Lars warmed himself by the fire. He was the only son of a tavern keeper in Arendelle. The Antlers Tavern was the most popular in the whole city, and his father Jens was respected by many, but Lars hated his father. He got up from his chair beside the hearth and put on his fur coat. His house, though small, was well furnished. It was not his family's only property, and his uncle owned both of the houses on either side of his humble dwelling.

Lars stepped outside into the bristling cold, his heavy oak door swinging shut behind him. He sighed. Though he had written a speech for the occasion, he was still uncertain of what he was going to say. He crossed the cobblestone street where he greeted his uncle Karl waiting beneath a streetlamp.

"Are you ready boy?" his Karl asked.

"Ready for what, uncle?" Lars was annoyed. He loved his uncle, but he hated how he always cleaned up after his father. "It's not as though I've never addressed a crowd before."

"I don't mean the eulogy boy. Are you ready to take on your father's legacy?"

"Oh." Lars had almost forgotten. After today, the tavern, the lands and various lodges, as well as a hefty sum at the bank, would become his. He didn't care. The business his father built practically ran itself, and Lars was never very ambitious. He was, however, looking forward to throwing that whore out of his father's house. "I have some ideas. Let's talk later. Did you talk to the bishop?"

Karl's eyes widened. "No I didn't talk to that thing" he hissed. His eyes darted left and right. "I'm not comfortable discussing this," he whispered, "She has eyes and ears everywhere." Lars rolled his eyes. His uncle was always so paranoid.

"Uncle, the funeral is today, and you know we need dispensation from the Bishop to honor father's wishes." Lars' father wasn't a Christian unlike most of Arendelle. He still clung to the old ways, and so he always claimed he would have a pagan funeral. Just months ago, such an idea would have seemed mad, but with the ascension of Queen Elsa, these things became possible. She was very accepting of the old ways, and therefore, so was the new Bishop of Arendelle.

Ordinarily Lars would have never gone out of his way to do something to please his father, but he shared his father's faith. Performing the pagan rituals was just as important to him as it was for his father. Lars was incredibly annoyed. "Have you at least had the men start breaking up the ice for the boat?"

Karl pulled his nephew in close. "Yes, yes, but I will not be speaking to that monster. It isn't right." He paused, looking up. Lars glanced upwards at one of the Queen's frost butterflies. How powerful she must be to breath life into the world. Perhaps soon even men like my uncle will return to the old ways.

"Uncle, I will take care of it. But I want you to do something for me." Karl nodded as they began walking down the deserted street together. It was very early, but in truth few spent time on the streets of the outskirts anymore. It was cold, and the Queen had in one day constructed a massive trading center in place of the town square. She called it the Commercial Center, but the people called it the Queen's hall. That's where Lars and his uncle were going.

The whole city was transforming, and with it their customs. Gone were the street peddlers and beggars. Now, in order to trade, citizens had to apply for a permit in the Queen's hall. In the city center, all of the cobblestone was frozen over in solid sheets. As Lars and Karl approached the city center they embraced. Karl promised Lars he would have his father's house vacated by sundown.

Lars approached one of the cabs on the outside of the city center. In just two days after her reign had begun, the Queen had all of the transportation in the city retrofitted with blades instead of wheels to glide along the ice. Under the direction of her appointed Mayor, Olaf, all of the horses were outfitted with special horseshoes for greater traction on the ice. Their hooves, of course, damaged the pristine ice, along with the blades on the cabs. This would have been most problematic, only the Queen, along with granting a medallion to cab operators in the city, also granted each cab a personal thundercloud that replaced the tattered ice behind them with fresh snowfall and ice.

"To the cathedral please," Lars spoke to the cabbie and paid his fair. He marvelled at the cloud behind him. She is truly a goddess. Thank the gods she is with us and not of another country. Midway between the Queen's hall and the cathedral stood the monument the Queen had made for her sister. Elevated above everything on a massive ice pillar, Princess Anna stood at eye level with Queen Elsa's room in the palace. Every day, the Queen would walk, as though on air, from her balcony to her sister and fall to her feet, weeping.

Many people used to mock and deride her privately for weeping in the early days of her reign. After all, they would say, the Queen murdered the princess. Within the first two months of her ascension, most of those people had disappeared. The one's who didn't, had nothing but kind things to say of the Queen.

