Chapter 4. Resfeber

Elsa

She hurried past the servant boy before he could notice the effects of her touch.

"Dear, what's your hurry?" Diana called, bounding after her, "Let me check that bruise on your face. How on Earth did that happen? You didn't even fall on your head!"

But Elsa didn't slow down. She sprinted as fast as she could, nearly stumbling over her own feet, through hallways and up flights of stairs and past staring servants, who were probably wondering what the queen-to-be was doing running around the castle in her nightgown.

She didn't stop until she reached her bedroom door, which she slammed shut behind her as she flung herself into the room onto the icy floor that began to form even more ice when her skin touched it. Her loose hair hung on either side of her face as she lay on her hands and knees, choking back sobs.

Something about that servant boy's face had triggered something within her.

But what?

His skin and hair were as white as the moon.

Her head snapped up, and she mentally scolded herself for thinking such ridiculous thoughts. There was absolutely no way that that was the Angel Boy from her mother's story.

That had been a mere story.

Still, the thought of her mother was enough to grip her heart like a vice. She pressed her hand to her mouth as the tears started to run, burning her face like a dozen lit cigars being dragged down her cheeks, before they froze instantly against her skin.

The ice around her started to thicken.

Tap tap tap.

"Elsa?"

She kept silent as her sister's voice traveled through the thick wooden door.

"Elsa there's-" Anna paused for a second and cleared her throat, before restarting the sentence in a more formal way. "Your majesty? Er, I mean, your highness? No, majesty. I think." Brief awkward silence. "Well anyways, there is a, uh, gentleman here requesting your presence."

Elsa rubbed away the tears that stuck to her face and sat up, clearing away the sobs that lingered in her throat. "Turn him away."

She couldn't handle company right now, or allowing the gates to be open. Not until her coronation, anyways.

"Yeah, um..." Anna replied, a hint of embarrassment in her voice, "See, the thing is... He's not a townsperson. He's a servant, and he might be standing right next to me. He says it's urgent!" She added this last part hastily.

"Anna..." Elsa groaned, before smoothing her hair back with a sigh, trying to compose herself. She struggled to keep her voice calm. "Can his matter not be discussed with the head maid Diana? Or perhaps with the servants' supervisor?"

There was some whispering between Anna and the visitor, before Anna responded. "He says he needs to speak to you personally... it's urgent!" She repeated this last part with equal haste.

Elsa took a deep breath. It would seem very suspicious to the servant if she refused him now. There was enough suspicion among the servants already.

"Very well," she replied reluctantly, "Send him to the main hall. I will meet him in ten minutes to discuss whatever situation he feels is so 'urgent.'"

"Okay."

And she listened to Anna's footsteps retreat down the hall.

With another sigh, Elsa got to her feet, and turned to the oakwood wardrobe against the wall.

"Conceal, don't feel. Conceal, don't feel."

She muttered this same phrase under her breath as she followed Diana, who was guiding her to the main hall.

Keeping up appearances, she had changed from her thin nightdress and loose tangled hairstyle to a long-sleeved navy gown and tight bun; A proper look for a future queen. Still, it was difficult to breathe in the corset she had to wear. Or, at least, that's what she blamed her struggle to breathe on.

Nervous, she plucked fumblingly at the white gloves she wore.

"You musn't fret so much," Diana told her as they walked down a flight of steps, "It's just one person. It's not even a townsperson. It's somebody who lives and works within the castle."

"That doesn't change the fact that it's a person," Elsa mumbled, trying hard to swallow the fear and panic that rose in her throat, "If I slip up-"

"You won't," Diana interrupted, "You will go in there, you will listen to whatever request the servant asks of you, and then you will decide whether to grant or deny it. It should take fifteen minutes tops, just a quick in and out. Okay?"

Elsa visibly blanched, but nodded.

"Alright," the elderly maid said, though she didn't look satisfied with her own advice, and she reached for the doorknobs of the tall doors that lead to the main hall, "Here we go."

The doors swung open.

"Presenting," Diana said in a loud monotone that echoed off the walls, as she bowed with her eyes to the floor, "Princess Elsa, Future Queen of Arendelle."

And with a flourish, she straightened from her bow and turned away, throwing Elsa a reassuring look, before leaving the room and closing the door behind her.

Elsa walked forward, her eyes never leaving the ground and her gloved hands clutching her gown as she pulled it up a few centimeters to avoid tripping over it.

