Notes:
The constellations mentioned in this chapter are Old Norse constellations - I figured rock trolls probably wouldn't go in for the conventional ones we're familiar with today, soI thought I'd have some fun with it. I've tried to be reasonably true to the stars visible in the northern hemisphere in July/August - but astronomy is by no means my forte!
'Vinterbrauta' is, apparently, one of the Norwegian name for the Milky Way. It means 'The Winter Way', which I rather liked.
Bonus point if you can see the (glaringly obvious) borrowing from some of Frozen's deleted scenes in this chapter.
As ever - thank you for your favs, follows and reviews. Hope you enjoy the chapter! :) x
The encampment by the ice fields was, as expected, populated by a fair few ice harvesters. They cheered as they saw Kristoff pull up.
"Bjorgman!"
He raised a hand in greeting, and, after finding Sven a pail of ice water and a carrot dinner, joined the group of men.
They were huddled by a small fire, mead and hands of cards clutched close. As Kristoff thumped down beside then, he was greeted by a few slaps on the back and a bottle of mead.
"A'right, Bjorgman?"
"A'right, Ralph?"
The man named Ralph nodded and reordered his hand. "Bastard weather, in't?"
Another man, who had just played a nine-high straight, chipped in. "Nightmare."
"Stranded, Gus?"
"Yeah. Nightmare."
"Dug-out?"
"Yeah."
The harvesters spoke with as much effort as was needed for meaning: no more, no less. Though masculinity seemed to hang upon the area, there was something oddly soothing about the strange, inference heavy dialect of the men. It was familiar and relaxed and Kristoff felt the calm confidence the journey up had given him settle in for the night. He took a swig of mead.
Each man considered their hand.
Finally, the last card was turned and a man Kristoff knew as Raske played a full house. Breath was sucked through teeth and Raske grinned, sweeping his winnings towards himself.
"Cleaned out. Next round, Bjorgman?"
Soon the only light was that of the fire, and the sporadic yet fiercely jovial conversation of the ice harvesters swelled and ebbed with the night. Mead flowed and they occasionally paused at cards to warm their hands in the fire's generous heat. The snow around them had melted to reveal stone and earth and a few brave blades of grass – but Kristoff knew that the ice plains now swallowed by the darknness remained solid, gleaming and impassive.
Finally, the conversation turned to Kristoff.
"Sell that ice, Bjorgman?"
"Nah. Blizzard hit as I was heading back. Lost the whole lot."
"Lost?"
"Long story." Kristoff casually waved a hand toward his new sled, which was still just visible in the fire's glow. "New sled."
As the ice harvesters squinted over, there were some murmurs of appreciation.
"Business must be good."
Kristoff tried not to be too smug.
"Must corner like it's on rails."
This Kristoff could confirm.
"Turning heads?"
Kristoff smiled. "Maybe a few,"
"Oh?"
"So lost ice – where you been? Not harvesting. 'Less you got some new spot?"
Kristoff laughed and shook his head, but did not elaborate. The man named Ralph nudged him.
"So?"
Kristoff shrugged in a kind of non-committal way.
The man named Gus slapped his knee. "'Sgot a girl."
There was more laughter at this, and Kristoff couldn't help but grin a little.
"He does! Good work, Bjorgman."
"Poor love. Ten says she's no looker."
Kristoff aimed a shove at Raske for that, but the man dodged and grinned. The conversation ebbed on once more.
After they'd finally retired from cards for the night, Kristoff lay by the fire, looking at the stars.
It was a clear night; a beautiful night. He had one arm tucked behind his head and the other resting against Sven's side, who was huddled beside him, snoring.
The new sleeping roll had yet to acquire the pungent mountain odour of his old one, but it was definitely warmer.
Kristoff shifted. It was no feather bed, but he had missed sleeping under this canopy of stars. They twinkled so constantly and had always been there for him, whether he was staying with his family or camping out by the ice plains. He knew all the constellations, and traced a few with his eyes.
Directly above there was Dain, and the Duneyr; to the south hung Hellewagon and to the west, Friggerock and Thiassi's Eyes; to the east, Eagle and Vedrfolnir played amongst that strange, silvery shadow that scored the night sky like a mountain pass, which Kristoff knew only as Vinterbrauta, but Grandpabbie always muttered sage, mystical words at.
