A/N: Hey all. I don't normally use author's notes, but I just wanted to express my appreciation for those of you who are reading this silly little story. It's going to be a long one, but I plan to see it through to the end. Also, some of you have left comments and reviews. If I haven't replied to yours, rest assured it's not because I haven't seen it – I just don't really know what to say.
This particular chapter is a tad longer than the previous chapters, but I had fun writing it. I hope you have fun reading it, too.
The trolls had a general habit of making much ado about nothing when they could get away with it, which was all the time. When it came to something worth making ado about, then, they went positively crazy. In this particular instance, it was the matter of Anna's 15th birthday.
It was the warm of summer, and the troll cairn was alive day and night in the week leading up to Anna's birthday. Everywhere she looked, trolls were hard at work with the preparations: weaving festive skirts, carving signs, setting up pavilions and games, preparing food, singing – it was considered ill luck to do work without somebody singing in close proximity – and in general tripping over each other and themselves even more than was usual.
Anna was wearing a long, woolen green tunic over a white undertunic and thick white leggings, and two high boots of brown stained leather. She wore her coppery embrous hair pulled back and tamed with a leaf green hairtie, and buckled to her belt on her left hip was the wooden practicing stick she'd used since she was ten. She was also quite bored, for although she had insisted the trolls let her help, they would have none of it. One does not prepare for their own coming-of-age party, they said. It simply isn't done. That's all well and good, thought Anna, but in the meantime, what am I to do?
At the moment, she was sitting on a tree stump and listening to three idle trolls argue loudly about what profession Anna would choose when she came of-age. For the benefit of her company, they had posed the question as a friendly discussion on the merits and drawbacks of all the different troll specializations, so that she might make a decision in good knowledge; although in truth it was not a discussion so much as an unfollowable shouting match.
"Nope nope nope," bulled Braffly, raising his voice to speak over Rain and Loot. "She's gonna be a watchman, like me. She'll be the best watchman ever. She's a bear-scarer, you know."
"I know she's a bear-scarer," snorted Loot. "I was the one who inspired her to scare bears, remember? That's why she's going to be a hunter."
"You're both so stupid," snapped Rain. "Those jobs are for meatheads. Anna's got so much cunning, she'll be a better Wise Troll."
"Guh?" said Braffly, confused. "What about the Wise Troll?"
"What about him?"
"What'll he do?"
"He can be a Wise Troll, too."
"Now who's stupid?" said Loot. "You can't have two Wise Trolls."
"Why not?" said Rain.
"Because you just can't," said Loot testily and he stomped his foot.
Rain made to object, but Anna interrupted. "I think Loot's got the right of it, Rain," she said, her voice clear, but not loud, and curved by a slight laugh. "I'm afraid I wouldn't make a very good Wise Troll."
Rain crossed her trollish arms and grunted, and Loot gave a superior smile. "Hunter it is!" he declared, and that began a whole new round of arguing.
Anna smiled fondly at them. In truth, she wasn't really excited about any of the career options they were championing. As a matter of fact, most of the troll village careers failed to excite any real passion in her – except one. She was long past the point of worrying about it, since she'd made up her mind privately, and only hoped that not too many of her beloved family would be crushed by her decision.
Time was, the trolls were everything to her. They were her family, and she did really believe that. But in recent years her heart had grown heavy with the prospect of an entire life spent at the troll cairn. Every time she caught a glimpse, from high trees or hill-crests, of the Far-Offs, the Up-And-Downs, the Springway, the North Mountain, the distant mists and fogs that might as well have been World's End; when she saw these things, there was nothing in her that didn't want to get out there. Somehow, the wide, unseeable world made her feel alone. She wasn't alone, she knew, not really – not among her friends and family, not among Astrid and Kristoff and the rest. But she felt something was missing, that a part of her was cut out. The dreams were another thing, the dreams that went back a way, the dreams that seemed stitched in, an afterthought, patching on a quilt. They were inscrutable to her, and made her restless – such that she didn't sleep so much anymore. Then on, many a sleepless day or night went by where she lay awake and watched the slow pink clouds with their lazy orange sheets, or the twinkling stars in their ticklesome vigil; her constant, restive companions, they the wind and sky.
Loot had told her about his adventures going to the far parts of the woods. He had seen the ice fields, the foot of the North Mountain, the barrowings. He'd seen every corner of the forest, except for that north of the Mud River – because it would be "madness" to go so far. "The Mud River is wide as it is long," he said nonsensically. "And on the other side is the Gobwoods, where the goblins live."
"You're not afraid of goblins, are you?" she asked.
"No, of course not," he blustered. "But, they're tricky, goblins are. They can't take you in a standing fight, so they have all kinds of traps and gadgets, whizmos and contraptions. The sly folk, we call 'em."
Anna knew what the trolls called the goblins, and also what they thought of them, and indeed how very negative those thoughts were. "Those ufgoody goblins" was a common turn-of-phrase for whenever something went wrong. She wasn't clear on the history there, only that trolls seemed to mistrust the goblins fiercely. She had half a mind to visit the Gobwoods and see for herself, but she knew to voice such an intention would be to invite a torrent of "oh no, don't bother"'s, voiced in every pitch and tone available to the trollish timbre.
When she had decided she'd heard enough of the trolls' debate, she excused herself and took her leave. The bustle of the troll cairn was dying down in the emerging light of morning, and she had a mind to visit the town that day. Burrowstown was its proper name, and the men and women of House Burrows had mayored the modest little hamlet since time immemorial. Or at least since the Ice Queen united Arendelle under her icy fist.
She left the troll cairn and went to the stream where the berry bushes bustled, kneeling before the running water and cupping some in her hands. She threw the water in her face, and let the errant droplets roll down her cheeks and nose before undoing her green hairtie and washing her face and hair in the river. When she was finished, she pulled her hair back and tied it up again. She had taken to doing this since Astrid had mentioned that controlled hair didn't restrict the vision or confound head movements as much as hair allowed to be wild. Short hair too, but Anna was less fond of that option.
She had considered braiding her hair in the style of Astrid, in two pigtails, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Astrid tied her braids in honor of those she had promised to always protect. Anna had no such persons, so instead, she wrapped her hair up in a tight bun.
Standing up again, she patted the hilt of her practicing stick. It had been about a year since she had used it in training; she only kept it with her because it was better than nothing – and it was hers, at Astrid's insistence many years ago. Lately she had been training with a dull-edged iron blade, of a length with the stick but much heavier, which Astrid secured through her connections with Oaken.
"A kind they use for practicing, and in some tourneys," said Astrid.
"Tourneys?" Anna had questioned, waving the sword around, getting a feel for its weight and balance. "Isn't it true that it's anything-goes in most tourneys?"
"That is true, but some lords are more squeamish than others, and prefer not to have any bloodshed among the competitors. There's always risk, anyway. Like when the current Lord Protector, Erik Ulfton, hacked an opponent's head off with a dull tourney blade."
"I heard about that," said Anna with mild disgust. "Anders said that he did it in one clean sweep. Actually. That was unsporting of him, wasn't it?"
"Some say," agreed Astrid. "But the opponent in question was Ser Jarl of Eastgreen, who declared for the Duke of Weselton the moment his armies crossed into the county."
"Ah," laughed Anna. "Stiff justice, then."
"Ser Jarl had been pardoned by His Majesty the King, but the Lord Protector reckoned that too merciful by half. 'His Grace should have subtracted his head, so I did it for him.'"
Anna decided that the Lord Protector seemed like a loyal sort of man, if a bit ruthless, if half the stories were to be believed. Once a serving boy had poured the king some wine, and when the king coughed after sipping it, the Lord Protector immediately demanded the boy's head be removed, and moved to do it himself. When the king regained his breath and said "No, please, it was merely a spiced wine from Euzaro! It took me unawares," all the guests laughed about it, except for the serving boy, who never poured wine again; and the embarrassed Lord Protector, who grunted that he was "just being sure." And from that day forward, the story goes, the Lord Protector appointed three separate food-tasters for the king, and he only trusted himself to serve wine. Kristoff said that story made the Lord Protector out to be cracked, but Anna said there was a difference between lunacy and doing your duty.
"Is there, though?" Anders had mused.
