Disclaimer: Frozen is the property of Disney. I do not own anything except the original characters in this work of fanfiction.

Chapter Ten: Poisoned

"More champagne, sir?" A server materialized beside Lars, holding out a glass filled with the bubbly liquor. The prince simply shook his head to refuse and held up a hand to dismiss the server.

"Always the sober one, aren't you?" Max clapped a hand on his shoulder, grinning as he held up his own glass of champagne. "Come on, this is a party! Live a little, why don't you?"

Lars harrumphed. "I'm not drinking because I may have to drag your drunken carcass back at the inn," he retorted. "Besides, it's hard to get comfortable when half the guests are giving you the evil eye."

His friend raised an eyebrow curiously. "Why?"

"Because of what Hans did."

"Ah. Southerners aren't popular these days here in Arendelle, I take it?"

"That's an understatement. Queen Elsa is beloved in Arendelle despite what she had done." He thought about the conversation he had with a particularly garrulous barber earlier that day, when he went to a barbershop for shave and a haircut.

That afternoon, just before the ball, Lars had found himself striding into the barbershop near the inn he and Max were staying, the bell by the door jangling merrily as he entered. Normally, he would have done the trimming and shaving himself, but since he was representing his country and was hoping to make a good impression on the queen of Arendelle, he had decided not to take any chances. Besides, if he had not gone in for a shave and a haircut, he thought he looked like a stockier, sideburns-less version of Hans if he squinted and turned his head sideways.

Not a good idea.

He attracted the barber's attention, who had been in the middle of applying soap over a customer's chin and throat. "Do you mind waiting until I'm done with him?" the barber asked without looking at Lars.

"Not at all. I'll just sit and wait outside by the benches, then."

He had stepped outside the shop and sat on the bench, watching the bustling activities around him idly. The barbershop faced the wharf, where three trading schooners were docked. The sailors were busily loading their cargoes—with the way the crates dripped water, he surmised they contained ice. Whoever had control over the valuable ice trade would surely have substantial clout. Since Arendelle's queen held the monopoly on the ice trade by virtue of her…unique abilities, the Southern Isles viewed had her as a desirable partner in both war and peace.

The idea of Queen Elsa as a "desirable partner", as his brain had put it, jarred the prince back to present and made heat creep up his neck to suffuse his face. She was certainly beautiful—very much so. Max's ringing endorsement of her beauty did not do her justice—Lars remembered observing her from afar when her and her sister's arrival was announced. She had been poised and regal, with cool blue eyes that swept through the ballroom before she nodded graciously, thanking those who had attended. He had taken in every detail of her appearance, then slapped himself mentally for foolishly gaping at her. He recalled the scent that had wafted up his nose, making it twitch, when he bumped into her at the balcony—something crisp, clean, dark, and mysteriously pleasant, like a quiet winter evening.

Normally, women did not fluster Lars, but this one had disrupted his equilibrium so much that he was made painfully aware at how awkward things were between them at the balcony and when they had danced. Thankfully, Max was with him afterwards to distract him with ridiculous comments that never failed to get a rise out of him. He had no idea why she made him feel like that—she wasn't even that friendly to him, looking at him with faint suspicion in her blue eyes, yet she had him comparing her scent to a quiet winter evening. He hated metaphors—those made his head spin as he sat through torturous literature classes while he was in university.

It was irritating how fascinating he found her.

Lars inwardly cursed his brother Thomas once more for sending him here to make nice with Queen Elsa. He was a man of action, not words, dammit. He was supremely uncomfortable with the idea of him being an envoy to Arendelle because he was Hans's opposite. Because after all, he was responsible for what Hans had done to Arendelle's queen and princess.

If only I could turn back time.

He sighed quietly, unable to stop the piping, innocent voice of a five-year old Hans ringing in his ears.

"Ow! Lars, help me! I can't get out…"

"Let me play with you. I'll even be the princess. Please?"

"What did I do, Brother? I'm sorry…"

"Lars?"

"Hmm?" The prince grunted, glancing at Max, who tapped him on his shoulder.

Max sighed. "You're off in your own world again. Fine. I'll just go mingle and you stay here and do your brooding thing," he said, rolling his eyes and wiggling his fingers mockingly. "Here. Have a drink while you're at it, and don't worry, I haven't touched it yet." He shoved the glass into Lars's hand as he started off toward a group of people waving at him from the other side of the room. The prince merely watched his friend's retreating back as he absently raised the glass to his lips to take a sip of the champagne, delving back to his afternoon at the barber.

