The Guardian
by Concolor44
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DISCLAIMER:
I didn't say so in the Prologue, but in case anyone wonders (and, really, no one should, because DUH) I have no financial, contractual, or officially creative connection with "Frozen" or Disney/Pixar. At all. In any respect. Period.
This story, while a flight of fancy entirely my own, is fully based on movie canon, so if you have seen "Frozen" you have all the background you need in order to follow what's going on here. And if you haven't seen "Frozen" ... geez, what rock have YOU been living under? Go immediately to Amazon Prime or Netflix or Hulu or Redbox (or pretty much anywhere) and WATCH IT!
Enjoy!
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Chapter 1: Crystals
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There wasn't really a time of year that Anna didn't like.
Each season had its own charm, though as far north as Arendelle lay, Summer was usually mild and short. For all that, it gave her a chance to splash barefoot in the fjord. The crisp days of Autumn brought a riot of color to the forests, and wreathes of red and yellow leaves might be found throughout the castle. Winter, of course, meant sledding and snowball fights, snowmen and ice skating, icicles to crunch and mulled cider later by the fire. Considering her older sister's rather unique abilities, she could hardly help but love the cold months. It just seemed right.
But Spring had always been, and probably always would be her favorite. The promise of new life; the budding fruit trees; the fresh, cool breezes; the carpets of wildflowers in every meadow and high valley – it fair made her soul sing.
Nor was that the only reason her soul had for casting a paean to the skies.
Anna flicked her eyes to the left, over the top of the large picnic basket, to the rugged profile of the tall blond man who shared her side of the carriage. The roads had recently been cleared of winter's debris, and their conveyance was cunningly sprung, so the trip thus far had been smooth and pleasant, the light rattle of the wheels marking counterpoint to the jingling of the harnesses on the trotting horses the Guard rode before and behind. It hadn't even interfered at all with the near-constant chatter she kept up with her handmaid, Lydia.
Realizing that their conversation had stopped, and feeling her eyes on him, Kristoff turned his head and grinned. "What?"
"Oh, nothing." Her own smile got wider as her eyes sparkled.
Thor's Beard, but she's beautiful! This thought skittered across his mind as he drank in those fjord-blue eyes, that flame of hair, the light dusting of freckles on smooth cheeks, her completely adorable little nose. Shaking himself back to the conversation, he retorted, "I don't think I believe you."
"Are you doubting the word of your Princess? How could you? I am entirely trustworthy."
"I trust you to have some sort of mischief hidden around."
"Well, there you go. Trustworthy!"
"So you're saying you are planning something devious?"
"I never said that. Don't put words in my mouth." She pointed past him. "Oh, look! Bunnies!"
He tried following her finger, but nothing came to light. "Where?"
"Over there at the base of that big rock."
What rock? All I can see is forest. What is she pointing – "AAAIIGHHH! Coldcoldcold!" He brushed frantically at his neck. "What the hell, Anna?"
It took her half a minute to calm her laughter down to the point that she could speak intelligibly. "You … you … oh, Lord, your face!" She held up a cylindrical container that was about a handspan across and maybe half again that tall. "I had to beg Elsa for weeks to make this for me! SO worth it!"
He shot the dark-haired handmaid a wounded glance. "I guess you were in on this, too."
Holding up both hands, she said, "I can neither confirm nor deny your assertion, Sir Bjorgman." Then she made a lock-the-lip motion.
After getting the rest of the un-melted snow off the back of his head, he gave Anna a steady look and stated, "If we're gonna start a prank war, I'll have to warn you that I learned from the best. They aren't just love experts. So think long and carefully about the consequences before you start something you have no chance at all of winning."
"Ooooo, a challenge!"
"No, it's not a challenge; just a plain fact. I have years of experience with pranks, and even with a magic bucket on your side …"
"Okay, okay, geez, so serious. It was just a little snow."
"It's May, Anna. We're done with snow for a few months. Even if ice is my life, I like a little break now and then, and what I don't need is a soaked collar."