When Anna reached the crossing, she turned in the direction of the town and continued on her own way. It had been some time since she last waited for Kristoff, let alone rode in the toboggan, and anyway there was something peacefully serene about walking through the forest in the morning light.
She was almost 15, truly, and in troll society that made her an adult. By the standards of Arendelle law, she still had a year to go after that, until she was officially at the age of majority. Not that it would mean much for her – she was the heiress to no titles, lands, or property, and so it didn't really matter if she was 15 or 16 as far as the laws of Arendelle were concerned. But among the trolls, 15 meant she chose her profession and received a special gift commemorating her adulthood. She had no idea what the gift was going to be, what it could possibly be. The trolls didn't stake an awful lot in personal property, and as such more than token trinkets or general amenities were very rare.
Anna let her mind dwell on gifts as she walked into town, intent on paying Anders a visit before continuing on to Astrid's house. If she was lucky, Oaken would be at the cabin today. He had announced that he was going to sell the cabin in town, and move all the earthly belongings of him and his husband Anders to the foot of the North Mountain – an announcement that Anders tolerated with a thin-lipped veneer of approval.
Anders was indeed home and, to her surprise, so was Oaken. They were discussing loudly about something in the front of their cabin when Anna strode up, and they both fell into sudden silence, regarding her with a curt nod from Anders and an abashed frown from Oaken.
"Good morning, Anna" said Anders. "Hoo-hoo," said Oaken. Anna nodded back to them.
"What news today?" she asked. When nobody spoke, she said again, "Is something the matter? I thought I heard raised voices."
"No, erm," said Oaken, a giant hand scratching the back of his neck. He had grown a fantastic mustache, which connected a peculiar beard that was thin on the chin and wide on the sides. "Nothing is wrong, ja, Anders and I are merely having a conversation."
"Indeed," confirmed Anders mysteriously.
Anna didn't know what to make of this, and didn't feel like guessing, so she changed the subject. "Has Kristoff come by today?" They shook their heads, but then she heard the pattering of reindeer-hooves. "Hoo-hoo, here he comes now," said Oaken, and Kristoff appeared, riding a big dark brown moose with the woolliest mane and the friendliest muzzle.
If Kristoff and Anna had grown over the years, the same could be said ten times for Sven, now a titan of an animal. Kristoff was tall, now, taller than Anna for sure, broad in the shoulders and strong in the chest. His hair was still an uncomely mat of dirty straw, and his nose was still a touch big, but more importantly he still had his kindly and expressive face. He wore stained and faded breeches and a studded leather jerkin over a ratty blue tunic, and he wore a blue fur cap over his straw-colored hair. It was summer, which made the fur cap an odd choice, but Kristoff didn't seem to mind the heat, and anyway it was always unseasonably cold near the ice fields, no matter what the weather was elsewhere.
"Hey, feisty-pants!" he greeted Anna. A ridiculous nickname, but one she could not disabuse him of, since "wild girl" stopped being as appropriate, and Kristoff thought it terribly amusing that Anna hardly ever wore skirts or dresses anymore. Sven whickered.
"Hey, numbskull," she replied with a defiant crossing of her arms. She was proud of that one. Numb skull, because he liked ice so much that his head was probably full of snow. The nickname had not half the effect on him as his had on her. He considered it with a point of pride, actually. "If my head is full of snow, it'd explain a lot," was his usual reply.
He laughed in response and turned to Oaken. "I dropped the ice and sled off at the Post."
"Kristoff," bristled Oaken, "What is the full name of my North Mountain trading post?"
Kristoff sighed melodramatically. "The Haunted Trading Post. I dropped the ice and sled off at the Haunted Mountain Trading Ghost."
Anna laughed at the unexpected play on words, and even Anders chuckled lightly, the shadow of his previous demeanor flitting away for a short moment. Oaken scowled at them all and pouted his lips sulkily.
"You came upon them at a bad time, I think," said Anna to Kristoff. "I believe they were fighting."
"Really?" said Kristoff, his brow knitted in concern. "Not about the Ghost Post?"
"No," said Anders quickly. "Not fighting, and not about that." Oaken reddened and nodded in agreement.
"Then what?" said Anna, and before any more could be said, a loud noise echoed through the valley. Beeeoooooooorrrrrrrrrrrrrr, it sounded, at first faint but growing louder as it neared.
"What was that?" asked Anna as the sound faded, and then the the horn sounded again, beeeoooooorrrrrrrrrr, and it was much closer now. Oaken and Anders now put on worried looks, and they all looked around for the source of the noise.
A horseman in a leather half-helm and dark gray cloak came galloping up the road, his face red, a horn of carved bone swinging from his neck as his black mare's hooves pounded the sparse pebbling of the road. When he passed by Oaken's cabin, he reared and slowed to a trot. From some of the nearby houses, people had come out to see what the commotion was about.
"Hear ye, hear ye!" he cried, so that all in the vicinity could hear. "The king and queen are dead!"
"What?" said Anna and Kristoff in almost perfect unison. Oaken's jaw dropped. Anders hailed the man: "Good rider, how came you by this news?"
"Oh, 'tis terrible!" moaned the rider. "'Twere in the city this past weekend, aye, and the king and queen put to sea with a mind on visiting their cousins in Corona. But the ocean is cruel, and a storm sank their ship with all hands, yes it did!"
"By the gods," breathed Anders.
"What about the princess?" another onlooker called.
"She is safe, thank the gods," said the rider. "She were in the city, yes she was, in the royal castle. The line of Arendelle continues!" There were murmurs among the onlookers as they repeated the old refrain. "But aye, 'twas an ill thing, this storm, fer the Lord Protector was with the king and queen also, and surely as drownded now as either of them."
Anna clapped a hand over her mouth in shock. "The king and queen and Lord Protector, all lost at sea, dead?"
"Aye, 'tis so," said the rider mournfully. "The king were a good king, and too young, but the princess shall inherit."
"Praise the new queen!" someone yelled. Then someone else, "She's not the queen yet, you fool."
"When is the coronation?" asked Anders of the rider.
"A fortnight hence," said the rider. "'Twould have been proper were it a longer time, I think, more time fer grieving, but Ser Tore is insistent the coronation is done soonly."
"Why?" asked Oaken.
"Ser Tore, you said?" said an onlooker. "Tore the Headsman! Bet he wants not another Weselton attempt on the throne."
The rider nodded. "Aye, 'tis so. The good Ser Tore said he couldn't pull th' same miracle twice."
"Aw, a modest man, Ser Tore Seastone."
"Who's the new Lord Protector?" asked Kristoff.
"There is none, lad," said the rider. "The queen shall pick a new Lord Protector when she is coronated, she shall."
The rider continued through the town, yelling for all to hear of the deaths of the king and queen. Anna was speechless and deeply troubled.
"Gods," said Kristoff. "I always thought if that lunatic Lord Protector was with them, they should expect to live to their nineties."
"He isn't a lunatic," said Anna crossly. Wasn't, she corrected herself.
"He did his job as well as he could, ja," said Oaken sadly. "But how do you protect your charge against the gods themselves?"
They stood in silence for a little while, and Anna suspected each of them were mourning inwardly. She still remembered when she saw the Royal Family pass through town, how wonderful they looked. And the princess. Anna's heart skipped a beat. That nervous girl. Now she was a woman grown, but still, the king and queen were all the family she had in the world, and now they were gone. Anna imagined for a second how she would feel if all the trolls and Astrid and Kristoff vanished suddenly, and she felt her eyes mist. Her heart went out to the princess. I hope you have a long, happy reign, Princess Elsa. And not a lonely one.
When a time had passed, Kristoff had dismounted Sven and put him up with some water, and they were sitting around on the porch of Oaken's soon-to-be-sold cabin. They had moved on to other topics of conversation, and while occasionally cutting back to the troublesome subject, Anna found herself thinking of the Lord Protector, and other affairs of state. "Anders, how is the Lord Protector picked?" she asked.
"It is an appointed office," he said. "Traditionally held for life, and traditionally a title only held by the best of the best. Lord Protectors can rarely be bested in single combat."
"But they don't always win tournaments," said Anna.