Tonight, it was only the stars, but sometimes, in the colder months – and bizarrely enough, even during Elsa's impromptu winter – the heavens would put on a light show that Kristoff could never sleep through. Since he was a boy, he would lie, head back, watching these celestial performances.
He briefly wondered if Anna had ever done that. It would be hard, living in a castle, but it seemed like the kind of thing that would ignite that spark in her that was passionate about the smallest of beauties.
Kristoff smiled thinking on that.
He had no idea when he'd dropped off – the sight of the stars and thoughts of Anna seemed to have entwined in his dreams and they'd been sitting here together, watching them – but suddenly, the sun had crested over the horizon and Sven's hot muzzle was nudging him awake.
"Ok, ok, I'm up."
With a groan and a stretch Kristoff wriggled out of his sleeping roll and groped about in his pack and the bundle of food Anna had given him. Taking a generous bite out of a loaf of bread – pumpkin, it tasted like – and God, delicious – Kristoff passed a carrot to Sven and removed various tools from the back of his sled before following the steady trudge of harvesters across the plains. The hum of their working songs rumbled through his chest.
Anna was driving everyone insane.
She'd always been extroverted, full of energy, prone to poor judgement and sometimes it was impossible to talk sense into her – but this week she was on complete bender. She hadn't caused this much chaos, Gerda confided in Elsa one afternoon, since she was eight and had discovered the kitchen's carefully hidden chocolate supply. The servants still shuddered at the mention of that particular incident.
One minute she'd be painting – the next baking, or horse-riding, then cycling, or dancing, or making a very misguided foray into archery – but inevitably, she would be distracted by scanning the horizon before hurtling off in search of something new.
"Anna," Elsa said on the fourth day of Kristoff's absence, as her sister was delivered in disgrace to her office for destroying an entire market stall of pies, "What is wrong with you this week?"
Anna hung her head in shame. "I'm sorry, Elsa. It was an accident, with the pies – and the stilt walker – "
"What stilt walker? Actually, I don't want to know," Elsa shook her head. "Anna, this is ridiculous. Pick one thing and stick with it. I know you miss Kristoff, but you're almost nineteen years old, and you're acting like – "
At this, Anna flared up. "Maybe, Elsa, if you treated me like I was almost nineteen years old, then I'd be more inclined to act like it!"
Elsa blinked, stung. "What?"
"Every time I ask if I can help, you send me away with Olaf!" Anna raged, resisting the overwhelming urge to stamp her foot. It would not help her cause. "I am not a child Elsa, but you're giving me nothing to do! I want to help!"
Elsa was speechless for a moment, exasperation ebbing. "Anna, you cannot blame your childish behaviour on me."
"Just watch me!" Anna flumped down into the chair opposite Elsa's desk, arms tightly crossed. "I am going crazy here."
"You're not the only one," Elsa muttered. Mercifully, Anna did not hear. "You really want something to do?"
"I really do. Please, Elsa," she unfolded her arms. "Just give me a chance."
Elsa bit her lip. She really did have enough on her plate without complaints that her over-enthusiastic sister had – burnt a house down or something – but maybe Anna was right. She deserved some responsibility. And honestly, Elsa felt it was only a matter of time before one of the servants (or, more likely, the visiting architect, whom Anna had followed round for hours the previous day, chattering inanely and bombarding with a million and one questions as he tried to take measurements) throttled her sister.
Elsa sifted through some papers.
"Here," she finally found what she was looking for and slid it across the desk. "These are notes on the damages to the town – property destruction from the storm. I need someone to go around and confirm they are true, and add details about what needs to be done in terms of repairs. I was going to send one of the new members of staff to do it, but – if you really want to help, this would be really useful."
Anna scanned the page with great excitement. "Oh Elsa, thank you! I won't let you down, I promise."
"You'll need a map." Elsa rummaged around in some drawers for a moment before extracting and passing Anna a large folded piece of paper. "Gerda told me one of your escapades this week had been trying to learn the town's layout, but I don't know how far you got – and let's maybe not put it to the test right away."
Anna stood, clutching the documents to her chest and beaming. She mock-saluted her sister. "Thank you, your majesty."
And she skittered out the door at a hundred miles an hour.
Elsa wearily sighed and called for some strong coffee.
