Chapter 7: Suitors

Upon submitting her finalized list of eligible suitors to the Council, Elsa sent out invitations to the princes so that they might come to Arendelle and try to win her hand. Only one would be chosen to court and marry her, after a long screening process by the Queen herself.

Kristoff made it clear that he didn't like the idea of Elsa marrying for political advantage, even if it might also be for love in the bargain. The specter of Hans still loomed large, and it made Kristoff wary of letting any man near the throne of Arendelle again. Having someone try and maneuver himself close to Anna had been chilling enough. To have not one but several men - some of whom had motivations that may or may not be clear and virtuous - vying for the affection of his sister-in-law left Kristoff's nerves shot. Sure, he and Elsa squabbled sometimes, especially when it came to how best to raise Joan. But Kristoff had to admit... he truly loved Elsa as a sister. She had loved Anna, and Anna had been the greatest love of his life. He would not settle for anything less than the best man for his wife's sister, and if he had to voice his opinions directly, so be it. Apparently, his headstrong daughter had already made her opinions on the matter quite clear. Elsa's vow that to win her, her suitor would have to win over her family did not assuage either Bjorgman's fears. As the story of Hans had long ago taught them, some people were really good pretenders.

A group of five princes and lords were the top contenders for the Queen's hand. They came from all over: Andersen, Corona, Prydain, the Eastern Isles. Their ages were equally widespread, some older, some younger. Only two could be said to be around Elsa's own age. They were all handsome, well versed in manners of etiquette. Kristoff and Joan would often look at each other and silently wonder: how was Auntie Elsa supposed to choose? And what if she chose wrong? And what if her choice wasn't who he presented himself as?

Over the next several weeks, Elsa allowed herself to go on private dates with each of the men. Often, these outings had to take place beyond the castle grounds, as Joan would try and spy on her Auntie for any signs of romance, much to her father's displeasure.

The weeks quickly turned into months. And still Queen Elsa had not made her choice. The five nobles waited and waited, quickly becoming frustrated when she did not come to a decision.

And that is what led a subset of the suitors to hatch a plan.

Prince Emerson of Prydain had connections with nefarious characters within the Arendellian crime world - pirates and kidnappers who were not above committing atrocities for a small fee. Gathering several other suitors together, Emerson convinced them that the key to winning Queen Elsa's heart lay with the young Princess Joan. To get to Elsa, they would have to go through Joan... or at least, play on their relationship.

"The Queen is practically her mother; she will do anything for the little brat," Emerson had said. "Even marry one of us. But I have a design that's even better. We can turn this into a contest amongst ourselves. If my associates put up a ransom, and we play the heroes... Elsa will have to fall in love with one of us!"

So it was that four of the suitors snatched a sleeping Joan from her chambers in the dead of night and prepared to hand her over to professional kidnappers, to be stowed on a ship docked just off the coast of Arendelle. A ransom note would be posted, and then the suitors would engage in a frantic search for the little princess, eventually leading them to the boat. Betrayal of these kidnapping ne'er-do-wells was required, of course, but the kidnappers didn't have to know that. And the double crossing would be simple, Emerson assured - petty criminals such as these men possessed little in the ways of smarts. They were thugs, not con artists. With at least one suitor playing the hero, the Queen's heart would be won.

However, the one factor that the four suitors had not counted on was their fifth compatriot... who just happened to wander into the courtyard as the nefarious transaction was being carried out.

Prince Viljar of the Eastern Isles was a handsome youth of 25, the baby and all-around runt of the group. Though Elsa had been wary of entertaining anyone from a kingdom with the name 'Isles' in it (again, the specter and memory of Hans), Arendelle had a strong relationship and trade agreement with their eastern neighbor, even if relations with their southern neighbor had soured. He was soft, but well-spoken, and very intelligent. His date with the Queen had been, by all accounts, very successful. Still, the other suitors paid him little mind. They thought he would be the first one eliminated, if not by his age alone, then by other factors.

But now, Viljar was walking right into the middle of their splendid little scheme. Recruiting him to their cause had been a risk Emerson refused to run - Viljar presented himself as too much of a goody-goody. A hunch that now proved right.

"What are you doing with the little princess?" Viljar's piercing green eyes narrowed suspiciously.