Anders bowed his head. "That's true. It's really more the idea that counts. The Lord Protector is also Captain of the Guard, since Marth the Certain implored Queen Bryn to unite the two jobs."
"The Royal Guardsmen? That makes sense. What if the Captain of the Guard wanted to do the Royal Family harm?"
"What if the Lord Protector did, too?" said Anders sharply.
This time Anna was ready. "But no Lord Protector ever has, have they? Betrayed their liege."
For once, Anders was speechless. "Yes," he admitted, after a momentary pause. "But still, it could happen."
"But it hasn't," Anna pressed triumphantly. "And in fact, Marth the Certain only united the two jobs when he proved the Captain of the Guard was a traitor."
Oaken boomed with laughter, and even Kristoff was impressed. "If I was appointed Lord Protector, and I had all that prestige and money," said Kristoff, "I wouldn't want to hurt the people who gave me that title, I can tell you that much."
Anna had done a lot of reading on the various famous knights of Arendelle, many of whom served as Lord Protector, out of Oaken and Anders' library. Lord Protector was a hard job, and largely thankless, and all of the burden of the Royal Family's security was upon it. But in the many years since King Andrew the Cold, no Lord Protector was ever so ill-chosen as to hurt their liege, or end the line of Arendelle, though they always had the power to do so.
"It's just good luck," said Anders stubbornly. "The Royal Family is lucky." Anna wasn't sure what kind of good luck sunk your ship beneath a heavy storm, but she left it at that, satisfied she had made her point.
After discussing her birthday plans briefly (Anna was insistent on nothing too lavish, just like every year, but just like every year they always vexed her on this one small request), Anna eventually excused herself from their company to go see Astrid.
Martin was training with bow and arrow, alone, in Astrid's backyard. He was still a small boy, with a thin figure and small bones, despite his father's prolonged insistence that he eat more meat.
"Well met, Martin," she called to him, and he was startled and lost his concentration, unknocking his arrow and whirling his head towards her.
"Oh. Anna. Hello." He blushed.
"Have you seen Astrid?" she asked, perhaps unnecessarily – but she found that asking the boy easy questions was a good way to move him towards other objects of conversation, lest he become paralyzed in an intense study of the ground and feet.
"Yes, ser. I mean, ma'am. She's in her house." Just as I thought, thought Anna. Still, it was a good excuse to see Martin hard at work. Despite his extended troubles with Brendan in the past, the lordling no longer even talked to Martin. That's probably due to a mixture of things. One, he now reckons Martin as dangerous. Two, Brendan's a man grown, at 18, so surely he's moved past that now. And three, his Lord Father was still alive, and still unlikely to protect him from Astrid's wrath.
For a split second, Anna's stomach roiled. She didn't like thinking about that.
She left the boy to his archery – he was absurdly good now, but nobody in the town knew it except for her and Astrid, and Kristoff couldn't be made to believe. "If he's that good, prove it," and she tried to get Martin to show off for Kristoff, but the boy just stood there, stammering, head locked in a floor-inspecting position. "You were spearing apples down the stem at a hundred yards," she told Martin later that day, disappointed. He said nothing, and speared an apple down the stem at a hundred yards.
Sure enough, Astrid answered the door and invited Anna in with a kind smile. She fixed them a pot of tea and, over the rim of her wooden cup, asked Anna, "So, have you given any thought as to what you want for your birthday?"
Anna ignored the question. "Did you hear the news?"
Astrid mumbled something that might have been "Yes." Her teacher was still as imposing as the day Anna met her, with powerful, wide shoulders and strong arms, her round face with its long nose framed by two thick golden locks of braided hair. And her eyes – deep, sad orbs of blue.
"Bad luck," said Astrid. "Both the king and the queen."
"And the Lord Protector," Anna inserted.
"At least the princess still lives."
"She must be feeling quite lonely and sad," said Anna wanly.
"I should expect," said Astrid, and she sipped her tea.
They sat in the warm silence of the late morning, Astrid's cook fire smoldering and casting its smoky lights around the room. They mixed with the beams of the morning sun, and all the cabin was heavy oranges and trickly yellows.
Still standing out among all things in Astrid's quaint little cottage was its most precious adornment. Perched above the mantle of Astrid's fireplace was the short arming sword with the polished redwood hilt and the glittery red gem in the pommel. Astrid's favorite sword, Anna remembered, and beautiful to look at. It seemed untouched by the dust of years, its folded steel blade looking almost gilded in the sunlight. It was calliopic in its colors, a mixture of autumnal browns and summery golds and dusky reds.
Astrid had told Anna a little about the sword, once, after Anna had started using a dull tourney blade and found herself curious about proper swords. "That knight sword was my first sword," said Astrid. "A gift from my mother."
"Was your mother a fighter, too?"
"Yes she was," said Astrid. "Life on Berk is not as it is in Arendelle. On Berk, all women are trained as warriors, just as the men are."
"All people on Berk are warriors?" said Anna, incredulous.
"Yes they are," said Astrid with a smirk. "We had to be, since the days the dragons roamed. Berk is rocky, cold, and lifeless, and dragons often stole away our sheep in the old days. So we all had to fight. A better attitude than you have in Arendelle, I think."
Anna frowned, her pride wounded despite never really feeling any particular attachment to the so-called "Kingdom of Arendelle." "In Arendelle, men and women inherit equally," said Anna. "Anders said so. It is different from Corona, and the Southern Isles, and the Svithron states, and all that."
"That is so," admitted Astrid. "But women are rarely ever knights, and rarely ever chosen to fill high offices, are they, Anna?"
Anna supposed that much was true. "On Berk there are no such delusions," said Astrid. "In the old days, you were either dragon-killer, or dragon-food. At least, until the Dragon-Tamer came. But even then, you were either dragon-tamer, or dragon-food." She laughed with a snort.
Anna smiled at the memory, and Astrid caught her staring at the sword while she was lost in thought. "Do you want to know what I named it?" she asked.
"What?" said Anna, blinking her way back to the real world.
"Do you want to know what I named that sword?"
"Oh, you named it?"
"I did," said Astrid. "When I ran away from Berk."
"Well, what did you call it?"
"Summer," said Astrid simply, and sipped her tea.
Anna had never known Astrid to attach much sentimentality to names of swords or shields or anything like that. She called it a frivolous distraction, especially for weapons that were undistinguished. "Many a sorry knight names his sword for only the reason of naming his sword," she had said. "Names like 'Giantslayer' and 'Dragoncutter,' tedious things like that, when for all they ended up doing with the sword they might have called it 'Nail-Cleaner.' It is ill-luck, and pathetic besides."
Summer was not a name Anna would have picked for the sword, and definitely not a name she'd expect Astrid to pick for… well, anything, really. "Why did you choose that name?" she asked.
Astrid shrugged. "I liked it."
"Doesn't sound like a name you'd pick."
Astrid smiled mischievously. "Would you have expected 'Winter?'"
"No," said Anna. "Just… not Summer."
When they trained that day, with banded iron shield in one hand and tourney blade in the other, Anna traded blows, stabs, and swipes with her teacher, and without even realizing it, found that she had her teacher on the defensive. She observed this with mild surprise, unsure where exactly she had gone right. She was living in the moment, blow-to-blow, acting and reacting as the fight evolved.
A high strike by Astrid met Anna's shield, and Anna then thrust her right arm forward to jab Astrid in the gut. "Oof," said Astrid and she stumbled the tiniest bit, and Anna pressed the advantage, hammering Astrid's shield with blows, pushing her back and back to the edge of the clearing.
"I yield," said Astrid from behind her shield. They were both out of breath, and the day had grown late.
For a moment, Anna was stupefied. "I won?" she said blankly. The two of them often ended drills and exercises with scrimmages, but Anna never managed to win one before. She sometimes came close, but more often than not she would make just enough of a crucial misstep to surrender to Astrid – either in being weakened by the blows, or in being too tired to continue. The bruises would settle in afterwards.
"Yeah," said Astrid in a weary voice as she set sword and shield down, peeling off the heavy leather armor that they both used to train with. "You've gotten too fast for me, wild girl."
Once Anna might have been deliriously proud to hear that, but now she was just puzzled. "I barely knew what happened," she said. "Only that you were attacking one minute, and defending the next."
