"Now if you listen closely, I'll tell you what I know. Storm clouds are gathering. The wind is gonna blow. The race of man is suffering and I can hear the moan, 'Cause nobody, but nobody, can make it out here alone." – Maya Angelou


Farewell and adieu to you, Spanish ladies

Farewell and adieu to you, ladies of Spain

Jørgen was attempting to serenade the patrons of the tavern as Fredrik beckoned him out the door. Despite initial protests, his friend obeyed and stumbled out the door with him, denying the patrons the rest of the song.

"Ah Fredrik, you've become such a stiff," slurred Jørgen as he hobbled alongside his comrade, "Is that what being a colonel does to ya? If it is, I hope I'm never promoted again."

"Do you really get that much pleasure out of being a captain?" asked Fredrik, laughing at his friend's intoxicated state.

"I'm as happy as a fat man at a feast, sir. In fact, you can tell Broulard and all those other aristocrats when you see 'em tomorrow that I, Captain Jørgen Larsen, am completely content and will not be bucking for rank any time soon."

"I doubt you'll even remember saying that tomorrow, but I'll keep it in mind," chuckled Fredrik.

"I still can't believe you'll be rubbing shoulders with nobility tomorrow. You aren't turning into a socialite on me are you?"

"It's nothing like that, Jørgen. The General just asked me come along as his guest, probably a one-time thing."

"If ya ask me, I'd say he's g-grooming you."

"Come again?"

"Yeah. Why else would he be putting in this much effort? You're barely twenty-three and you've already made colonel. He's also got you attending council meetings with him. At this rate, you'll be a general before you're thirty."

"That jealousy I hear?"

"God no. I'd hate to be around those pansies all day. There's probably cobwebs all over their scabbards."

Fredrik chuckled and directed Jørgen towards another tavern.

"Come on, let's leave the theories outside and just have a good time," said Fredrik.

Soon both men were lounging at an oak table in the friendly confines of the tavern, a mug of beer in front of each of them. Jørgen took a large gulp before setting the mug back down and letting out a gratuitous belch.

"It's a little warm for my tastes. Where's the Queen when ya need her," laughed Jørgen as his eyes roved the tavern in search of ice.

"What exactly are you talking about?" asked Fredrik, taking a sip from his beer.

"Oh that's right! I forgot you missed all the excitement. You must've heard the stories, though."

"I heard all kinds of crazy stories, Jørgen. That doesn't mean I believed a word of them."

"You should've seen it yourself. The whole kingdom frozen in the middle of summer, courtesy of our beloved queen."

Fredrik laughed.

"I think you've had enough of this," said Fredrik as he slid the beer mug away from his friend.

"Oh ye of little faith. I'm telling you, the Queen's got some serious power. She's either god or the devil. I'm not quite sure which one," slurred Jørgen, before calling out to a waitress, "Garcon, I need some ice."

"Do you really expect me to believe that the Queen can control the weather?" asked Fredrik incredulously.

"I just know that she can freeze just about anything. She can conjure up ice out of thin air. Who knows, maybe you'll see it tomorrow."

The waitress appeared with a small cup of ice for Jørgen. "Garcon means boy," she added flatly before walking away.

Jørgen took his beer back and plunked a few ice cubes into it. He took a sip and let out an unmistakable sound of satisfaction.

"That's much better," said Jørgen, leaning back in his chair.

"So, you're telling me the Queen of Arendelle has ice powers."

"Ask anybody and they'll tell you the exact same thing," said Jørgen.

Fredrik searched his friend's face for some indication of a joke, expecting Jørgen to burst out laughing at any moment, but nothing came.


Elsa was burning as much of the midnight oil as she could stand. Fire always bugged her, making her feel like she'd melt, but she kept just enough in her office lanterns to see as she worked, her azure eyes scanning paper after paper. She'd put off finishing the stack of papers on her desk to spend time with Anna and now she was paying the price, staying up late into the night to keep up with her queenly duties. Still, it was hard to regret the decision. Elsa cherished every opportunity she had to reconnect with her sister and would gladly lose a little sleep to do so. Sometimes she envied Anna, who'd never have to worry about leading the entire country and could relax more often.

Elsa glanced down at the small portraits she kept at her desk, particularly the one of her parents, King Agnarr and Queen Iduna. She knew that although it was a burden to carry on their legacy, it was also an honor. She had been given the honor to lead her people and had an obligation to her parents and the countless other monarchs before her to do it to the best of her abilities, even if it went sacrificing a little sleep. Elsa huffed and undid her hairpins, releasing her blonde braid and forgetting formality.

It's not like anyone else is up, she thought.

Elsa kept reviewing documents, one of which reminded her of the meeting she had tomorrow morning with many of Arendelle's highest ranking military officers. She wasn't exactly eager. Arendelle was peaceful with almost every nation, but there was still some tension brewing with Weselton. Elsa hoped that the Duke would eventually accept their trade refusal and not escalate things. She was confident the generals would want her opinion on a variety of contingency plans in case relations with Weselton, or lack thereof, dissolved into war. That terrible possibility was never far from Elsa's thoughts. The idea of her people being attacked under her watch bothered her more than any other.