She gave a heartfelt sigh. "All right. I get it. Here."
Focusing on the object in her hand, he suspiciously asked, "What is it?"
"A snow drier."
"… A what, now?"
"Elsa made me promise to give it to you after the dump."
Taking the small, rectangular case in one hand, he looked it over and shrugged. "What's it do?"
"It's doing it now."
Kristoff felt a sudden warmth at his neck. A slight puff of vapor cleared his collar. With an incredulous smile, he felt the now-dry material of his shirt. "Well I'll be damned."
"More than likely, given the way you treat your girlfriend."
"Anna! This thing is … does this … was that magical snow? No, wait, of course it was. But does this work on natural snow?"
"Beats me. But Elsa wouldn't give me the bucket until she finished making that. Said something about a summer cold being a real misery, and she wouldn't wish it on an enemy, much less a good friend."
"I appreciate that attitude. You should take notes."
"Hey, I gave you the snow-drier, didn't I? Didn't I?"
"It wouldn't have been necessary if you hadn't dumped snow on me in the first place."
"And where's the fun in that?"
He pursed his lips, fighting off a grin. "You're incorrigible, you are."
The carriage slowed to a halt. "Your Highness?" came a voice from the driver's seat. "The Long Meadow is just ahead."
"… Okay?" Anna blinked at the information. "That's sorta the idea, isn't it? A picnic by the oxbow?"
"I'm sending two of the Guard ahead to secure the area."
"Oh, please! We aren't barely an hour from the castle! Who'd be here, anyway?"
"Brigands. Kidnappers. Assassins. Bandits. Thieves. Rogues. Disgruntled–"
"Fine, fine! Holy cats, but you guys are paranoid."
"Queen's orders, Your Highness."
"Great. Now Elsa's paranoid, too."
He muttered to himself, "I don't think I'd couch it in those terms." Louder, so she could hear, he added, "You know the trouble Weselton has been trying to make for us. That Duke is without a shred of honor, and lying about Arendelle and the good Queen is his new hobby. Your sister is merely taking reasonable precautions."
Anna grumbled, more or less quietly, until one of the Guard returned and gave the all-clear. Ten minutes later, she and Kristoff were seated on a large ground-cloth while Lydia fussed about, getting their lunch arranged.
Lydia, the daughter of a local shipwright and a year Anna's senior, had become a fixture in the Princess's life shortly after Elsa learned of her sister's interest in Kristoff. At first, rebelliously, Anna had insisted that she didn't need a maid, much less a chaperon, and had given the girl the slip on several occasions so she could spend time with her boyfriend alone. But one diplomatic near-disaster involving a linen closet, a prissy Austrian Count, a torn bodice, an angry cat and a bucket of dirty mop-water had led Elsa to have a long, long, long, loooooooong talk with her about propriety, scandal, and the duties of a Queen and a Princess to their kingdom.
Thoroughly chastised, Anna had accepted Lydia after that. Soon enough, they were friends. Within a month, they were inseparable.
Not long afterward, Anna came to appreciate her sister's wisdom in making the change. She and Kristoff were soul-mates who truly loved each other to distraction, and on more than one occasion, had Lydia not been present, things might have gotten heated enough to breach barriers of intimacy that simply couldn't afford to be breached. (Yet.) Sure, Arendelle had (mostly) accepted a Snow Queen as their monarch, but her position was hardly one hundred percent secure. The last thing she needed now was a moral scandal.
Lunch was most pleasant. The Guard stationed themselves in pairs at four points around the meadow while the couple-with-an-understanding-plus-friend-doubling-as-chaperon enjoyed the clear sky, mild sun, and fresh breeze.
