Author's Note: Hey all! First, I'd like to apologize for being late. I'm doing my best, but 21 credit hours and a job are no joke. e_e The good news is that you can expect another update this weekend, since I have a guard shift where I sit at a desk with nothing but a computer for 12 hours. A round of thanks goes out to: Alysia Of The Pen, Fehize, cheesyteal'c, Kittycatfight, JustOneMorePerson, ThatFrozenObbssedGal, Saving-Arendelle, Guest, and lola for reviewing chapter 2! Your comments really do mean a lot to me, and they're great sources of inspiration for me, thank you so much!
I seem to recall having promised Hans-Elsa interaction in here. I may have exaggerated… a lot. Anyway, I have an additional 8 chapters thoroughly planned out. Depending on how many words it will take me to illustrate each one (this chapter is actually half of what it was supposed to be, but I was already pushing my word limit) we may be looking at 20 chapters total, and I just cannot quite express to you how excited I am for the rest of this story. It kind of kicks ass. ;) Anyway, enjoy!
Warnings: Description of very beat-up man. I mean, this guy is having tea with Death right now. Sweet tea, because even Death feels bad for him.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything associated with Frozen, although I wish I could sing Let It Go without cracking my voice.
He had only a vague sense that what was happening was not real. He moved through the dusky landscape with slow, exaggerated movements. His loping gait slowly morphed in to a gentle rocking motion accompanied by a pleasant staccato, and he found himself upon his favorite horse, Sitron. The steed carried him out of a dense conifer forest and in to blinding whiteness. He felt despair and anxiety crash over him, and reflexively began reciting SURVIVAL.
Situation: I'm having one of the dreams again. I don't know which one this is, yet. Sitron's stride became rough and jarring. He became aware that he was running on his own two legs. He goaded his mind into remembering the next step.
Urgency: ... hurry? I'm trying. He felt as though his legs were struggling through a thick muck. His thighs were beginning to burn. He was rushing in slow-motion to… where? Where was he? He couldn't get rid of the fear that constricted his chest with clawed hands. He could feel his cognition sputtering like a candle at the end of its wick.
Remember: who was his enemy? The whiteness swirled around him angrily, biting at his clothes and scratching at his face. Everything was trying to kill him. Anxiety and fear laughed from the edge of his vision, and he fled forwards. Suddenly- or maybe eventually, time was conspicuously absent- a dark shape appeared in the middle of the all-encompassing white. It was as if an artist had brought his brush to a blank canvas, making a single stroke before deciding that no further perfection could be attained.
He stopped suddenly, staring at the beautifully simple thing, captivated. The brushstroke began bending and stretching and dancing when he grasped the idea that the brushstroke was in fact a distant person. He felt his features stretch into a soft smile, and he could hear anxiety chittering at his heels in confusion. Fear watched him unhappily before snarling and tearing apart his surroundings. The whiteness that had been so terrifying was torn away, revealing a picturesque fjord. But this vision, too, was quickly altered- a fire engulfed everything around him, its intensity focused on the figure in the distance. The figure screamed in agony.
An unfamiliar sensation seized him. His heart twisted in place, bending in on itself. The air rushed out of his lungs and his gut was sent into spasms. Fear beside him grew into a definite shape and growled hungrily, but not at him- its eyes were fixed on the dying figure in the distance. Fear howled, and he howled with it.
-~**frozen**~-
After a short deliberation, Elsa decided to face her new prisoner before proceeding with the evening's celebrations. She knew that her mind would be preoccupied otherwise: constantly wandering to a drafty cell, newly inhabited by one she could not pretend to like. She didn't want to be seen going to the dungeons by palace workers, though. For one, they were notorious gossips- Elsa recalled how Anna had discovered what her birthday gift was mere minutes after it arrived in the view of a handmaid- for another, the nature of a prison visit was always depressing, and this night was meant to be enjoyed by all. If she was seen by anyone on her way to the dungeons, it would inspire a notion of uneasiness. So, instead of going by the guarded front entrance, Elsa opened the trunk at the foot of her sizable bed. The inside of the trunk housed several cloaks and pairs of boots. She lifted these out before removing the false bottom, revealing a darkened staircase.
It was a short walk through the secret passage until she arrived at a cramped cell. It was, as always, unoccupied. The exit was disguised in the darkness, giving the illusion of a corner where the wall actually overlapped itself, leaving a small crevice that served as the secret passage's opening. Her quiet entry into the main hall of the dungeons startled the guard on duty. He immediately aimed his pike at her before realizing who he was threatening.
"Queen Elsa!" He bowed low, but not before Elsa saw his soft, boyish features. The guard was younger than she was when she had inherited the crown. "Please forgive my overzealousness! I didn't know you'd be gracing us with your presence this evening."
"You do well to have such quick reflexes. There is nothing to forgive." Elsa heard the guard sigh in relief. Honestly, it was if everyone expected her to skewer them at the slightest provocation. Despite their surprising willingness to accept her as their monarch, Elsa was often forced to wonder if her people were motivated solely by fear, rather than her tireless efforts for just rule. "There was a prisoner that was put in one of the isolated cells earlier today, newly arrived from the Southern Isles. Please take me to him."