"Your defensive posture is quite good," said Astrid. "I can't outmaneuever you, and you dodge or parry my most powerful blows nimbly. I suspect you'd be unstoppable on the offense." Astrid gave Anna a sweaty smile. "Gee, you remind me a little of myself. Of course, at your age I mostly used an axe."
"You don't own any axes," Anna observed.
"Tastes changed. Anyway, that was well done. Very well done indeed."
Anna bowed in courteous respect. "As you say, but I'm sure it was… I'm sure I was just lucky. Or you were tired."
When Astrid cracked open in laughter, Anna snapped her head up, face warm. "What?" she demanded, a little perturbed by this sudden outburst.
"Gods, nothing. You've just changed so much, wild girl," said Astrid kindly. "I remember when you first came to town, starting fights with older boys and being terrible at swordsplay. And now, here you are, defeating me in scrims – yet you're as demure as a proper lady."
Anna felt herself redden further. "Or as humble as a knight," she retorted.
"Yes," said Astrid with a gleam in her eyes. "I hope you make such a good knight you change all of their minds."
That did make Anna feel a little proud, and gave her queer butterflies. The rest of that evening, she thought long and hard about being a knight. The best knight in all the land. Noble, chivalrous, charitable, kind, just. And humble, that's important. Try as she might, she couldn't convince herself her victory over Astrid wasn't a fluke.
And let's be honest, self, she thought, if Astrid really wanted, she could kill you.
It's only a shame that there's no "knight" profession among the trolls. Becoming a knight was no easy task: you had to prove your valor. And if Astrid was right about one thing, it was that there were very few opportunities to prove your valor as a woman in the Kingdom of Arendelle.
The day of her 15th birthday rose on sleeping trolls. The festivities were all prepared for that night, and all around the troll cairn the bundles and packages, streamers and banners were waiting in the gusts for the moon to rise and say "Happy birthday, Anna!" There was an excitement to them, those inert bundles, like they could hardly wait. But they would have to wait a little longer, because now was the sun's time.
Anna woke late in the morning. She allowed herself to sleep in so that she could spend the day in Burrowstown, as Oaken had made it quite clear that she was to report in town that day for her birthday festivities. Two birthday parties, well – she knew she shouldn't complain, but it really was a lot of fuss over very little, she thought.
She came upon Oaken's cabin in humble silence and not much sign of life. The sign that had swung over the front door had been removed at Oaken's behest. No doubt it now adorned Oaken's Haunted Trading Post. Or perhaps it had been used as kindling, and a new sign took its place. Either way, it was gone now.
She knocked on the front door and was greeted by Oaken in short order. "Hoo-hoo, happy birthday!"
"Thanks," was all Anna could say. She smiled her most winsomely.
Anders had outdone himself for Anna's benefit that day, and for supper had prepared roast wild goose flavored with lemons and garlic and stuffed with onions. Savory buttered turnips and fresh-baked bread imbibed with raisins and pickled fishlings garnished with cloves were all in company – the whole affair was so rich-tasting that Anna was shocked, and a little impressed in spite of herself. It was a feat to accomplish for any chef, and though Anders had always possessed a sort of culinary ingenuity, and Oaken had his ways when it came to trading, Anna knew that Anders' background was not so humble as all that. Perhaps a cache of squirreled-away silver had aided in the preparations. As such, it was a terrific supper, prepared with love, and Anna felt her heart turn to mush at the thoughtfulness of it all.
Most impressive was the dessert, a flaky baked crust of floury bread filled with apple cuttings and syrup, doused with goat cream. They rarely made mention of the chocolate incident, as Kristoff had come to call it, but by unspoken agreement had made sure that Anna never received chocolate as a gift again. They sought out other sweets for her, and though Anna was appreciative, none of them ever compared to the chocolate, now such a memory as to be the subject of many a wistful recollection. The apple crust was still delicious, but it was no chocolate.
They ate and laughed their way through the supper, the four of them, exchanging japes and stories as the fancy came to them. When all was eaten, and they sat lazing, Oaken clapped his hands together and said it was time for Anna to receive her presents.
Usually, Anna received presents of a rather modest or humble nature, and never in addition to a fine meal such as this. But as the supper was also unprecedented, so were the presents. Anders produced a folded goatskin, which Anna unfurled to find was a highly detailed map of the Kingdom of Arendelle. She gawked at it – it was richly colored across all corners, and little trees and mountains dotted the map, interspersed with circles and words and small drawings of towers, houses, and castles. Kristoff was also floored by the look of it, and the two of them hunched over it, admiring the art and trying to find Burrowstown.
As Kristoff could not read, the latter task he left to Anna. "There," she exclaimed, and pointed to a small dot labelled "Burrowstown." A line ran through the town north and to the east, through a forest called the "Rockwoods," in the middle of which was a small illustration of standing rocks, in turn labelled "The Cairn." The road ran east through the forest until it reached a blue patch simply called "The Ice."
Further north and to the east of the forest was the North Mountain, lonely amidst the unlabelled surrounding hills. South of that was a long road that passed through fields, hills, forests, and towns – the Springway, Anna knew, the road that connected much of Arendelle.
At the end of the road, situated on the innermost bank of a long thin inlet that let out into a vast ocean beyond, was a thick dot labelled "Crystalwater," and an illustration of a castle beside that.
"Crystalwater," Anna read aloud. She looked up at Anders and Oaken. "What's that?"
"That is the home of the Royal Family," said Anders. "The capital city of Arendelle, after it was rebuilt by King Heimdal the Torch. And that castle is the Arenborg."
"Arenborg?" repeated Kristoff.
"Yes. It's the largest castle in Arendelle, and the seat of the Royal Family. From the Arenborg, they rule the kingdom."
Anna looked back down at the map. It was full of details and illustrations – she would surely have to delve into it more closely, but later. She folded up the map carefully and thanked Anders graciously. "This is beautiful," she said. "Where did you get it?"
"Ah, nevermind about that," he chuckled.
Next came Oaken's gift. "I thought you might like some headwear to go with your tunic, ja," he said. "So, I, well, I sewed this." And sewed he did: it was a long, green hat of tightly sewn felted-and-dyed leather. Anna gasped when she saw it, and immediately put it on her head. The tail of the hat went down to just below her shoulders, and her ears stuck out over the brims, but it fit snugly and nicely over her head.
"I love it," she said, and Anders and Oaken smiled at each other.
Just when she thought that had been the end of the gifts, Anders and Oaken began to shift around anxiously, eyeing each other with expectant looks, such as they were privy to a secret jest; Kristoff twiddled his thumbs. They all had an eager, apprehensive look to them.
"Anna," said Oaken, "Anders and I have been talking about… children. And who will carry on our legacy."
Anna gave him a puzzled stare, but said nothing.
"We have already discussed this with Kristoff, ja, and he, well, Anders and I have agreed to adopt him, and name him our heir."
Anna's eyes widened at the sound of that. "Oh, that's terrific!" she said, and beamed at Kristoff. Kristoff smiled back.
"There's more, ja," said Oaken with a tremulous smile. "We were wondering if… perhaps… since you are coming of age in the troll society, but not yet in the human society, we thought it might… we thought we might adopt you, as well, if you wish it."
That was unexpected. Anna was dumbstruck. "Me?" she nearly squeaked. Anders and Oaken both nodded "yes" in slow motion.
"It would grant you more legal privileges and protections," said Anders pedantically. His tone softened, "And, to tell the truth, Anna, we've grown quite fond of you. And since you are an orphan…" his voice trailed off.
Anna still didn't quite know what to say. It was a kind offer, but… "I have a family," she said.
"Yes, and we would not want to replace them. We would be your parents."
Anna sat back in the chair, overwhelmed by the offer. "I'll have to think about this," she said, and then she stood up. "Thank you for the gifts and the supper. Really, it is too much for me." She bowed. "I promised I would see Astrid today, so if you would please excuse me. I promise to have an answer for you this evening."
They nodded their assent and she was off to Astrid's again.
