Disclaimer: I don't own Frozen

A/N: Friends, I must beg your forgiveness. My absence was uncalled for. The next couple chapters will come much much faster then this one, I promise you. They're mostly written since they were originally supposed to be one big chapters, but it got much too long. Incidentally, I've added to Ch.2 A Tale of Two Sisters. It leaves off where this chapter starts. Thanks so much to Enchiladas, 4ever. .friend, and Jacob Flores for reviewing.

Special thanks to my super fantastic beta-reader Rachgraceh. She's done such a great job and has helped me so much!

Hope you enjoy and kindly review. I shall post again soon friends! Saffy Pen over and out.

Elsa resisted the urge to fiddle with her sleeves as she left the washroom, a nervous habit that had persisted from girlhood, when she'd worn those itchy gloves her father, and then she herself, had insisted upon. As much as she'd despised them, they had been her one, almost successful safeguard against the snow and cold. She was forever yanking those gloves as far up as the material would stretch, always tugging her sleeves past her wrists until Mother commented on how frayed and stretched the hems were. She'd been more careful after that.

So instead, she slid her palm over the stray wisps of hair that had escaped her simple knot during the fiasco with the drapery – traitorous linens – and ignored the infectious giggles spurting behind her. She must remain as stoic and unperturbed as a statue. She was a statue; a frozen statue made of ice and snow.

I am the epitome of peace and serenity.

The guard stood strategically in front of a bright window so that while she could still make out his profile, noting the gnarled line of his nose and wondering how many times it had been broken, the backlighting concealed the details of his face. Seeing her approach, the guard stiffened, then instantly bent respectfully at the waist, bowing deeply as Elsa swept into the hall. She pursed her lips, uneasy. But then, as Anna loved to remind her, she was always uneasy. Emotions always spurting and twitching like a nervous white rabbit, concealed only by a serene smile.

I am a vision of tranquility and calm.

"Your Majesty," the guard murmured softly, his voice as rough and craggy as a wave-battered shoreline. He turned away as though purposely refusing to show his face. Elsa kept her eyebrows in check as they threatened to rise, schooling her features from mild surprise to grim neutrality. One couldn't allow a slip of unnecessary emotion when dealing with the prowling army types; for she was sure that's where she'd recognize him from.

Months ago, she'd held a meeting with her top generals. They'd accomplished what was needed, and while Elsa was confident her army could win a war with the Finnish kingdom of Tornio, should they decide to start nipping at their heels, she'd also thought General Ludvik had been more concerned with his attempted flirtations with Heidi than answering Elsa's burning questions. Only attempted because Heidi had expertly ignored him like he was no more than a bothersome fly; a mild annoyance far beneath her notice. Elsa had been impressed and just a tad bit jealous of how utterly impassive and emotionless her lady-in-waiting could be. Her own façade still had one to many cracks that she'd yet to figure out how to smooth over. Heidi's, however, was as flawless as her snow-drop skin. General Ludvik had been more than a little irritated by the time their meeting was over. Perhaps this man had been part of their entourage? Is that why he wouldn't show his face?

"Shall we continue, ma'am?"

"Pardon me sir, but I have no idea who you are." She countered calmly. "Kindly state your name and purpose here in the capital." She stopped short of ordering him to show his face. Surely Grigori and Willem, her guards, wouldn't have granted him entry had they thought him a threat.

Though as if reading her mind, or maybe hoping to assuage her worries, the man looked up slowly, hesitantly.

Inch by inch.

Oh. God.

Elsa couldn't keep a strangled gasp from escaping her lips, her jaw dropping and her eyes widening with horror. So much for a statue of ice. That veneer instantly shattered into millions of ice shards.

His face was… hideous. A child's drawing, all distorted lines and jagged outlines.

The skin stretched across his sunken cheeks formed a macabre pattern of raised scar tissue, puckered and white. His lone eye was flinty grey, the color of ash, yet it too was ruined by the most prominent scar on his face that sliced through his eyebrow and tunneled into his sharp, jutting cheekbone.