She cleared her throat nervously as she came to a halt a few meters in front of the servant, still staring down. "What have you to ask of me?" she asked, managing to keep her voice from shaking, before she raised her head, "I'll listen to whatever you have to say with- Gah!"

She stepped back with a gasp.

It was the white-haired servant boy whom she had bumped into a mere twenty minutes earlier.

"Listen," the boy said, his voice quiet but urgent, ignoring her alarm and walking forward. He was closer than he was supposed to be, closer than any servant or peasant had ever dared to come; They were a mere inches apart. "I need to talk to you."

He appeared to be glowing, his words trembling slightly, as though he was struggling to contain some kind of excitement.

As though just talking to her was the most exciting thing he had ever done in his entire life.

She took a step back, indignant and mildly fearful. If he managed to accidentally touch her... "H-How dare you stand so close to me? Servants are forbidden to-"

"I'm not a servant." He cut her off without hesitation, as though he weren't talking to the future queen of Arendelle. "I lied."

She should've seen that coming. Upon closer examination, she realized he wasn't even in uniform. He wore a tan shirt with matching trousers beneath a short brown cloak, all which looked like attire from before this century.

His clothes looked like they were from a completely different time.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts. Outrageous, ridiculous, impossible. "I could have you arrested for impersonating a servant," she told him, impressed with how strong and firm her voice sounded, "I imagine you found the secret passageway through the fountain in the village square?"

"No," the boy replied, looking impatient and not at all worried about being arrested, "I wasn't aware there was a passageway, thanks for the tip though. And I dare you to call the guards on me, we can see how well that works out."

Was that a threat? What an attitude this boy had!

Her fear ebbed as her temper flared.

"What do you seek?" she snapped, pointing an accusatory finger at him in a very un-queenly way, "Wealth? Or is it the reason why these gates were closed that you want? Because we've dealt with people like you before, and I swear-"

"How can you see me?"

That unexpected question stopped her right in her tracks. "I- what?"

"How can you see me?" he repeated, before sighing impatiently, "Here, I need to try something."

And, for an unknown reason, he reached out to touch her arm.

"Guards!" she shouted without thinking, attempting to evade his touch by taking a desperate step back, before tripping over her own feet and falling backwards onto the ground, "Guards!"

If he were to touch her, he'd find out her secret for sure.

No sooner had the words left her lips, the doors burst open, and a dozen armored men burst into the room, swords unsheathed. These swords were lowered, however, when the knights looked around the room in confusion. "Er... what is it, your majesty?

"Arrest him!" she ordered, pointing up at the boy, who was shaking his head irritably, as though she was an idiot trying to do something useless, "He has managed to sneak into the castle and-"

"Um... arrest who?"

Elsa stared, mouth wide. "Th-The boy!" she exclaimed incredulously, though her voice faltered, "Standing right in front of me! He... he's right there..." Her voice trailed off at the concerned looks on the guards' faces, and she turned her head and looked up at the boy, a gasp escaping her lips.

He looked right back at her, his eyes intense and boring into hers, full of sympathy and wonder and... something else...

His eyes were so... haunted.

"He left," Elsa lied quietly, her words directed at the guards but her eyes never leaving his, "He fled out the door. Just a moment ago. He was headed back into town. You should go, um... find him."

"Yes, your majesty," the guard up front said, looking confused but determined, and the guards hurried away.

Elsa and the boy looked at each other for a brief moment more, before he very slowly reached out with his free hand, the one that wasn't holding the long and slender wooden staff with a G shaped arch at the edge.

What in the world did he use that for?

"Let me help you up."

Without thinking, she almost took his hand.

She pulled back at just the last moment, her gloved fingers curling into a fist, and she quickly got to her feet on her own. "I need an explanation," she told him curtly, though she couldn't keep the startled breathlessness out of her voice.

His mouth turned up on one side. "That's actually what I came to you for."

She leaned against the table that stood at the front of the main hall, her knees giving out beneath her.

"Do you need a minute?" Jack asked, smirking as he examined his fingernails casually.

"Yes, I do," Elsa replied, her voice muffled by her hand, feeling incredibly dizzy as her thoughts whizzed around her brain faster than the speed of light. "You... from Mother's story, you...?"

Half an hour had gone by.

That time had been filled with the boy's story. The story of the lake that was the womb and the ice that had cracked above him, before he had risen into the air and taken his first breath of life and spent the rest of it unseen by anybody...

Except her mother.

"Story?" he repeated, a hint of hope lighting his eyes, "You mean, she talked about me?"