As she walked the dusty dirty road to Astrid's pine-swaddled cabin in the swarthy heat of the late-afternoon sun, the impact of Oaken and Anders' offer hit her like a mad bull. In truth, they had been everything like parents to her. They had certainly treated her more kindly than Martin's father treated him. She was glad that Kristoff had been adopted, at least, because she knew he deserved it. He worked tirelessly for them for years, and didn't even have a home of his own. He'd be an icer now, and they'd live at the foot of the North Mountain… But Anna was not sure if she wanted that kind of life for herself. What would they expect of me, she thought, if I were their adopted daughter? Any differently? Could I still run off and see the world?
Astrid was seeing Martin off by the time Anna came to the door. Martin had slung his bow and a quiver of funny-looking arrows over his back, and passed Anna with a curt, timid nod of acknowledgement.
"How was your lesson?" chirped Anna, not about to let him get away without a word.
"It was good," said Martin bashfully. Anna noticed that the arrows in Martin's quiver were all long and made of silvery wood, fletched at the back end with long, blue feathers that waved happily in the light breeze. They looked like a patch of shiny flowers, sticking out of a flower pot on Martin's back.
"Those arrows," she marvelled. "They're beautiful."
"They are," agreed Martin. "Astrid made them. For me."
Anna turned to look at Astrid, who was watching the two of them with a dry expression.
"A princely gift," said Anna. "Take good care of them, Martin." She patted him on the shoulder, and he looked up at her, swallowed hard, and nodded.
When Martin had left, Anna gave Astrid her full attention.
"Happy birthday, wild girl," said Astrid.
"Those arrows that you gave Martin are incredible. What is the occasion?"
Astrid shrugged nonchalantly. "I am in a gift-giving mood. Speaking of which, I have something to give to you. Meet me out back." Astrid went inside without another word and Anna, bemused, went to the cottage's backyard and waited.
When Astrid came back, she had a serious look about her. Both of her arms were behind her back, her hands holding something unseen.
"Anna," said Astrid. That got her attention. Usually Astrid addressed her as "wild girl" or "kiddo" or some variation thereof. Almost never did she call Anna by her name. "You come of age in troll society today," she said. "That means that at least someone in this world now reckons you an adult. And a few days ago, you beat me sparring."
Anna opened her mouth to protest, but Astrid cut her off. "Don't interrupt me. I have seen you come a long way. So, I…" she paused for a long moment. "I want you to have this," she said quickly, and whipped her hands out in front of her.
She was holding a sword in a leather scabbard embroidered with gold thread in florid shapes that ran up and down its length. The hilt was a dark red wood, the crossguard wooden with a fashion of a broad leaf etched into it, the handle of tough leather, and in the pommel that familiar red stone.
Anna lost her breath. "Astrid, no…" she said.
"Anna, yes. This is my sword. Ever since the day my mother gave me this sword, I dreamed of the day I'd pass it on to my… I'd pass it on to someone else. I knew that day would come. It's a good sword. I hope that… I hope it serves you better than it served me."
Anna gingerly, carefully accepted the sword with both hands. She looked up at Astrid's face, and she felt her cheeks were wet. Astrid. If anyone was going to be her adoptive parent, why couldn't it be her?
Then she realized. If Anders adopted her… Astrid would be her aunt. And she knew, in that moment, what her answer was. Tears in her eyes, she embraced Astrid, who embraced her back. Her teacher. Her friend. And soon, her aunt.
When Anna pulled out of the embrace, she drew the sword from the sheathe and gazed upon it by the light of the bronzing sun. Its folded steel blade caught the light and reflected it, sparkling as she turned it in her hands. She stepped back and gave it a cut, a stab, a swing, testing the weight and feel of it. It felt made for her hands; utterly, ineffably right.
"I named that sword Summer," said Astrid, her voice oddly distant, "when I left Berk. I knew I was going to live in Burrowstown. I felt like my life was perfect. Like the sun was always shining on me. Summer."
"Summer," repeated Anna, and she stared at the blade.
The daylight was tiring out, and so Anna bid Astrid farewell and made her way through the village to Oaken's cabin, where she would agree to the proposal. Her mind was full of what it meant. She would have parents, of a kind. Perhaps not her real parents, but who knew what had come of them? Or why she was raised with the trolls? Oaken, Anders, Kristoff, and Astrid were all practically family to her anyway. She'd just be making it official.
And she'd always have the trolls.
On the way, she had to go through the rather crowded town center. Though most were packing things and preparing to leave after a day of bartering and socializing, many were lounging around and simply talking, swapping skins of ale and enjoying the lazy sunset. Anna passed through, Astrid's sword strapped to her hip, and noticed, at the foot of the Lord Mayor's hill, Martin and a very tall young man, with a short close-cropped beard and a messy mop of jet-black hair, and dark eyes. He wore a silver-studded leather doublet over a dark gray tunic, and strapped across his back was a long greatsword. He was dangling Martin's quiver of silvery-blue arrows over the younger boy's short, short head.
Gods, thought Anna. I thought he was finished pushing Martin around. It felt like the same thing every time. Brendan. She felt like a pot of boiling water that threatened to spill over. She quickly turned her gait in the direction of the hill.
"Give it back!" snarled Martin with uncharacteristic vigor. It surprised Anna to hear Martin speak this way, and she began to feel somewhat anxious.
It took Brendan by surprise too, apparently, though he seemed to derive a greater amusement from Martin's befuddlement. "Where did you get these? Tell me now, you little thief."
"They were a gift!"
"A gift?" Brendan's eyes bulged. "Who would give you a gift like this!"
"Astrid!"
"Oh, I'm sure," Brendan mocked. "And how could that – that nobody afford to give you silvyrwyd arrows as a gift? You know what I think? I think you're lying and you stole these from my Lord Father, and he'll thank me for taking them back – and cutting off your hand for thieving!"
Anna looked around. The square was clearly not deserted, so why was everyone ignoring this? Everyone – really, truly, because she saw at the top of the hill two guards standing impassively, looking at the square with grave disinterest.
One of them was Armin. Martin's father. His face was rock.
The rage boiled over. I have to do this every time. Nobody else does anything. She was awash with bitter anger. But Brendan was alone, this time. None of his cronies was around. She walked up to him, eyes burning.
"It is not nice to take things from people," she said coolly.
"Oh, good gods, the wild girl," he said. "Are you going to tell Martin it's wrong to steal from his liege?"
"Aren't you eighteen? Aren't you a bit old to be bullying someone Martin's age?"
"Bullying?" he echoed with confusion. "I'm governing. Do you have a problem with that?"
"As a matter of fact," she drew Astrid's sword, "yes, I do."
He blinked at her, eyes going to her sword. "What exactly is your plan here, wild girl? You're going to bare steel against your liege lord in public, with two of his guards in plain sight?"
"I will do more than bare steel," she promised. "I will cut you down unless you give Martin his arrows back."
His face screwed up, contorted with anger. "That's a threat. A threat!" he shouted very suddenly, and many in the square stopped what they were doing to watch the unfolding spectacle. "My honor has been questioned!" He threw the quiver onto the ground, arrows spilling out of it into the dusty road, where a scrambling Martin picked them up. Brendan drew his greatsword, four feet of blackened steel, and leveled it at Anna.
By comparison, Astrid's sword was a miserable two-and-a-half feet, and even that might have been overstating it. But Anna bore it just the same, clasping the handle with both hands and raising it in a high guard. She eyed Brendan intently. His stance was unpracticed. Intimidating to someone who didn't know what they were looking for, perhaps, very much the picture of the heroic warrior – but his hands were nearly wrapped around each other, and he held the sword awkwardly: forward and low. He will attack first, and it will be like that time I tried to hit Astrid. If I can match his speed, that is.
That sword is sharp, though. And long.
He slashed clumsily, and she danced around the blow, attempting to move in on him. But his sword was long, and he brought it around to block her counterattack. There was now a clamor in the square, as people gathered around to watch. She wasn't paying attention to them, though. Live in the moment. Fight in the moment.
She jumped back and resumed the high guard, and he gave a clumsy low strike. She slashed down and parried his blow, jumping away from his sword as she did. She didn't have a shield, or armor, she reflected soberly. One wrong move and I'm dead meat.
But Brendan was getting frustrated. A vein was throbbing in his temple and his eyes were blackened coals. He screamed and lunged, greatsword high and coming low. A blow meant to kill, she knew, to cut her right in half. She turned her blade sideways and blocked the greatsword while it was high; she slipped out from under it, and it slammed harmlessly against the ground.