Fredrik woke with a slight headache, a remnant of the previous night's festivities. No sunlight came in through his window, indicating it was still early in the morning. He groaned before stumbling out of his bed and walking over to the mirror that hung on the wall of his private quarters. He never particularly enjoyed looking at himself, but knew he had to get ready.

God, it's a good thing I don't have a roommate, thought Fredrik as he surveyed his appearance.

His brown hair stuck out in various directions. His face was unshaven and the skin beneath his brown eyes was dark, betraying his late-night antics. If he looked bad, Fredrik wondered how Jørgen, who he'd literally had to carry back from the taverns, looked. The thought of his friend coping with the effects of a full-fledged hangover brought a smile to his face as he attempted to organize his appearance into something suitable for a meeting with many of his commanding officers and the queen. He still wasn't sure what to believe concerning his country's monarch. The few people he'd asked last night had confirmed Jørgen's stories, but they were all also tavern patrons and Fredrik knew drunks weren't the most reliable sources of information.

Fredrik combed his hair, shaved and splashed cold water on his face before putting on his ceremonial uniform. It was green, but much more elaborate than the uniform he'd worn during his time in the field. The fine fabric felt alien against his skin. He was an officer, but unaccustomed to the decorative uniforms and luxurious behaviors of the high-command, something he hadn't imagined he'd ever be glimpsing, let alone participating in. Part of him almost didn't want to go, knowing he was of completely different stock than everyone else who'd be at the meeting. He doubted the aristocrats would be happy with the presence of a commoner like himself, but he ultimately pushed his hesitations aside and finished dressing, knowing Broulard expected him to attend. Before leaving to go meet with the General, he checked himself one last time in the mirror.

Well, at least they won't wonder if I'm homeless, he thought as he hurried out the door.


"Your majesty, the generals are waiting for you," announced Kai, the castle's long-serving butler.

"Thank you, Kai. I'll be there in a moment," said Elsa as she organized the rest of her papers.

She hadn't slept much the night before, staying up late to finish her work and rising early to prepare for her morning meeting. She made sure to conceal her fatigue, knowing many of the elder officials were already skeptical of her as a young, inexperienced monarch. The last thing she needed was to project any weakness to them.

Queen Elsa walked into the council room projecting nothing but regality, from her elegant gate to her impassive face to the crown perched on top of her head. Her blue eyes surveyed the council room and the various officers crowded around the council table, all clearly eager to discuss various situations.

"Your majesty, welcome," said General Broulard from across the table, bowing along with his subordinates.

It was then that Elsa noticed a new face among the group. She knew General Broulard, who'd been in service since her father was king, and had at least had a passing familiarity with the other old officers, but not this stranger. He looked significantly younger than the others, around her age actually, and stood tall behind General Broulard, clad in an officer's uniform that signified a lower rank than the other men in the room. His dark brown gaze was impenetrable, yet Elsa somehow detected a little discomfort, almost like he felt out of place.

"Thank you, General," said Elsa, snapping out of her analysis, "Please be seated, gentlemen."

"Your majesty, I'm sure you are aware of our current predicament with Weselton," said General Broulard, taking his seat.

"I am. I understand they've continued sending emissaries despite our trade embargo."

"Yes your majesty, and we've turned every one of them away. However, the most recent ones informed us that the Duke is growing impatient."

"Did they threaten Arendelle directly?" asked Elsa, a bit of anger seeping into her voice and the tiniest bit of frost appearing on her fingers.

"Not directly your majesty, but I believe it was implied. If we continue to spurn them in trade, they may retaliate with military force."

"Could we consider reopening relations with Weselton?" suggested one of the lower generals.

"No. The Duke can't be trusted. He showed as much earlier this summer," said Elsa, leaving no room for argument.

"I agree. I've dealt with the Duke for thirty years and he's always been a conniving shrew. There's no reason to give him opportunity to destroy us from within," concurred General Broulard.

"So what do you propose we do, General?" asked Elsa.

"Not much we can do aside from stay the course, your majesty."

"Actually, there is something else we could do," said a sly voice off to the side.

Elsa looked over to see that it was General Mireau who had spoken. No matter how hard she tried to suppress it, a shiver ran down her spine every time she looked at the man. He wasn't quite as old as General Broulard, but still well into his fifties. His thinning white hair was slicked back from his slightly wrinkled face and his beady eyes scanned the faces around the room. His eyes unsettled Elsa the most. Despite his age, the queen could see that they still burned with dark ambition.

"And what, pray tell, is that, General Mireau?" asked General Broulard.

"We simply attack Weselton before they think to attack us," answered Mireau callously.