"Yes, of course," Elsa replied, her hand moving down to feel her speeding heart. "It was always my favorite story. About a boy who saved her. He had white hair, and old-fashioned clothes, and Winter pow- Oh!" She started suddenly, a look of shock on her face, and she turned to look at him. He hadn't mentioned powers in his story. "Wait, do you have...?"

As a response, he held his hand out, his palm facing upward only a few centimeters from her face.

She watched as a snowflake slowly formed above it, her blue eyes wide. Her next words were a faint squeak.

"Oh my."

She slumped against the table, placing both elbows on it's surface. For a brief second, she breathed deeply, holding her spinning head in her hands.

After a moment, however, she straightened herself once more, regaining her sophistication and poise in an instant. "But why could my mother see you?" she asked, her shock wearing off as curiosity took over, "Why can Anna see you? Why can I see you?"

He shrugged, twirling his staff idly in his hands. "I have no clue." Some of his casualness left, and he bowed his head with a breathy laugh, and the next thing he said lacked all sarcasm, and was so quiet she struggled to hear him:

"You have no idea how amazing it feels to talk to somebody."

Without her own knowledge, Elsa's eyes softened, and she had half a mind to place a hand on his shoulder. She quickly shook this impulse away, and instead decided to ask him one more question.

"What is your name?"

He looked up, and his blue eyes were back on hers.

"My name is Jack Frost."

She quickly averted her eyes at his gaze, and felt a hint of heat creep up her cheeks against her own will. "But if you've been alone all your life..." she said to the floor, her voice thoughtful, "How do you know your name?"

He ducked his head as well, fumbling with the staff. "The Moon told me so."

After a moment of letting this sink in, she opened her mouth to respond.

At that exact moment, however, the doors opened, and a small group of servants came scrambling in, chattering excitedly.

"More floor polish! We must get more floor polish!"
"Someone needs to find me a rug with tassels."
"Has anyone seen that Joan of Arc painting?"

At the sight of their future queen, however, they all went silent, and there was a sudden wave of bows and curtsies, followed by murmurs of "Your highness."

Anxiety hit Elsa like a hurricane.

The buzzing hum of conversation resumed as the servants searched the room for the things they needed. They had no idea that their princess was mentally shattering at their presence.

She had to get out of there.

"Hey, where are you going?" Jack called, as she hurried towards the door.

Elsa ignored this and exited the room, clutching her gown up to her knees and dashing down the hall, strands of hair coming undone from her neat bun.

Her control was dissipating at a rapid rate.

"Elsa!"

A hand curled around her wrist, forcing her to come to a halt.

She gasped, turning around sharply to see Jack clutching her arm, breathing hard from his chase after her.

"Elsa, what-?"

"How dare you!" she exclaimed angrily, yanking out of his grip, "If you ever touch me again, I'll-"

She was interrupted by his gasp of shock.

His hand, which had pushed aside the top of her glove when he'd grabbed her, was slowly glazing over with thin white frost.

"Elsa... did you...?"

But she was already running again, disappearing down the hall.

He started after her.

"Elsa!"

"Stay away from me!"

Up a flight of steps they went.

"Elsa, wait a minute!"

"Leave me alone!"

Down another hallway.

"Elsa!"

"Ugh!"

She let out a cry of rage and turned on her heel to face him, so abruptly that he nearly bumped into her. He backed up, however, at the look on her face.

Her eyes were blazing, her hands curled up into shaking fists, and the floor... the floor...

Curly tendrils of glittering ice branched out on the maroon carpet beneath her, spreading at a rapid rate.

"Jack Frost," she said through grit teeth, breathing hard with stray strands of platinum curls dangling in her eyes, softening her face but giving her a wild look, "I forbid you to come near me. I want you to go away, and I want you to stay away."

And this time, when she turned and dashed away, he did not follow.

Night had fallen.

Elsa sat on the floor in the center of her bedroom, wearing her nightgown once more, with her knees pulled up to her chest.

She heard Anna's voice, muffled through the multiple walls that separated them, as she sang to herself, undoubtedly in her favorite room in the whole castle; The gallery.

Did that girl ever sleep?

The sky is awake.

Oh, how Elsa wished to join her.

"Conceal it," she whispered to herself, closing her eyes and rocking slightly, pressing her chin to the tops of her knees, "Don't feel it."

She cringed as the ice thickened and cracked on the ground around her. "Don't let it show." Her voice was so quiet it was practically nothing.

But in her head it was as loud as a scream.

"Conceal."

Frost laced it's way up the walls.

"Don't feel."

Her heart pounded in her ears.

"Conceal."