Now was her chance. He's off-balance and defenseless. She jumped in close, too close, and slashed at his left hand. She felt her folded steel bite flesh, and saw a splatter of blood, and for a quickened moment her heart stopped beating.
Brendan had dropped his sword now, and was clutching his bloodied hand, now with two stumps where a ring and little finger used to be. They rolled in the dusty road. The smell of copper assaulted her nostrils and spun her stomach like a spit.
She backed up several paces, chest heaving, both hands still holding the hilt of her now reddened sword. There was blood on her hands, too. And her tunic. Brendan was screaming, looking at his wounded hand, crying fearful tears, his eyes bulging.
The two guards from the hill had started coming down when the fight broke out, and upon the maiming of Brendan's hand, were split between advancing on Anna and helping their liege lord's wounded son.
The guard who was not Armin spoke first. "You. You did this," he pointed at Anna. "We saw it. Put down your sword, you're under arrest."
Defensively, she clutched her sword even tighter, and held it up. "He started it," she said shakily.
"Aye," said an onlooker, a man with auburn hair. Jack the woodcutter, she knew. "That boy Brendan struck first, he did."
The door to the Lord Mayor's longhouse burst open, and there stood the Lord Mayor Edward Burrows with his dark hair and faint goatee. He surveyed the square with fierce eyes, and settled them on Anna. Anna with a bloody sword held high, and his own son with a bloody hand.
His face melted in fury. He flew down the steps and across the square. "What is the meaning of this?" he roared, and chills ran down Anna's spine.
"My lord," said the guard. "The wild girl attacked your son – and severed two of his fingers."
The Lord Mayor looked Anna up and down. The blood on her hands and tunic were all the proof he seemed to need. "You. You." He was shaking in anger. "I thought I told you to stay away from my son. Wild girl! I'll have your head for this!"
"He started it!" she repeated, shouting this time.
This time no onlooker came to her aid. The Lord Mayor eyed Anna coldly and turned to Armin. "Is it true, Armin? Did my son purposefully engage this nattering, filthy forest child?"
Anna looked Armin in the eyes, as fiercely as she could manage, though water was blurring her vision now. You owe me, she tried to say with her eyes. You owe me.
And Armin gave her the saddest look she had ever seen in return. I know, that look seemed to say, and he said "No. She attacked him."
The Lord Mayor clenched his teeth. "I knew this would happen. You, wild girl, you…" He stopped suddenly, as his gaze fixed on the sword she was holding. His eyes went huge. "That sword…"
By now the surrounding crowd was thick, with no doubt everyone in town turning out to see what had happened. In the midst of them, Oaken, Anders, and Kristoff had pushed to the front – and on seeing what had unfolded, went pale as ghosts. Anders retched at the sight of the blood.
On Anna's other side, Astrid had appeared, and was marching up to the scene. She was controlling her expression diligently, her mouth ironed into a flat line, but the lack of color in her face betrayed all.
I really messed up, thought Anna horribly, and she felt sick.
"Astrid," hissed the Lord Mayor softly. "The wild girl has your sword."
"Yes, she does," said Astrid simply.
"I mean to have her head for this."
"No."
The Lord Mayor stomped his feet, his dark gray eyes glistening slightly, his hands trembling. "Damn you, woman. Look at what she's done to my son!"
Astrid looked at Brendan. If she felt any emotion at the sight of him lying on the ground, moaning and sobbing as he clutched at his maimed hand, it did not cross her face. She swiveled to look at Martin, who was still as a statue, eyes like tea saucers.
"Martin, what happened here?" she asked.
Martin swallowed visibly. "B-Brendan asked where I got these a-arrows. He said I stole them f-from the L-L-Lord Mayor. I t-told him I didn't, that they were a gift from y-you. B-But he didn't b-believe me. He s-said he was going to c-cut off my hand. Th-Then Anna showed up, and th-they drew their s-swords, and B-Brendan attacked her."
Nobody spoke, until Armin cleared his throat. "He's lying, my lord," he said. "My son is a craven and a liar. He is only defending Anna because he desires her, and she has led him on with her womanly ways."
"I do not!" said Martin with sudden vigor. "I am not a liar! Astrid gave me these arrows and Brendan was trying to take them away!"
"I did give him the arrows," said Astrid, and she shot Armin a baleful look.
A bold onlooker, unseen in the throng, shouted then. "The wild girl bore steel first, but Brendan struck first! I saw'n it!" Murmurs of agreement lifted out of the crowd.
The other guard shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. "'Twas a duel, then. The law…"
"Don't talk about the law," snarled the Lord Mayor. "I am the law."
"Edward, I will not allow you to do this thing," said Astrid.
"Then what?" shouted the Lord Mayor. "You would deny me my vengeance? Is she to get off, free as a bird? I will not allow you to cully me on this!"
"You will not harm a single hair on her head," said Astrid. "I gave her the sword. I taught her how to use it. She is my responsibility."
"Then I will have both of your heads," Edward said darkly.
Astrid's eyes were cold as she stared at the Lord Mayor. "There is another way."
The Lord Mayor matched her gaze with a contemptuous glare of his own. "You must swear to never speak to him again," he said in a low voice.
"Agreed."
"Very well, then," said the Lord Mayor, and he turned back to Anna, his eyes spilling over with hatred. "Wild girl. Anna. Whatever your name is. You are hereby banished from Burrowstown and all its holdings, fiefs, and vassals. May the gods judge you for your crime in the hereafter. If you ever return, I will kill you myself."
It was as if someone had pushed her off a cliff. She was reeling, dizzy from a falling sensation in her gut. "Banished?" she croaked.
"Yes, banished," said the Lord Mayor through gritted teeth. "Now, go. GO!" He thrust out his hand and index finger, pointing, by chance, in the direction of the troll's forest.
Unsteadily, Anna backed up, taking several steps, her heart pounding. Then she turned and ran. She ran until she got to the end of the village, just before the hill at the end of the forest, where Oaken and Anders' cabin was. At some point, she sheathed her sword. Her hands were still bloody. She was well out-of-sight of the center of the village. She doubled over and cried silently.
She heard footsteps behind her, and her heartbeat quickened. Just taking a breath, she thought; I'll be gone in no time, please don't kill me. She stood up straight, drying her eyes on a tunic sleeve, and looked over her shoulder.
Martin was approaching, with Astrid behind him. Of course, Astrid wants her sword back. When they both stood before her, Anna clumsily unbuckled the leather scabbard, and held the sword out to Astrid.
But Astrid didn't take it. She didn't even look at it. She was silent, and staring at Anna with a hard, desolate gaze. That hurt more than anything.
"Astrid," said Anna weakly. "I'm sorry."
Without a word, Astrid turned around and walked away. Anna watched her go, her heart sinking deeper and deeper as she went. The hand holding the scabbard dropped limply to her side. No one was in sight now, except for Martin.
"Where are you going to go?" said Martin, after a malingering quiet.
Anna let out a shaky breath. It was hard to talk right now. "I don't know."
They stood in a renewed silence, until Martin spoke again. "Thanks for helping me, again. I'm sorry that…"
"No," said Anna. "It was my fault. I shouldn't have gotten involved."
Martin looked taken aback. "But if you didn't get involved… I'd have lost my arrows. Astrid's arrows."
A beat. "That's true," admitted Anna.
"So, thank you for that," said Martin. "And I'm sorry." His head fell. "I was just thinking, since… since you're leaving the town forever, and my father…" He paused gulpishly. "I was wondering if you would take me with you. As a squire," he added quickly, a hopeful wrinkle in his brow.
Anna was so floored by this suggestion that she laughed incredulously. That wounded Martin, whose expression collapsed at that, so she said hastily, "Oh, no, I just – I'm not a knight, you know. How can I take you on as a squire?"
Martin shrugged feebly. "You're the most knightly person I know."
Anna had to smile at that. In spite of the terrible situation, in spite of what she just did – still Martin called her knightly. She didn't feel knightly, but maybe that was part of it. "I don't know where I'm going, as I said."
He shrugged again. "I don't care. Not back to town."