One of the many things that Anna and Kristoff had learned about each other was their marked differences in food preferences. She loved sweets and craved cocoa above all things. He appreciated the savory, and the stronger the better (extremely sharp cheese with sour pickled onions was a particular delicacy). That led to each of them trying some interesting combinations. Elsa had once walked into the kitchen to find them sampling various types of chocolate-dipped fish while Lydia cowered in a corner with a towel across her mouth and nose. The Queen immediately had a brace of banners drawn up: "WARNING: ROYAL FOOD EXPERIMENT IN PROGRESS. ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK." These, she insisted they post whenever they got the urge for gustatory wanderings.
This by way of explaining that the array of condiments present at the picnic would have flummoxed most experienced chefs. No fewer than fourteen small bottles and jars occupied a tray in the cloth's center.
Anna had introduced Kristoff recently to the charms of Turkish Delight. He, in turn had managed to acquire a jar of peri-peri, a spicy sauce from Portugal made of some rather hot chili peppers. They each agreed that the combination was uniquely delicious (although their preference for proportions differed widely). Both items were represented. They also had a fennel paste, three kinds of mustard, basil pesto, rosemary-infused butter, thin eel sauce, ground cinnamon, pickled ginger, a gray sauce made from fermented shark, black pepper, and salt mixed with turmeric. In addition, they'd brought a selection of smelly cheeses, strips of dried goat and herring, a few loaves of crusty bread, a small keg of ale, a bottle of white wine, and small flask of fresh reindeer blood. (Now don't be like that. In the first place, it was a staple of the Sami diet; in the second, it was no one Sven knew.)
Lydia sat at the far corner of the cloth. Upwind.
The first quarter hour passed in uneventful, light conversation, punctuated by the occasional 'Oh, that's a good combo!' or 'Bleah. Why would anyone eat that together?' or 'Hey, you've gotta try this!' However, at one point Kristoff was pouring the shark sauce onto a piece of mutton when a bee flew into his face. That would startle anyone … and the ice harvester was no fan of bees. He jerked hard, and about half the bottle of sauce spilled down the front of his shirt.
That sauce had been on Anna's 'Yuck List', and now her boyfriend was covered with it. She held her nose and complained, "Kristoff! Now we get to smell that stuff the whole way back to the castle!"
"Hey, no problem! There's a stream right over there. I'll have this washed out in a minute." So saying, he stood and whipped off his shirt and …
This would probably be a good time to share a few pertinent points of information.
One is that Kristoff, having been raised by trolls who generally didn't wear much, had no body-shame issues at all. He wore the clothes he did mainly because of his profession since he'd rather not freeze to death, and because it had been explained to him (rather casually, truth be told) that human societies expected it. Under most circumstances his shirts and pants tended toward the loose and comfortable. When by himself in nice weather, he'd walk around in a loin cloth, if that.
Another is that Anna had never seen him without a shirt on before. The occasion had never come up. Oh, it wasn't that she hadn't wanted to. After a few of their stolen kisses, such things tended to occupy her dreams more-or-less regularly. But the concept was always sort of … abstract. There were reproductions of certain classical paintings (and one statue in the gardens) that gave her a notion of how he might look naked. But various artists had different ideas of what made a man a man, so her concept remained hazy.
Lastly – and this is probably the most important to the situation at hand – Kristoff was a tall, sturdy fellow of almost twenty-four who had worked practically all his life as an ice harvester. This is hard, physically demanding work that requires great strength, and a level of stamina to match. And it showed. It showed in the lean planes of abdominal muscle, the thick bunching of the thews of his shoulders, the cords of meaty sinew in his forearms, the hard slopes around his neck and chest, most of which boasted a sprinkling of dark blond hair.
Anna took in a sharp gasp. Lydia's mouth dropped open. Both of them stared.
"Yeah, this'll be no problem," he continued as he turned and walked away to the stream.
The girls followed his progress intently. His back muscles were at least as finely-sculpted as those in front. Anna found that she had fisted the top of her bodice in one hand, and could feel the color rising in her cheeks. She and Lydia exchanged a look. The handmaid mouthed, "You lucky thing!"
Anna turned back to watch as Kristoff knelt and washed out the shirt. She hardly even blinked.