The black, leather eye patch became a blessing. Elsa could only imagine what lay behind it: a gaping red hole where his other eye should have been?

Burns had paralyzed the muscles around his mouth. The left side sagged lower than the right.

His left ear was no more than a nub of stumpy flesh.

Clapping one hand over her gapping mouth, Elsa spun away, pressing the other to her stomach in an effort to assuage her roiling belly. Bile burned her larynx as it swelled up her throat.

What in the world had happened to him?!

"Forgive me." She squeaked, as soon as she could breathe again. "I meant no offense. You just – I'm so sorry."

"None taken ma'am. 'Twas an insult to your maidenly sensibilities." He replied in that soft, unassuming voice.

Elsa blinked.

Her maidenly what?

"I've endured far worse. You at least were polite not to ask. 'Fraid I wouldn't tell you even if you had though. 'Tisn't a story for a fine lady like yourself."

Mortified, Elsa slowly turned, her cheeks blazed crimson. She was relieved to find that he too had turned away again. "No. My reaction was uncalled for. You…well," she reached for her sleeves, twisting the fabric between her fingers. "You can't help how you look no more than I can my magic. It was ill-"

"Please ma'am, it's alright," he murmured. "But you are most kind."

Desperate to leave the subject Elsa squared her shoulders and reminded herself that she was the queen, the heir. "I don't believe – that is – what is your name, sir?"

"Fretheim. Colonel Fretheim, Your Majesty." He supplied, gesturing with a deft wave of his hand that she should precede.

Elsa remained rooted in her tracks.

"Colonel?" She echoed. Foolishly, she'd thought him a lieutenant. Just a low-ranking official seeking an audience with his monarch.

Fool.

What could the army possibly want with her now? Had Tornio finally declared war? Or was Vadstena starting to make trouble –? She'd been hedging her bets that they'd start troublemaking after she declined Prince Jakob's hand in marriage. What good was starting now? Unless…what if they planned to start a war, then use a ceasefire as a bargaining chip?!

"Easy now ma'am." Sir Fretheim said as though placating a spooked mare. "It's just a title. I was given an honorable discharge last spring." He flicked his hand towards the adjourning hall. "Shall we?"

"I –" She was tempted to riddle him with questions, demand an explanation for his sudden appearance. He should have requested an audience with her. And where is the world was Kai? He supposed to regulate these sorts of things. Was all her staff missing? Spirited off to the mountains doing only God knows what?

But all that slipped out was a lame, pitiful mutter. "Er, yes. Thank you."

The colonel fell into line, a respectful four paces behind her, as they started down the East Wing corridor. Elsa was secretly grateful, sure she'd have been tempted to stare at his ruined face had they'd been abreast. Fretheim…

Only the wall ahead, bearing a portrait of some stern-faced ancestor, saw her frown. She was certain she'd heard it before. By that old family name she guessed he had some noble blood. Perhaps the second or third son of a baron, gone off to the army while his brother inherited the land?

A baronet?

"I beg your pardon for disturbing you ma'am."

Elsa blinked, pulled from her musings. "Not at all. I was just finishing up. What is it that you need me for?" Though praying had never come easily to her – it was hard for her to believe that God would listen to a witch – a rapid chant sped through her sub-conscious, a plea that some new unspeakable horror wasn't rearing its ugly head.

"Minister Vinter wishes to speak with you ma'am." Sir Fretheim reported as though to a commanding officer in their army. "He didn't say why, but I suspect it to be related to your birthday ma'am. Please allow me to give you my congratulations."

"Oh –" The single word rushed out in an exhale of relief. Thank God. "Uh – yes, thank you."

"Of course ma'am." Elsa pursed her lips and glided around the corner to the servant's stairwell, the repertoire beginning to grind on her nerves like the rusty gears of an old grandfather clock.