She nodded her agreement at that. The sky was darkening, and that reminded her. "Right, I need to go to my home village for just a short while tonight. You can come along, if you want. It's just a birthday party."
"Oh, okay," said Martin. "Wait, is that the… do you mean the cairn?" She nodded yes, smiling slightly, and continued into the forest – Martin trailing close behind, after half a moment's bewildered deliberation.
They got to the crossing and continued down the stream to where the berry bushes sat happy and ignorant. Years now she had been coming and going to this stream, and years now those berry bushes still sat, growing berries as they always did, and never even one time cutting someone's fingers off. In a strange way, she envied them their simple existence; anything would be better than feeling this way.
When she got there, she remembered, as the coppery smell lingered about her, that her tunic and hands were still stained with blood. She frowned deeply. "Martin, do you know anything about removing blood stains from clothing?" she asked dubiously.
"A little," said Martin. Anna removed her overtunic and inspected her smallclothes and leggings. Clean, mostly; of blood, anyway. She washed her hands and arms in the river until they were sufficiently clean, and presented the tunic to Martin. "Any ideas?"
If Martin's knowledge on clothware care was "a little," she shuddered to imagine what "a lot" must be; Martin immediately set to work on the tunic, washing it in the stream and running it through with water, scrubbing viciously with fingers and pebbles. By the time he was done, the tunic was sodden, but clean of any apparent blood stains.
She pulled it on over her head, and Martin gasped. "You'll catch a chill!"
Anna laughed lightly. "No, I won't. I never catch chills. To be honest, the cold doesn't really bother me." She smiled warmly at him. It was true. Not that she couldn't feel the bite of a cold day without warm clothing, but the cold sort of passed through her like sand through a sieve. She felt it, but it didn't touch her. Except in her dreams, where it would stick to her, and hurt and burn and tear at her. But those were only dreams.
She set down her sword beside the stream, resolving to come back and get it when she had finished with the trolls. Best they not see it, she thought. She turned to Martin. "Alright, let's go."
They went into the troll cairn, and were greeted by such a sudden uproar that Martin jumped a yard into the air. The festivities were all prepared, and of such an impressive scale that even Anna was a little shocked to see it. Streamers and banners waved everywhere, tables were stacked and criss-crossed the cairn haphazardly, loaded high with rich salads heavy with berries, nuts, fruits, and vegetables of all kinds. Roasted fish, baked potatoes, stewed greens were in company as well, occupying stone basins and wooden bowls strewn everywhere. And trollish pine ale was in tremendous quantity, overflowing barrels and spilling in gallons.
Immediately Anna was assaulted with questions about the guest she had brought. "Cutie!" said Rain. "Is he your boyfriend?"
"No," said Anna, chuckling. "He's my squire."
"A squire? But he looks like a human," said Braffly.
"A squire, not a square, you ding-dong," said Loot.
Martin was silent as he always was throughout this, and for a moment Anna was sorry she brought him. But then the trolls provided him a tall flagon of pine ale, and he coughed and sputtered over the first gulp. When he came up for air, his face was like a beet. This'll be good for him, she hoped. The trolls are kind, and treat everyone like family. It's better than being around his father, surely.
Anna didn't have much of an appetite, but the trolls did – and Anna urged Martin to eat, since he had been drinking ale. The revelry lasted a good while, and by the end of it, all had had their fill, and were lolling lazily, some snacking on the remaining morsels, some drinking to their health (and, by volume anyway, everyone else's as well), and the rest jesting and japing pleasantly in the light of the kindly half-moon. Then the Wise Troll stood up on a dais and shouted loud in a deep, booming voice.
"Welcome, all, to Anna's five-and-tenth birthday!" Raucous cheering.
"I know many of you have given Anna her birthday blessings, and the rest will no doubt do so before the night is up – but now, now is the time of the Adulting!" More cheers.
"You all know how this works, so I sha'nt bore you with the details. Anna, if you would please come up here!" He smiled his big white smile, his big ears wiggling.
The Adulting was the official coming-of-age ceremony in a trollish fifteenth birthday. The tradition was that first the troll who was coming of age would stand on the dais and announce their chosen profession; then, the village would, collectively, give the troll one gift. By good fortune, the one gift was usually in line with the profession. A troll who sought to be a farmer usually got a hoe; a fisherman, a fishing rod; a hunter, a spear. Sometimes it required a little imagination to connect the gift with the profession – such as a watchman being given an acorn necklace – but it was generally the case that the two went hand-in-hand.
In Anna's case, she hadn't spoken a word about her chosen profession before the fact, and thus was certain the gift would have nothing to do with it. That didn't bother her, though. The profession was in itself a gift. So long as she had that, she had all she wanted.
She stood up on the dais and surveyed the beaming crowd of trolls. She smiled happily at them, though there was a tinge of melancholy that stroked her heart with an anxious touch.
"Anna," rang the Wise Troll. "You are now an adult troll in our humble village." More cheering still. "Please, Anna, tell us: what is your chosen Profession?"
Anna took a deep breath, and let it out, to steady herself. "I want to be an adventurer!" she announced loudly.
No cheers whatsoever. Mostly puzzled looks, some shocked. Confused mutters skittered across the cairn.
"Adventurer?" repeated the Wise Troll. "You are… sure about this? No troll has elected to be an adventurer for…"
"Many years," finished Anna. "Yes, I know. I have thought long about this, and I have decided."
"You're leaving us?" called one troll. The muttering grew in volume as the implication of her decision became clear.
"I know this is hard," said Anna, trying as best as she could to keep the quavering out of her voice. "But I want to see the world. I want to see all of Arendelle. I want to see the world, but I will come back and visit! I promise!"
A definite pall had fallen over the celebration, though it was cleared somewhat by Anna's promise to visit occasionally. "You are my family," she said, and repeated, "I will visit. I promise I will."
She turned to look at the Wise Troll, who nodded solemnly. "All right, Anna. Adventurer. Anna the Adventurer!" he proclaimed, to scattered applause.
"To be honest, Anna," the Wise Troll went on, "I had a feeling you would choose this path."
"How did you know?" asked Anna, with a raised eyebrow.
He spread his hands out. "Call it a hunch. A rolling stone gathers no moss, but you're not a standing stone after all. A cairn is no place for a rolling stone. But still, moss is important to all of us. It is life and purpose. It thrives in all places, and always points the same way: north. It may be, on your travels, that you have need of such direction in your life. So…" He snapped his fingers. From a nearby table, a troll grabbed up a leafy bundle, and on stubby feet brought it up to the dais.
"Open it," said the Wise Troll, as the troll presented the leafy bundle to Anna. She took it carefully, and peeled back the leaves on the bundle one by one.
Within the bundle was a large, thick, wooden shield. It looked like it had been lopped off the side of a tree wholesale, with its jaggedy uneven edge – except for the design of a large flower on the front, painted in scarlet relief against the earthy dark color of the wood. On the back side, the shield was perfectly smooth to the touch, and had two thick leather loops for putting the arm through. Yet another brilliant gift. The trolls were looking on eagerly. They had no idea – this was exactly what she needed. Wanted.
It was almost too much. People had done her so much kindness today, and all she had done in return was shorten someone's hand. "It's… it's beautiful," she choked out, unable to articulate anything more.
"It's name is Moss," said the Wise Troll. "That way, even though you are a rolling stone, you'll still have Moss."
Anna looked up at the crowd of trolls, all half sad and all half glad. "Thank you all, so much. For everything."
After that, the revelry continued for a while, as all the trolls went back to their gaming and singing, japing and drinking, and all of them wanted a turn to say their goodbyes to Anna. When asked where she was going to go, she just shrugged and said "Anywhere." Under the influence of ale, Martin was meanwhile regaling some trolls with stories of Anna's bravery. She appreciated that despite his slight inebriation, brought on by a few sips of pine ale, he maintained the good sense to not talk about any acts of violence she may have committed, especially in the past day or so.
Eventually, the party died down, and it was only then that Anna realized the night had grown old. Trolls were rolling off to fall asleep, or had just fallen unconscious at their seats. There was little activity except for a few stout trolls still grunting over stone flagons, and a couple of other trolls doing their very best impression of a tree in a storm, an activity they no doubt thought of as "dancing." Martin had fallen asleep, and was dozing underneath a nearby broadleaf's willowy canopy.