"How would you like your hair cut, sir?" the barber had asked, raising his eyebrows and snipping his shears invitingly.

"Just trim the back, sides, and top, but keep the top long enough for me to comb it with a side part, and don't clip the sides too much," Lars instructed.

"Good choice." The barber nodded approvingly and shook out a cape to drape it over him before beginning to work. As barbers were wont to do, he began making small talk. "Sometimes dandies would come wandering into my shop asking for a 'windswept look'. And those sideburns! Too much, if you ask me. The ridiculous nonsense Southerners come up these days," he grumbled over the sound of snipping shears.

"Southerners?" Lars echoed.

"The Southern Isles. Arendelle's not too crazy about them these days. That Prince Hans of theirs had been a big help to Arendelle when Queen Elsa accidentally froze everything with her powers, so we thought he was a decent chap. But then word got out that he only did that to usurp the throne. We never would have believed it if Princess Anna hadn't spoken up because that Hans seemed just so darned nice, but we have no reason to believe the princess is lying because that girl is too honest for her own good. Also, sure, the queen may have gotten Arendelle into a frozen state for a few days, but we don't think she's an evil sorceress as the Duke of Weaseltown says. We're proud of our Snow Queen."

Interesting. Considering the sudden winter the queen had caused, Lars had assumed the citizens would be resentful toward her. The prince glanced up to meet the barber's eyes reflected on the mirror before them. "Why do you think she's not that bad?" he asked with casual curiosity.

"Not from around here, sir?"

After that jab against his country—not that he blamed the barber—Lars had simply answered yes. The barber continued, seemingly oblivious.

"Well, I have to admit we were rather cold toward her after the winter she had caused—sorry for the pun, but I couldn't help myself," the barber chortled. "Anyway, I've got a friend who's a member of the merchant guild, and he told me that the queen had managed to secure a trade agreement with Corona—their food for our ice. Rumor has it that the terms are much more agreeable than what we had with Weselton, and my friend says it'll bring more revenue to Arendelle. It's a win-win situation. And I know for a fact that she's working very hard to keep Arendelle prosperous.

"My daughter works as a maid in the castle, and she said it's a common sight to see the queen burning the midnight oil in her study," the barber continued, starting to work on the sides of Lars's head. "Nellie—my daughter—also said that while Queen Elsa comes across as much quieter than Princess Anna, she's kind in her own way. She always acknowledges the servants, asks them how they are. Nellie told me that the queen has this way of looking at you as if you're worth all her time and attention. She idolizes the queen, my daughter does, and with the way she gushes about the queen, her mother and I ended up admiring her too."

"So the queen is beloved in Arendelle," Lars observed neutrally, trying to get the barber to talk more.

"Oh, yes. The fact that she doesn't look down on commoners like my daughter is enough for me to like her. She has her grandfather King Raimond's charisma—well, both the sisters do, actually. Poor thing though, shut up in the castle for thirteen years because of her powers. I'm just a barber, what do I know about this magic mumbo-jumbo? But you know, I think the former King Agdar and Queen Idun—may the One God bless their souls—shouldn't have kept her in seclusion. Then again, I suppose being king and worrying whether your daughter is cursed on top of worrying about your country isn't so easy, is it?"

Lars's curiosity was piqued. "Worrying about your country? What do you mean?"

"Well...war. King Agdar was trying not to get dragged between Buckland and Weselton, which are at each other's throats over the Aire mountains, even before he got married to Queen Idun, though at the time the feud between them wasn't that bad. It's been said that the mountains were stuffed full of gold, so naturally both countries want full control over it. Rumors at the castle thirteen years ago—my wife used to work there, until Nellie took her place—said that Weselton wanted King Agdar's support against Buckland. So naturally, the king was caught between his trading partner Weselton, and military ally Buckland."

The barber paused and rummaged through a nearby drawer for some hair oil, which he massaged over Lars's scalp, and continued with his monologue. "Personally, I think King Agdar did what he did because it got him two birds with one stone—he could keep everyone safe by using Princess Elsa's seclusion as an excuse not to get caught up between Buckland and Weselton, and to keep Arendelle safe from her powers." The barber snorted. "Guess you know how well that turned out."