Yes ma'am. No ma'am. Whatever you need ma'am. How may I be of service to you ma'am? Ma'am?

She mimicked to herself, boots tip-tap-echoing as she climbed the circling stone steps. She pinched her amethyst skirts up to her ankles, suddenly feeling incredibly old. Like a prudish, dried-up old spinster.

In the last few months she'd finally gotten used to the forever My Queen's, Your Majesty's, and the much despised Your Eminence's. At the time she'd convinced herself that she'd much prefer a simple ma'am. Lots of people were called ma'am. Governesses, merchant's wives, housekeepers. It wasn't so special. It didn't make her feel like everyone expected the world from her. Well, she'd gotten what she'd wished for in any case.

Sir Fretheim swept smoothly passed her as she mounted the last step, head ducked to his sternum, already holding the door ajar by the time she raised her gaze. Offhandedly she wondered if he had a constant crick in his neck, having to hold his head so as often as he did. But if he did, he didn't show it, impassive as ever as he offered her his gloved hand. Were his hands scarred too? After a moment of trepidation, Elsa took it and allowed him to lead her into the adjourning hall where dropped it immediately and resumed his shadowing.

"Are you new to the city, Sir Fretheim?" She asked, addressing the carpet, grimacing when she noticed a ragged hole in the weaving, right where the reindeer's... er, back end would be. Elsa repressed another sigh. Best to keep their guests confined to the ballroom tonight.

"No ma'am. I spent my childhood here and several years during my training. My mother worked in the palace as a chamber maid. I'd help her when I wasn't in school. She always insisted I go." After a short pause, he added. "I knew your father. We were boyhood friends."

A fleeting memory, spun hastily together in a child's young mind, flittered by and Elsa gasped, halting in her tracks.

The pieces clicked together like clockmaker winding the gears of his machine.

It'd been late spring of 1800, the final year of that terrible war with Tornio. She'd been eight and it'd been just weeks before the accident that changed her life and sealed her fate for thirteen years.

Stifling a giggle as she shimmied up the weeping willow tree, Elsa tucked her skinny legs around a precariously thin branch and wrapped her arms around the trunk. Wearing a pretty jade frock, she was perfectly concealed by the draping curtain of pale green fronds. Anna would never find her here. It was the very best hiding spot, and despite the scratches that threatened to bleed and the tears in the lacy hem of her skirt, Elsa was practically vibrating with supressed glee.

But as minutes ticked by, trickled into one hour, one and a half, she began to grow bored. Anna hadn't even come looking in this part of the garden.

Well... Elsa bit her lip guiltily. She technically wasn't allowed on thisside of the garden until she was older, as it opened up to a private cove tucked some ways in from the fjord, and Anna didn't know how to swim yet. Elsa hadn't thought that would keep her away. She was always trying to sneak through the rose arbor hedge, often with mixed, rather bloody results.

Sighing as the minutes lumbered by as slowly as a groggy white bear, Elsa fiddled with her white blonde locks. Her hair was especially elegant today; a thick Dutch braid acted as a headband to keep the loose sausage ringlets loosely back and bounces about her shoulders. Missy Gerda had said something about visitors when she'd used the dreaded hot irons to fix Elsa's hair, but as visitors never seemed to pay much interest to the two youngest royals, Elsa and Anna had run off to the gardens as quickly as possible.

Now, plucking a twig from the braid and worriedly playing with a run in the skirt's silk skirt, Elsa wondered if she'd been a tad too hasty. She looked a horrid mess. What would Mama say?

Just as she thought to climb down and search for her sister, a snap of a stray branch and a skittering of pebbles found her scrunching tighter into her roost.

Finally.

But the accompanying voice was not her sister's sweet chirps, but instead a deep, familiar baritone.

Papa…

And he wasn't alone either. Elsa could just make out her father, handsome in his army regalia, beside a thin, wiry man wearing old leathers and a cowl drawn low over his face. A trickle of unease pinged and panged as it fell against her rib cage.