One of the brutish kidnappers advanced forward with a broadsword menacingly, but paused when Emerson stayed his hand. Violence would not be necessary, if the evil prince could avoid it. For a man of Viljar's size, sheer intimidation should work well enough. "Get out of here, runt, this doesn't concern you. Perhaps you might thank us later, when Arendelle finally has a new King."

Viljar didn't know what was going on, but he had enough clues before him to work out a rough theory. Though he didn't voice it, his theory turned out to match Emerson's ultimate plan, beat for beat. It was all a matter of logic, after all. If this, then this. And right now Viljar knew that if he left quietly, then bad things would happen to an innocent little girl, and down the line, to the kingdom of Arendelle. The best interests of both entities compelled him to stay right where he was. "No, Emerson." He wagged a finger. "You leave that little girl alone."

Viljar didn't know if he could fight all of these men at once. Besides his four rivals for the Queen's hand, there were two kidnappers - and all of whom were a lot bigger than him. Six against one were terrible odds, and the differences in size only made those odds worse.

Thankfully, though Emerson was a devious tactician, any intellect he had flew promptly out the window when pitted against his short fuse of a temper. The Prydain prince now advanced on Viljar threateningly. "All right, short stack... you asked for it, and now you're gonna get it!"

Viljar threw a desperate punch, but Emerson caught it and then twisted his arm back. Viljar's face contorted in pain as he was bent around and away from Emerson, with the latter still twisting; any farther, and Viljar's arm would be in danger of breaking.

In that moment, Viljar was twisted in a way that left him with a good view of the princess, stuffed in a burlap sack. The sight filled him with a rage stronger than any sheer physical strength - stronger than the presumptive arrogance Emerson now had etched all over his face. An arrogance that can lead men - like Republicans, white supremacists and rural voters, to name a few examples in today's world - to do really stupid, retarded shit, and not pay attention to what they are doing.

In the same way that Emerson was not paying attention to Viljar's free and currently untwisted arm. The arm that now reeled back and swung, laying down the evil prince with one punch.

As the other stunned suitors and two kidnappers made to overwhelm Viljar, an icy blast sent them all spinning off their feet. Queen Elsa of Arendelle was flying down the stairs, a mixed look of terror and indescribable rage on her face. Lord Kristoff brought up the rear, wielding a pickaxe.

"You would dare to kidnap my sister's baby and deceive me? Me?" Elsa screamed. "Get out, all of you! Out!" The kidnappers and evil suitors picked up an unconscious Emerson and fled from the palace. His one arm badly sprained, Viljar made to follow, but the commanding and regal voice of the Queen stopped him:

"Not you. You stay."

Viljar turned and stared, as the most beautiful woman he had ever seen descended the rest of the staircase and approached him. Smiling gratefully, she dared to peck him on the cheek.

"Thank you, Prince Viljar, for your bravery. Arendelle owes you a great debt. I would like for you to remain a guest at the palace, so that you may court me."

Viljar glanced between the Queen, and the Lord Kristoff, who had freed his daughter from the burlap sack and was in the process of consoling her. Gulping nervously, and with a faint blush to his cheeks, he bravely dared to accept the Queen's extended hand. Though Her Majesty was ten years his senior, matters such as that could be discussed later. Right now, just getting to know each other and in another, new light, would be enough.


In the weeks after the Great Freeze and Thaw, Elsa's sleeping patterns had been thrown permanently out of whack. It was something that had never been completely stopped, only heightened - all the more so at very stressful points in her life.

When Anna disappeared into Mist Haven, Elsa didn't sleep for a week. After Anna succumbed to childbirth, nightmares of either Kristoff, or worse, Joan dying dominated Elsa's dreams for months. In moments like this, when Elsa couldn't sleep, she found herself wandering the halls of the castle. Alongside that, she would try reading a book.

During the worst moments of her isolation, the books in her room had been all Elsa had to comfort her. Some of these stories were the same ones she now read to Joan at bedtime. After the Great Thaw, Elsa was allowed access to the castle libraries, increasing the number of tomes she could pursue exponentially.

As a child, Elsa had found the fairytales and other fantasy stories to be very comforting to her. In them were princesses just like her, who had hopes and dreams, to better themselves and fall in love. She had always hoped that, in spite of everything and all that she was, that someone would come to love her, too. In as strong a way as Anna and later Joan loved her... and perhaps even more.