Lars frowned. That didn't sit well with him. Sacrificing the happiness of one for the sake of the nation? Especially the happiness of one so young back then. He wondered how much of the queen's secluded past had affected her. From what the barber told him, she seemed to be a natural introvert, yet it did not keep her subjects from giving her their loyalty. On the other hand, Hans had described her a monster who consigned her people to a wintry doom and her sister a frozen death—which was exactly why he chose to believe the opposite.

"Then again, the king didn't have much choice himself. Maybe it was the best he could do, considering his circumstances back then. He was caught between a rock and a hard place."

The information I got might be useful to Thomas somehow, Lars noted, downing the rest of the champagne and handing the glass to a passing server. Though knowing Thomas, this might be old news to him. Still, I should write him a letter when I get back to the—

"Done brooding? I hope so. The fireworks are about to start." Max interrupted the prince's musings and grabbed his arm to yank him toward the door. "Don't tell me you can't even appreciate that."

"Of course I can." He shook Max's hand off his arm and straightened his sleeve.

"Really? Your face is still all scrunchy-like. Careful, you wouldn't want any wrinkles to mar your fair visage, would you?"

With a scowl, Lars opened his mouth to retort but was interrupted by an old man who told them impatiently to get a move on. Lars shunted his irritation aside and quickened his pace, weaving in between people so he could get to the courtyard faster. The countdown began a little later, with Max counting along Princess Anna. He smiled a bit at the wide grin Max sported—no matter how much Max fancied himself a sophisticated gentleman, shows such as this never failed to bring out the child in him. His friend's enthusiasm was infectious; soon the prince found himself doing the same thing as Max and let out a low whistle of appreciation when the first of the fireworks bloomed in the sky with a sharp crack.

"Arendelle didn't spare any expense, did it?" Max remarked, the display casting a rainbow of colors over his face. Lars merely hummed in agreement, surreptitiously letting his gaze wander over to Queen Elsa. Her guard must be down right now, perhaps thinking everyone's attention was on the fireworks display, for she wore a pensive expression on her face.

I wonder what she is thinking about.

But his sharp eyes caught how the queen blanched and grimaced before she reached blindly toward the princess. He started, catching Max's attention.

"What—?"

"Look." He steered Max toward the direction of the stage, where Princess Anna cradled the queen in her arms, fear and alarm written clearly on her face. Almost instinctively Lars sprinted toward the stage, his only thought to offer assistance. He ignored the growing pandemonium around him—all he cared about was reaching the queen.

"What's going on?"

"What happened to the queen?"

"For the love of—is this a repeat of yesterday's shenanigans?"

Captain Schmidt's authoritative voice carried over the din. "Ladies and gentlemen, please remain calm and cooperate! We—"

"Cooperate? What if someone gets killed?"

"Please remain calm!"

Lars aggressively pushed his way past the agitated crowd, stopping short when the guards below the stage blocked his way with their spears. "Halt! Who are you?" the guard barked, scowling.

Aware that he must tread carefully, he adopted an even tone to answer the guard's belligerent question. "Prince Lars of the Southern Isles. I can help."

The guard snorted with derision. "We've enough of princes from your country," he scoffed. "Off with you, before—"

"Niels!" Princess Anna called out as she stood up. Master Kristoff took her place, cradling the queen protectively. "What's going on?"

"This prince here," Niels gesturing with his thumb, "Lars of the Southern Isles, says he could help."

"Did he now?" the princess darted a gimlet stare at him, which he forced himself to return. Honestly, it was beginning to bother him, the mistrustful glares thrown his way ever since it became known he was from the Southern Isles. He wasn't used to being the object of suspicion, especially since he had tried to live his life as honorably as possible after realizing his youthful mistakes.

Then again, this may be the past catching up to you, he mused as he weathered Princess Anna's scrutiny steadily.

Max cleared his throat tentatively. "If I may, Your Highness," he began, "I will vouch for Lars. I understand your wariness, but right now he may be able to help."

She bit her lip, her eyes roving back and forth as she weighed her options. But she must have realized there was no time to lose, nodding curtly as she motioned for them to follow her. Niels opened his mouth to protest, but the princess sent him a quelling look.