"You've got to be joking," said Broulard incredulously.

"Not at all, sir. Weselton isn't one for diplomacy and nothing would take the fight out of them like putting a couple hundred to the sword."

Elsa's eyes widened at Mireau's words. She wasn't sure if she was the coldest person in the room anymore.

"Have you lost your mind, Mireau? Brutality aside, do you know how many men we'd lose just attempting something like that?"

General Mireau scoffed at this.

"I wouldn't weigh that too heavily, sir. They are just peasants after all. Surely her majesty understands that sometimes a little cannon fodder has to be expended," said Mireau confidently, casting his gaze toward Elsa.

Inwardly, Elsa was fuming. Not only was Mireau suggesting they massacre innocent people at Weselton, he was now insinuating that she'd be perfectly content to send hundreds of Arendelle's loyal soldiers to their early deaths to do so. At the words cannon fodder, the tiniest flakes of snow had begun to fall in the room.

"Actually I don't share your point of view, General, and if you have any more opinions about the expendability of Arendelle's soldiers, I suggest you keep them to yourself," Elsa said, her voice projecting her authority throughout the room.

Mireau looked taken back at the rebuke, but Elsa failed to notice the smile on the face of the young officer behind Broulard.

"I apologize, your majesty. It was only a suggestion," said Mireau, his voice betraying a hint of frustration.

"General Broulard, I don't want Arendelle being the aggressor, but we need to prepare in case Weselton does attack. I am going order a draft of able-bodied men between eighteen and thirty and would like you to begin their training immediately," said Elsa.

"Of course, your majesty. Hopefully a strengthened army will be enough to keep Weselton at bay," answered Broulard.

The meeting dragged on after that, with endless discussions about possible alliances with the other nations near Arendelle, all of which amounted to nothing. Elsa focused on retaining her composure throughout, knowing her country depended on her rational judgment, especially on matters like these. By the time the meeting concluded, Elsa was exhausted and ready to return to her office, only to be stopped by General Broulard

"Your majesty, do you have a moment?" he asked.

"Of course, General. Is this about the draft?"

"Oh, nothing so serious, your majesty. There's just somebody I think you'd be quite interested to meet," answered Broulard, motioning towards the young officer who stood off to the side observing one of the large paintings in the council room.

"Excuse me, Colonel," said Broulard as he approached the officer, who turned only to be stunned by the sight of his nation's monarch accompanying his commanding officer.

"Your majesty, may I present to you, Colonel Fredrik Amundsen, better known as The Lion among us military men," announced Broulard.

"Your majesty," said Fredrik as he bowed with perfect form.

Now up close, Elsa could get a better look at the young officer. She confirmed she was right about his age. He really didn't look much older than her. Although she was hesitant to admit it, even to herself, she couldn't deny he was ruggedly handsome with his dark brown hair, strong jawline and faint scars. He was tall, yet his body looked like it possessed a large amount of strength beneath his uniform, something uncommon with higher-ranking officers.

"It's a pleasure, Colonel," Elsa returned with a polite smile.

"Fredrik here is the youngest man to ever be promoted to colonel. He's already got himself quite the service record from his time in Africa," said Broulard proudly, slapping Fredrik on the back in an almost fatherly way.

Elsa noticed him smile at the General, but she knew that smile well. It was the smile that attempted to mask discomfort and unease with pleasantry. To the untrained eye, it sufficed, but not to her. It was the smile she'd been forced to wear for most of her life and she could spot it easily on others.

"You served in Africa?" asked Elsa.

"Yes, your majesty. I was appointed to lead several expeditions into western Africa. I returned home yesterday," answered Fredrik with the rigid discipline befitting a soldier.

"Only after defeating every adversary in his path," commented Broulard with a wry smile.

Then Elsa saw it. The young officer winced at Broulard's words. It was almost imperceptible, but it was definitely there, hidden behind a mask of composure. She had a sudden urge to ask this man, Fredrik, more, knowing the difficulties of concealing emotions herself and curious about what it was that bothered him. However, she knew it wasn't an appropriate time for something so personal, especially with somebody she'd just met.

"What do you command now, Colonel?" asked Elsa.

"Nothing at the moment, your majesty. I'm currently awaiting my next assignment," answered Fredrik.

"Well, I'm sure we'll think of something suitable for a man of your qualifications. Perhaps something with all those new recruits we'll be bringing in," suggested Broulard.

"That would be fine, sir," responded Fredrik.

"Well," said Broulard, turning to address Queen Elsa, "Forgive me your majesty, but I'm afraid we have to return to command. It has been a pleasure, but we've got to start organizing that draft of yours."

"Thank you, General. It's been a pleasure talking to both of you," said Elsa, politely smiling at Broulard and Fredrik.

Fredrik smiled back and the Queen noticed something. This time it looked genuine.


Author's Note: Had a first meeting. I'd love to know what you guys think so far. Remember to review. See you in Chapter 3