The guard bowed once more before turning sharply and guiding her down the seemingly endless passageway. Most of the cells were empty of people, instead filled with barrels of wine, kegs of beer, and a large storage of salted fish. This was because the dungeon itself was extremely old; It was initially intended to act as Arendelle's jail for common offenses as well as the more heinous crimes. By that virtue, the majority of cells were meant to be occupied by multiple persons for short durations. But that purpose had become obsolete a century ago, once the city developed its own policing system and built its own jail outside the palace gates. The intention behind reorganizing the executive structure of Arendelle was to release the royal guards and soldiers to the tasks they had been specially trained for, rather than patrolling a peaceful city day in and day out.
The walk was quiet in a way that Elsa felt was peaceful, but she could see the guard practically vibrating with nerves. "What is your name?"
The guard sharply turned his head to stare at her before blushing and averting his gaze, self-conscious of his behavior. "It's, uh, Herman, your Majesty."
"Well, Guard Herman, I'm sorry you don't have the opportunity to join the festivities tonight. You must take great pride in your work to give up a holiday."
Herman instantly brightened at the praise. "I wouldn't rather be anywhere else, your Majesty!" Elsa smiled gently at him. His cheery, slightly goofy demeanor and eagerness to please reminded her strongly of Anna. Elsa made a mental note to have a servant bring a plate of food down for Guard Herman.
He paused before an iron door and slid open the window to peer inside. He looked reluctant. "Er- your Majesty, I don't think you'd like to go in there at the moment."
Elsa's eyebrows came together in pointed confusion. "What do you mean?"
"He's… rather foul. I don't think your Majesty would have much appetite for the feast if-" Herman cut off suddenly, shrinking against the wall as Elsa appeared to tower over him. Subconsciously, she knew he was not trying to insult her or her constitution, but the reasoning was not strong enough to hold back the righteous anger that filled her. Herman quickly retrieved his key ring from the depths of his doublet and opened the iron door, bowing low to his Queen.
Elsa swept in to the room before halting abruptly, her hand shooting up to her mouth in horror as the stench of sickness engulfed her. If she had not been wearing her thick ceremonial gloves, she was sure that she would have frozen the floor. As it was, the temperature in the room dropped precipitously. "God in heaven…"
The man that was curled upon the dirt floor did not in any way resemble the conniving Prince Hans that had tried to usurp her throne. His hair was long, at least to his shoulders- although it was difficult to discern where the matted hair ended and the dirt floor began- and a ragged beard covered most of his sallow face. The rags that attempted to cover his skeletal frame were somehow filthier than his body, which was covered in a noxious rainbow of bruises, cuts that oozed yellow fluid, and one particularly fresh-looking gash across his face that was still bleeding a rich scarlet. The unconscious man was cradling his left arm, and his right leg was bent out at such an awkward angle that Elsa held no doubt that they were broken. The man for all intents and purposes, seemed dead but for the shallow, rattling breaths that echoed throughout the tiny cell.
Elsa breathed deeply, trying to calm herself but only succeeding in drawing in more of the odious air. "Go fetch the royal physician immediately." Herman, who had been staring at the prisoner with wide eyes immediately scrambled out of the dirty cell, privately hoping he wouldn't have to return to watch the prisoner die. Elsa held her hand against her forehead. "Oh god, oh god." She had never seen a human being in such a deplorable condition. At this moment, she couldn't see this person as the Traitor. His body had quite obviously paid a hundred fold over even the cruelest punishments that Elsa had ever dared imagine for him. And he was coming from his own kingdom.
"Your Majesty!" Elsa twisted around to see her personal physician, Sigurd. "I was told to come immediately." His bright eyes, nestled beneath bushy white eyebrows, traveled downward to the object of Elsa's study. He pressed his hand to his heart and looked up to the heavens, whispering a short prayer before bending down to begin conducting diagnosis of his patient. Sigurd's narrow, nimble hands flew across the prisoner's body expertly, feeling, touching, prodding, examining. The prisoner let out a pained half-gurgle, half-groan that shot straight through Elsa's core. How could anyone do this to a person? She knew that this crumpled prisoner had once tried to kill her and, even more contemptible, her dear sister- but somehow, she could not feel any satisfaction in witnessing his present condition. No one deserved this, even death would be preferable in the eyes of many.
Ten minutes had passed before Sigurd paused from his work to look up at Elsa. "Your Majesty, the church services begin soon. You will do more help for this man praying for his recovery than you will here, hoping for it." Elsa nodded numbly before leaving the cell. She didn't even think about her motions, and was mildly surprised to find herself before the alter in the church. The services hadn't appeared to have start yet, though she sensed it was imminent, and she moved to sit next to Anna, forgetting their recent argument. Anna, however, immediately noticed the difference in her sister and made room on the pew.
"What's wrong, Elsa?" Elsa gazed at Anna with an unfocused expression, briefly shaking her head to indicate that now was not the time. The priest approached the podium, and Elsa blinked fiercely, coming back to herself. Seeing the Traitor's so near death was shocking, but she had a role to fill- for her sake, the sake of her kingdom, and for Anna's sake.
End Note: I've always been fond of writing dream sequences. I can get away with loser grammar constructs and something somewhat similar to flow of consciousness without the monotony. By the by, I absolutely hate the title I'm using for this fic. Frozen Fire? I mean, is that really the best I could do? It's so clichéd and non-specific. If anyone has any suggestions about what I could change it to, feel free to let me know. I'm reviewing my chapters a little better now, so there should be less errors than in the past.