He walked back a few minutes later, wringing out the stream-water from the shirt. Avidly did Anna follow the play of muscles in his arms through this action, their subtle (and not so subtle) rise and fall as he twisted the shirt.
He laid it out on the grass beside them, then plopped back down in his spot. "There! I think I got all the smell out. And in the nice, warm sun like that, it'll be dry in no time." He reached for another chunk of mutton.
There was no answer from either girl.
While chewing his first bite, he noticed the stares. Flicking his eyes back and forth between them, he swallowed and asked, "Are you okay?"
Anna, her breath shallow, had her gaze glued to his chest. She tried to tear her eyes away, honestly she did. But that much will-power simply wasn't available at the moment. The fact that he wore a clutch of fire crystals on a thin leather braid around his neck didn't even register.
Lydia finally squeaked out, "D-do you have … another shirt?"
Her question seemed to puzzle him deeply. "Well, no. Why would I?"
"A, um, a …" She coughed. Gulped a breath. "How about a jacket?"
"In this nice weather? Don't be silly." Turning to Anna, he reached over and touched her hand. "Anna, seriously, are you all right? You're … sort of pink. But we haven't been here long enough to get a sunburn, so I … I … Wait a minute." He grinned and sat back. "You're embarrassed!"
"Eep!"
"That's so funny!"
"Urk!"
"I don't think I've ever seen you embarrassed before. Well, not like this … of course there was that one time with that Count who …"
"We agreed not to ever mention that again!" she hissed, suddenly in better control of her reactions (and finally looking him in the eyes).
"Okay, okay! Don't get your back up." He looked down at himself, then stood, arms akimbo. "Seriously, though? You're embarrassed because I'm not wearing a shirt? How weird is that?"
Lydia mumbled, "Not weird at all."
"But the Guard half the time practice their unarmed combat lessons shirtless. What's the big deal?"
"For one, I was never allowed to watch the Guard grapple each other half-naked. For two … well, how would you feel if the situation was reversed?" She clapped a hand over her mouth, astonished at her own brazen words.
"Ha! We nearly did when you tripped over that bucket of …"
"We said we were not going to speak of it!"
"Sorry, sorry! I just think it's funny, that's all. I mean … haven't you ever been in a sauna?"
"Of course. By myself!"
"Well, then, I guess you're in for an uncomfortable hour or so while my shirt dries." He stood again, slooooooowly stretched while giving her an amused smirk, and checked the level of dampness in that article of clothing. "Huh. Maybe not even an hour. I wrung it out pretty good."
"Thank God."
He sobered up a bit and regarded her curiously. "It really is bothering you, isn't it?"
"Not just her," admitted Lydia.
"I … suppose I could go take a walk in the woods for a while, give it time to dry."
Lydia sat up straight and said, "Hang on just a tick." Then she rose and went to their carriage, returning immediately with something draped over her arm. "Here," she said, holding it out to Kristoff, high color in her cheeks.
He took it and unfolded it, then quirked an eyebrow at her. "You brought two ground-cloths?"
"In case one got, you know, wet. From dew. Or something." She was looking anywhere but at him. (Anna, on the other hand, wasn't even pretending not to stare.)
He shrugged and flung it about his shoulders. "Desperate times, isn't that what they say?" He folded it across his front like a cloak. "There. Better?"
Anna let out a long breath. "In a … manner of speaking. At least now you can sit here without us hyperventilating."
"And who wouldn't want to do that, eh?" He folded his legs, arranged the makeshift cloak so that it wouldn't fall open, and reached for a piece of the Turkish Delight, swabbing it liberally with hot sauce.
"What's that around your neck?"
"Hmm?"
"Those gems or whatever they are. I've seen them before somewhere … somewhere …" Her brow furrowed in thought.
"You mean my fire crystals?"
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End Note: Fire Crystals? What the heck is KRISTOFF doing with Fire Crystals? Aren't those a strictly troll thing? I guess we'll find out in the next chapter.
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