" –wish you'd take that infernal hood off." Papa was saying, exasperation in every syllable and footfall. "I want to see my old friend, not some faceless war hero. It can't be all that bad."

"Your housekeeper disagreed." The low, craggy voice growl that rose up from the hooded man sent shivers up Elsa's arms. "Barely kept herself from screaming her head off. I'd rather not have the same response from your wife and daughters."

"I'm not asking you to show them. I'm asking you to show me, your friend."

"You'll regret asking. I've seen hunchbacks with prettier faces than mine."

"At least tell me what happened. In one meeting, General Prebensen told me more about the war than I've heard from you in a decade."

"As it should be. I'm only a Major, not fit to brief you on the war effort. It's not my place."

Her papa paused, staring at the short man in unabashed shock. "So when I go to the front lines and am gone for weeks, I shouldn't write my parents, wife, and daughters to let them know I'm still alive?! Listen to yourself Sindre!"

Elsa barely stifled a gasp, her jaw unhinging. This mean, disrespectful, surly man was the acclaimed Sindre Fretheim of Papa's boyhood adventures? No. She refused to believe it. The heroic Sindre of her imaginations was much, much taller for one. He had dapper curly hair of the deepest umber and eyes like polished teal. And he was always astride his gleaming black stead, the valiant Oscuro, a Florence-bred stallion. He was handsome and charming and funny and a very good dancer. He was woven from a young romantic's imaginings and day-dreams.

This was not Sindre Fretheim, not her Sindre Fretheim.

"You are the king." Imposter-Sindre's reply was stiff and measured, but Elsa could sense something dark lurking beneath his tone.

"And you're my best friend!" Her father all but shouted. "My ally. Does that mean nothing to you?"

"Things change Adge! We're no longer fool-hardy young boys racing off on some new adventure. You have a family now and –" His voice cracked and with it, Elsa's heart. So sad and angry he was. She couldn't stand it, didn't allow anyone to cry in the gardens. Everyone must be happy here. "I can only pray Ingrid will still have me after this. But if she knows what's best for her and the boy, she'll find someone else."

"You're not making any sense – how could you leave her…Ingrid is with child?" Her father's tone was aghast, although Elsa couldn't understand why exactly. "But – how?"

"I'll thank you not to insult my wife Adgar." Sindre suddenly snarled, his hood jerking as he whipped around to face her father. "She found an abandoned babe in the forests and took him in. He'll be five now."

"I didn't know."

Papa placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, but Sindre smacked it away.

"No, you wouldn't. You were never meant to know. The less you knew the better." His rough voice took on a distant quality. "There's danger Adgar. Danger is coming and there's nothing any of us can do to stop it."

"Still believing in old wives tales? I suppose some things never change –"

"Don't condescend to me, King! You know full well this damned war with Tornio isn't natural!"

Not…natural? What were they talking about?

"Sindre, what happen to you?" Elsa watched them, eyes wide. She'd never heard Papa so sorrowful. "You've changed."

The man, perhaps once his dearest friend, but now a complete stranger, stared at him for a long moment held on the tip of a dagger. Finally Sindre turned.

"Life happened. War happened. Nightmares and legends long buried. The palace walls are bleeding and no one notices. Danger is coming –"

"What are you talking about? Speak sense, not madness!"

"And you're all too blind to see it." Sindre continued in that terrible voice, as though he hadn't been interrupted. "Good day Your Majesty."

With that, he turned on his heel and stalked away, leaving Papa all alone.

And soon Papa left, leaving a little girl too young to understand to face her thoughts.

Danger is coming and you're all too blind to see it…

Sindre Fretheim. Best friend, war hero, madman, ghost, all wrapped into one terrifying man.