Anna was lost in thought, admiring the painting on her new shield, when the Wise Troll approached her. "That was an interesting reaction to have for a gift that's little more than an accessory," he said.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that a shield's just a shield, and not much use by itself."
Anna felt a blush creep across her face. "How do you know I wasn't just being polite?"
The Wise Troll chuckled. "Oh, Anna. I know you. You wear your heart on your tunic. That was genuine excitement."
Anna said nothing, and turned her face away from him to admire the painting again. She could feel the Wise Troll smile. "It's okay. May I look at it?" he asked.
Slowly, she nodded, and stood up. She led him to the stream where she had left the sword, and picked it up. With a sudden stab of fear, she remembered that she hadn't cleaned the blood off the blade. She resolved to keep it in the scabbard, no matter what.
"That's a pretty hilt," observed the Wise Troll. "And is that a ruby in the pommel? Hm… I haven't seen a design like this in… many a year. A kingly gift."
She nodded stiffly, mind still fixated on the latent danger.
The Wise Troll cocked his head. "May I see the blade?"
She locked her jaw, and shook her head. "That'd be dangerous," she said, attempting to clarify, and cringing at the irony in what she just said.
"I'll be fine. My skin is hard as rock." He smiled. "And I assume you have training in how to handle a sword, since someone seems to have thought it appropriate to gift you with one."
Anna hesitated, her fingers drumming the hilt as she tried to think of another excuse. The Wise Troll seemed to notice her trepidation, and his smile fell slightly.
"Please?" he asked, his voice ringing with a faint hint of concern.
She exhaled heavily and, slowly, pulled the sword from the scabbard. Even in the moon-and-starlight, the blood on the sword was clearly visible, dull red against the starshining steel.
The Wise Troll gave a heavy sigh of his own and rubbed his temples with a thumb and forefinger. "Oh, Anna."
"It wasn't my fault," but her voice was as hollow as it had ever been.
There were no words for a few moments. The whistling of the crickets and the yawning of the wind were the only sounds. Anna's beating heart pounded in her ears.
"Where are you going to go, Anna?" asked the Wise Troll.
"I don't know," said Anna. Then, she remembered. "The king and queen are dead. The princess is to be coronated in a week and some days. I may go to the city, to see. After that – I don't know."
The Wise Troll grunted. "I knew the king and queen. May the Earthmother conduct their souls to the World Tree." He gave her a wary look. "You mean to go to the city?"
"Yes," said Anna.
"Will you hear one last piece of advice from me, before you do?"
"Of course, Wise Troll."
"Don't," he said, his voice crackling with finality. "Don't go to the city, and don't see the coronation."
Anna had no intention of heeding this advice. But she had to know. "Why not?"
"Because it's dangerous."
She could have laughed. Instead she just smiled dryly and, sliding the sword back into its scabbard, said "I think I am well-equipped for dangerous, Wise Troll."
"Yes, you do," he said sadly.
A lump formed in her throat. She swallowed it. "Thank you, again. So much. I think I will leave before… before light. I don't want to have to say goodbye again."
"As you will," said the Wise Troll. A pause. Then, "We love you, Anna. We just want what's best for you."
"I appreciate that," said Anna. "I really do. But… I think this is what's best for me. To follow my heart."
"Your heart," repeated the Wise Troll, his eyes clouding over for a moment. "Yes… Well, I cannot stop you. Just promise me you'll come back whenever you need help. Will you do that for us? For me?"
Anna smiled and nodded. "Of course."
Anna slid back into the cairn on silent feet, and woke up the sleeping Martin.
"Whazzat?" he muttered, and rubbed his eyes.
"Martin," she said. "My squire. We must go."
"Now?" he said groggily, sitting up.
"Now."
They gathered up their things – scant belongings that they were – and left the cairn quietly, stopping by the stream only to refresh themselves and wash Anna's sword before continuing on to the crossing. Light was breaking by the time they reached the place the path and stream crossed. She looked to the right. All until now, she had gone right at this crossing, because that was the way Burrowstown was. But that being no longer an option, she looked left. That way was the Ice Fields, where the icers worked year-long at gathering ice; between here and there was the end of the Springway, the long road that went all the way to…
The sound of galloping broke her concentration. From her right, a horseman was coming up the road. No, not a horseman – the steed had too many antlers to be a horse. It was a reindeer. Sven. And riding him was…
"Kristoff!" shouted Anna, and her heart leapt into her throat.
"Feisty-pants!" he shouted back. He was wearing an enormous satchel strapped around his back, from which dangled two pans, a pot, and a lute. That ridiculous lute that he loved to play when he thought nobody was listening. He rode up to them and hopped off of Sven, pots and pans jangling when his boots hit the road.
"Kristoff, what are you doing here?" she said, after an instant of speechlessness.
Kristoff looked puzzled at that. "I came to join you."
"But what about… Your family? Oaken and Anders?"
"Ah, yeah, that," he said a little sheepishly. "After your little… ah… 'spat' with Brendan in the main square, we talked long and hard about it. There's no way they can adopt you now, without the Lord Mayor banishing them, too. They argued about it, like they always argue, about whether they should adopt you anyway, and who would take care of you."
"I don't need anyone to take care of me," said Anna indignantly.
Kristoff ignored the interruption. "They couldn't think of a way to help you. So I told them to forget about it, to stay and open up their trading post, and I'd go with you and help look after you."
"I don't need looking after," said Anna, pride now well and wounded.
"Oh no? How many provisions do you have for your journey? Waterskins? Anything for cooking and cleaning? How will you start a fire?"
Anna opened her mouth to respond and, upon being unable to find a good reply, grunted and folded her arms. "I'd have managed," she scowled.
Kristoff laughed and rolled his eyes. "I brought all that stuff. But if you don't want my help…" his voice trailed off.
They stood there for a tense moment, glaring at one another. "Um… you guys?" said Martin, and then Anna and Kristoff both burst into laughter. Anna ran up and pulled Kristoff into a hug.
"You're a good friend, Kristoff. Thanks."
"Hey, what are friends for?"
"Are you sure about this?" she asked, pulling away. "It's a lot to ask of someone."
"Yes, I'm sure." He reached behind him to pull a foldied piece of goatskin out of a pocket on the huge satchel on his back. "You forgot this, by the way." He handed it to her.
"The map!" she exclaimed, and unfolded it hurriedly. All three of them crouched over to inspect it.
"So, where are we going, Ser Anna?" asked Kristoff.
She snorted at him, and pointed to the end of the long road called the Springway. "There. Crystalwater. The capital of Arendelle, the seat of the Royal Family."
"That's a long way," said Martin.
"About a week's journey by horse, I should think," said Kristoff, shrugging. "Probably longer on foot."
Anna frowned and folded the map up, stowing it in a pocket on her person. "We'll have to go fast, then, to make it in time for the coronation."
And so they were off, turning left at the crossing and continuing down the road, away from the troll cairn and away from Burrowstown. As they walked, Anna checked her belongings. Her new shield called Moss was slung across her back, and she had her new map in her pocket. On her head was still the green hat Oaken gave her the day before. And at her hip was her sword, her new sword, with whose help she had gotten herself banned from a village that had only ever shown her kindness.
She pulled the sword from the scabbard to inspect it, twisting it back and forth and watching as the morning sun sprinkled its light all over it. It drank the sunbeams like a man dying of thirst, and spit them back out like a fountain, its folded steel shooting reflected light in all directions.
Kristoff whistled. "Nice sword. What's it called?"
She remembered what Astrid named the sword, and why. Summer, because she felt like the sun was shining down on her. Anna didn't know what the future held, but she didn't think it would be easy. Summer doesn't last forever, and her summer had come to an end. She had time, though. Time before the winter of her life. She looked at the broad leaf etching on the crossguard.
"Autumn," she said.
Kristoff hummed thoughtfully. "I'd have called it Brat-slayer, myself."
Martin laughed, and Anna smiled in spite of herself. Not a bad name, except Autumn hadn't slain any brats. Summer, though…
The folded steel glinted in the sunlight, and Autumn seemed to agree.