When Lars arrived at the cathedral, the Bishop was already waiting outside. His crystalline skin reflected the early morning rays brilliantly. Gone was his previously chilling mechanical voice that Lars had heard when the Queen first ascended. He now sounded, well, like the Bishop always sounded.

"I've been expecting you Lars Jensson."

Lars stumbled, confused, out of the cab. "You have?"

"Oh but of course, it's your father's funeral today, and I have already granted written dispensation for your funeral to be held in accordance with the old ways."

"I-Thank you, your Eminence." Lars stood, stunned.

"Come in. Come into the church my good man. We have much to discuss."

Lars stood blankly, before following the Bishop inside.

….

Lars stood in his father's empty house. The funeral had been cathartic for him. Something about firing a flaming arrow into his father's heart put him at peace. His uncle had removed every vestige of that vile woman who tormented him so from the house. Lars felt, simply put, good.

Still, he couldn't help but dwell on his conversation with the Bishop. Why does the Queen want to see me? How does she know so much about me? He was nervous, too. Tomorrow, before he met with the Queen, he was apparently meant to meet with her spymaster, Kristoff. What do I have to offer these people? What do they want from me? Lars had been eager to live a quiet life enjoying the profits of his father's labor. Now, he was excited for something else.

He wanted to serve his Queen. He didn't care what his Uncle said. Sure the Queen's ascension had been brutal, but those people killed the Princess. The Queen was doing right by avenging her. And she was the rightful Queen. He didn't care what the Christian Pope had to say. She was the only one with a rightful claim to the throne, and she was the only one who could stand up to the Southern Isles, or the trading power of Weselton.

He stomped around on the wooden floors of his father's abode. I need new furniture, he thought.

….

Lars awoke to a start. There was a reindeer staring him in his face. I must be dreaming. The reindeer licked him in his face. It's breath was, without a doubt, the most disgusting thing Lars had ever smelled. "What the fuck!" Lars screamed as he jumped out of bed, his face soaking wet with the putrid saliva.

"I see you've met Sven." A man said from his doorway. It was Kristoff. Why is the spymaster in my house? I'm not supposed to meet him until tonight!

"I hope you don't mind," Kristoff said, "I let myself in."

"Sure I-of course you can-"

"I'm here because the Queen can't see you today."

Lars stared dumbly. Kristoff was a broad man with piercing eyes. Around his neck he wore an amulet of the Princess in the exact likeness of the monument in the city center, a gift from the Queen.

"She can't see you, but she has a job for you."

Lars pulled a cloak over his body to cover himself.

"What does my Queen need of me?" He tried to sound as dignified as possible despite the intrusion.

"She needs you to go accompany the Duke of Weaseltown back home."

The Duke is alive? Why does she need me? Lars started to speak but he was interrupted.

"She needs you to go to Weaseltown with him, and start a new tavern there."

"W-why does the Queen want a tavern in Weselton?"

"Lars," Kristoff smiled, "first of all, the Queen calls it Weaseltown, so that's how it's pronounced." Kristoff stepped forward toward him. "Second of all, the Queen gave you an order." He dropped a hefty bag of gold at his feet. "Take this. It should cover your operating expenses for a month or two." Sven, who had been silent up until now, made a grunt.

"Oh, that's right Sven, I almost forgot."

Can the spymaster talk to his fucking reindeer? Is this the Queen's magic?

Kristoff reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a locked box, about the size of his head. "When you lease your tavern, unlock this box, and put it in your basement."

Kristoff then reached into his pocket. "This is the key." Lars went to take it but Kristoff pulled away.

"Do not under any circumstances open this box. Understand?"

"Y-yeah I got it."
"Great, come to the palace at dinnertime for a warm meal and to pick up the Duke."
Before Lars could even reply Kristoff and Sven were bounding down his stairs together. What is the deal with that reindeer? He looked at the key and then at the box. He lifted the box up onto his bed. It was surprisingly light. He would need to see his uncle before he left. Lars had never been to Weselton. He was nervous, but more than anything, he felt excitement. When he was a boy, magic was just a plot point in the stories his mother told him. Now, it was everywhere.