"Your Majesty? Ma'am?" For the first time, Sir Fretheim's tone held just the barest hint of worry. Of concern. For his sovereign, or his former friend's eldest daughter, Elsa wasn't precisely sure.

A shiver ran down her spine. Danger is coming… The artist's renditions flashed into her mind, the accounts of monsters, the statistics – could they all be true?

"Ma'am?"

"Father mentioned you." Elsa managed, struggling to speak around the sick taste in her mouth.

Or at least he had, before that day in the garden, when his friend disappeared from his life for good with neither a trace nor clue to where he was headed. Father refused to talk of Sindre after that.

"He spoke often about your escapades." She added around a cool smile pasted not quite passably to her lips. Thankfully, Sir Fretheim had not even glanced her way, and after a moment, it fell completely.

"I didn't know he and Idun…" he cleared his throat, "I had been stationed at the Tornish border when they passed. I only found out after my discharge. I would have returned sooner, but I had to see to my wife –"

"Ingrid?"

Sindre startled, visibly ruffled. "That is correct, ma'am," he allowed slowly, drawing out the words. "You have an excellent memory ma'am…but I suppose it comes with the territory."

"Yes, I suppose it does." Elsa replied coolly, feeling distinctly certain he hadn't meant it as a compliment. "How is she?" Risking a brief glance sideways, she felt an unsuspecting twinge of sympathy when Sir Fretheim didn't answer right away, his Adam's apple bobbing rapidly, his jaw clenching.

"She's seen better days, ma'am."

"I'm sorry." She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, and then asked tentatively. "And your son, if you don't –?"

"Dead." The colonel grunted the single word like he'd just been punched in the stomach.

"Oh!" Elsa pressed her palm to her mouth – the two were becoming rather acquainted today – and mentally smacked herself. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to pry. I was just –"

"For all the blessed saints, please stop apologizing, ma'am." Sir Fretheim all but snapped. "It's well within your rights to interrogate my personal life and my reason being here. As soon as you are finished with Minister Vinter, I shall give you report. Will that be suitable, ma'am?"

"Yes." Her voice was a squeaky door hinge, high-pitched and fleeting.

"By your leave then, Your Grace."

Elsa startled, only now becoming fully aware of her surrounding, shocked that she hadn't realized the change. A wide marble corridor connected the palace to the chapel, making it technically part of the palace, though its entrance lay outside of the gates. A complicated architecture plan to be sure, one that Elsa suspected her ancestors were prideful of. In the time of divine right of kings, they surely thought it clever to combine the palace and the church, a visual reminder that they controlled both. Now it was simply a matter of convenience – and a lack of building supplies – that kept it stubbornly fastened to the palace.

Elsa eyed the towering wooden doors. They were plain and unadorned, and unlike the grand entrances of Catholic churches, theoretically ignorable. Yet she had always felt a… strangeness outside the doors. Not an eerie strangeness, pulsing with otherworldly power. Not even a slight disturbance, an inkling of an oddity. It was…it was…

"Your Grace?"

"Oh! Uh, pardon me Sir Fretheim. Yes, you may go. Thank you."

"I would say it was a pleasure, but then we would both agree that neither of us found this particular conversation enjoyable." He replied.

A veiled insult; Elsa couldn't decide whether he meant it for her, or himself. Her eyes followed his hunched-back as he walked down the white marble corridor, boots clacking slightly off-time with a limp he'd previously disguised. After exactly eighty-six beats, he rounded the corner and left Elsa in the silence of the hall.

Sunlight streamed in through the clerestory; dappled patterns shifted in a slow, sedate dance, like ballet dancers in shimmery gold costumes.

She turned away from it all, once again facing the doors. If she was to be honest, and she felt funny lying to herself outside of a church, they had always made her nervous. Witches had no place in a holy place.

But she also couldn't make Teo wait. Surely the minister had more important things to do than to encourage a ruler who should have already been confident in herself.

So, with nothing else to stop her, Elsa pushed open the doors and entered the chapel.