Shards of jagged ice encircled her like a deathly trap.

"Don't feel."

Her eyes squeezed shut tighter.

"Conceal."

Crystalline chunks of blue and white erupted from the ground.

"Don't feel."

Her voice was so quiet even she couldn't hear it anymore.

"Don't feel."

The fear consumed her.

"Don't feel."

"What are you saying?"

With a gasp, she jumped, releasing her knees and falling backwards onto her hands.

Leaning against the wall by her window was Jack Frost, who watched her curiously.

"H-How did you get in here?" she squeaked, her voice unusually shrill as she reached up and snatched a long white robe off of the edge of her bed, covering her nightgown-clad self.

Her cheeks were flaming.

Jack threw his staff over his shoulders, holding each end with both hands. "Window," he said casually. "What were you whispering just now?"

She stared at him, ignoring his question. "The window?" she exclaimed in disbelief, "It's hundreds of feet from the ground!"

"I have ways to get to high places," he told her simply, looking down at her with a smirk, "So why is it that every time I see you, you've just fallen to the ground?"

She got to her feet in an instant, a twinge of irritation fluttering in her chest.

"Did you hear anything that I told you this afternoon?" she snapped, pulling herself up to her fullest height.

His smirk broadened. "Do you think I'm going to listen to you just because you're queen?"

He chuckled when she failed to answer him, her eyes wide and her jaw dropped, showing obvious offense.

This Winter boy is crazy.

After a second, he spoke again: "I want you to show me."

"Show you?" she repeated, eyes even wider in alarm as she tightened the belt of her robe.

"Your powers," Jack clarified, his eyebrows raising, "I mean, these are nice and all..." He gestured to the ominous spikes of ice that stuck out of the ground. "...but I bet you can make something less... terrifying?"

"I don't make these on purpose," Elsa replied bitterly, "I can't control it."

"Really?"

She looked up at the shock in his voice. He was staring at the ground, his white bangs covering his eyes and blocking his expression. "When I lose control, I cause blizzards. I bet you have more control than you think. I bet you can make some beautiful things... when you try."

"I don't try," she retorted, though his comment had flattered her without her wanting it to, "I'd never try to create this. This isn't a gift from the Moon, Jack. This is a curse."

"Do you have any idea where it came from?" he asked seriously, all signs of joking gone.

She ducked her head, her shoulders nudging up in a shrug. "I don't know. I was born with it."

There was a brief silence.

"So do you want to know how I got up here, or what?" Jack asked after a moment.

Despite herself, Elsa gave in to her curiosity and nodded.

When he didn't answer, she looked up, and exhaled sharply when she saw that he had silently walked toward her, now standing mere inches away from her.

His eyes, a couple inches in front of and above hers, never left her blue ones.

"If I show you how I got up here," he told her quietly, "You have to show me your powers. And I don't mean scary icy deathtraps."

Front teeth digging into her bottom lip, she considered this.

Say no.

"Deal?" he asked, holding out his hand, "I promise you won't hurt me."

Elsa, say no.

Ignoring the voice in her head, she reached out.

Think of Father.

Her hand hesitated mere centimeters from his, fingers curling slightly.

Don't show him anything.

Slowly, she started to pull her hand back.

Don't let him in.

She was on the verge of shaking her head, of refusing Jack's offer.

Then, suddenly, a new voice rang through her mind, a brighter voice, a happier voice, a voice full of light.

Let it go.

Her hand was moving towards his once more, fingertips mere centimeters away.

Take his hand.

And then her hand met his, and she could feel its chill despite the gloves she wore.

A mischievous grin spread across his face as he lead her to the window, which he opened, and he helped her step up onto the ledge.

The ground seemed to a be a million miles away, and her stomach turned as she looked down at it and balanced on the thin windowsill.

Despite the fact that it was the middle of July, the wind that whispered through her hair and made her nightgown flutter around her ankles was chilly.

"What now?" she asked, looking at Jack, who stood beside her.

She supposed that, since she was standing on a windowledge in her nightclothes with a complete stranger (who was also immortal and invisible), she should feel like she was in some kind of danger.

But she didn't.

She still started in shock, however, when Jack suddenly shouted into the sky:

"Wind! Be gentle with her; She's new to this!"

And she gasped in alarm as her slipper-clad feet left the windowsill.

*Resfeber (Swedish) - n. The restless and rapid race of a traveler's heart before a journey begins, where anxiety and anticipation clash and are tangled together to make a panicky/excited feeling in one's chest; "Travel Fever"