,
King of Norway and Sweden
sends his beneficence."
He cleared his throat.
"Hear now our pleasure:
Whereas we are the recognized
Head of the Church of Norway, and
Whereas it is beholden upon us
to promote and support
True Religion in all our realms, and
Whereas it has come to our attention
that late events have altered
the line of succession in Arendelle, and
Whereas it is neither meet nor right
for a sorceress to hold the throne
in any land in Christendom,
Be it known to all and sundry that Elsa,
self-styled Snow Queen of Arendelle,
is pronounced anathema henceforth.
She will immediately
and upon pain of death
surrender the throne of Arendelle
to our appointed Regent
until such time as we may journey thither
to inspect the land and
set to rights the true line of succession.
Declared this Nineteenth Day of February
in the Year of Our Lord MDCCCXLI
The entirety of the present court of Arendelle was seething by this time.
Baron Rosendal stepped back and held an arm out to the other front man, who stepped forward and lowered his cowl, staring at Elsa with a sinister smirk.
She stood abruptly in shock. "You!"
"Yes. It is I. I told you I'd be back," sneered Prince Hans of the Southern Isles.
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