Elsa's feet now carried her into the castle library. The moonlight from the high windows cast an ethereal glow on the bookshelves and reading tables. It was piercing through the storm clouds, as a thunderstorm raged on outside, punctuated by rolling thunder and sudden flashes of lightning.

As Elsa rounded one corner, a clap of thunder boomed at the exact moment that she bumped into something - or rather, someone. There was a startled shout, and Elsa nearly screamed herself, until the subsequent flash of lightning gave her just enough of a look at the person also wandering these halls.

"Viljar?"

Viljar flinched, his eyes looking embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty - I mean, Elsa." (The pair had been working their way to addressing each other by name and not title). "I've always had trouble sleeping, and it's gotten worse ever since the attempted abduction, and so I find myself wandering the halls at night. It's... comforting, in its way."

Elsa peered at him for a moment, before averting her gaze. "I have trouble sleeping, too," she found herself admitting. "Ever since I was a little girl. Usually, it's because of nightmares or reliving... bad things that have happened to me and my family."

Viljar nodded. "I can understand that," he conceded. "Though I still can't even begin to imagine what those losses must have been like. I have heard the servants speak highly of your sister, the late Princess. Some still weep for her. I have no doubt she was a wonderful woman, if her sister and child are any indication."

Elsa blinked, astonished at the prince's kind eulogizing of her sister. "Thank you," she murmured, moved almost to tears.

A deafening clap of thunder made both royals start. Viljar jumped nearly three feet into the air, and almost right into Elsa's arms.

Time seemed to slow. The temperature in the library seemed to heat by several degrees. Practically in each other's arms, the look between Elsa and Viljar was charged. Elsa felt her eyelids grow hooded as she studied this man. This was the man who had risked his life to save her precious niece. This was the man who had just extolled her dearly departed sister - a woman he had never even met, yet whom he spoke of as if he knew her. If he cared as much about those dearest to her, then surely...?

Viljar eyed her cautiously. "Elsa...?"

She couldn't help it. Elsa kissed him, taking his face in her hands as a bolt of lightning sharply illuminated the library. In the next moment, her eyes had closed and she parted her mouth, deepening the kiss, coaxing his tongue in between her lips like a snake charmer manipulating a serpent. After several heated seconds, Elsa drew away. Her face was permanently flushed, but her eyes were hopeful, as she wondered how Viljar had felt about the kiss, whether or not he liked it. She admitted she had no previous experience when it came to kissing anyone - she had shunned physical affection from her father after a time, out of fear, and with Kristoff, it was never anything more than chaste, familial pecks.

But she shouldn't have doubted herself or wondered, for with the next clap of thunder, Viljar was pulling Elsa close and kissing her full on the mouth in return. Their tongues quickly came together in a passionate dance, and tightly gripping her waist, Viljar lifted Elsa off her feet. She flung her arms about his neck and moaned sweetly. "Hmmmm..."

With a wave of her hand, Elsa was suddenly possessed to melt her ice dress away, so that she stood naked before him. Viljar seemed captivated by what he saw, if the tent in his pants was any indication. He was frantic in his haste to undress himself, Elsa moving with surprising assertiveness to help him. In between, the couple would share desperate pecks, unable to resist kissing each other.

The moon was now high in the sky as through the glassy panes of one window, Elsa and Viljar groaned as they undulated against each other in heat. Viljar was peppering kisses to Elsa's lips, her face, and her eyes which were half-lidded in ecstasy. Then, Viljar knelt before the bewitching Queen and buried his face in between her legs, tasting her arousal.

"Mmmmm... Uhhhh..." Elsa groaned, pushing her perky nipples up against the window, her head lolling back and her eyes rolling into the back of her skull. As her handsome prince ravished and deflowered her...


They were wrapped in each other's arms underneath a blanket, naked as babies. Elsa kissed Viljar lovingly.

"Elsa..." Viljar murmured into her lips. "Is there anyone I would need to go to, in order to get permission to marry you?"

Elsa gaped, quite stunned that he had proposed. Viljar wanted to marry her. Someone loved her and wanted to marry her. "Well," she weighed breathlessly, "maybe we should ask..."

"Kristoff and Joan?" Viljar guessed. Laughing, with foreheads touching, the couple shared a chaste kiss.