Lars took a deep breath to calm down when they reached Queen Elsa, forcing himself to look at her with impassivity. Her porcelain complexion was now a pallid, ashy gray, and she was having difficulty breathing. He grasped her wrist to feel for her pulse; it was weak and erratic. He gently patted her cheek to bring her to consciousness. "Your Majesty," he whispered, low and urgent, "please open your eyes. I need to see them."

Queen Elsa's eyelids fluttered weakly before they opened, telling him it took her considerable effort to do so. Her eyes, clear and sharp earlier at the balcony, were now a cloudy grayish blue.

I hope I'm wrong, he prayed grimly as he bent down toward her mouth.

"Hey, what do you think you're doing?" Princess Anna cried, her voice rising in panic. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Master Kristoff pull her back.

"Relax, he's smelling her breath to get an idea what had poisoned her. What did you think he would do?"

"I—" the princess sighed. "Sorry. Him doing that...reminded me of Hans."

"What are you doing?" Queen Elsa slurred. Her cool breath tickled his cheek and allowed him to catch a whiff of...something. He sniffed again, the sweet, tangy, strawberry-like scent confirming what he dreaded.

Damn.

"Shadeberry," Lars said tersely. "We have about fifteen minutes, maybe even less. Do you have any sunroot?"

"We should have some dried ones in the kitchens," Niels piped up. "The captain sometimes sends me to get some for his 'strengthening tonics'," he explained. "How much do you need?"

"A cup brewed into tea should suffice for now. But the best antidote for shadeberry poison is moss grown from an earth troll's back—the older the troll, the better," Lars answered. He placed two of his fingers over the pulse point on Elsa's wrist, a muscle ticking in his jaw. He looked up at them, his brow furrowed. "Whoever did this wanted to do a thorough job—trolls aren't known for giving up their moss easily."

"Don't say that," Princess Anna snapped. "The trolls will help us out. Right, Kristoff?"

"Right. I'll go talk to them. They'll understand. I'd better leave now, though." He gave the princess a quick hug, kissing the top of her head. Lars looked down at the queen once more and resisted the urge to brush away the lock of hair that had fallen over her sweat-beaded forehead. He cleared his throat to speak.

"Alright, then. We'd better get the queen to her room. Mr. Niels, have the sunroot tea brought to her room immediately, and relay to your captain to make sure the guests do not leave the premises. They will need to be questioned." He flicked a glance at Max, who stood a few feet away and looked a little uncertain. "Max, please go with Mr. Niels and apprise the Arendelle's captain of the guard of the situation, and assist him in any way you can. He may need help in questioning the guests—can you do that?"

His friend straightened and nodded to give his assent. "Will do."

"Good. Princess Anna, kindly lead the way." The princess quickly ushered him down the stage and into the castle. He followed her as she led him through the main hall, up a spiral staircase, and through some corridors. The trip was silent, broken only by the sound of the queen's shallow breathing. Two or three maids followed them closely, ready to do their bidding. When they reached their destination, the princess opened the door and Lars was relieved to find a cup of warm sunroot tea already sitting on the bedside table. Princess Anna arranged the pillows on the bed and bade him to set Queen Elsa on the bed. A spike of worry pierced through him when she did not even stir. Her skin felt cold as he patted her cheek gently to bring her back to consciousness.

"Wake up, Your Majesty. We need you to take this sunroot tea to make you feel better," Lars said, positioning himself so that her back leaned against his chest. The queen groaned and opened her eyes with much effort.

"Can't—breathe," she gasped.

"Because you've been poisoned. You need to drink the tea Princess Anna has for you. It will make you feel a little better."

She choked a little as she forced the tea down her constricted throat, but it went down smoothly after her first swallow. She heaved a great breath, and Lars knew the temporary antidote worked since she could breathe more easily now. However, the poison was still in her system—Queen Elsa fell back into a stupor after a few minutes, her skin still cold as ice.

"What do we do now?" Princess Anna asked wearily. "Will she be all right?"

Lars didn't answer at first, choosing his words with care. "For now. We have to make sure she drinks the tea every two hours until Master Kristoff arrives with the permanent antidote. Meanwhile, make sure an apothecary is on hand so that he could prepare it immediately."

"How?"

"Have him extract its juice and have the queen drink it—it has to be in its purest form. Do not mix it with any other liquid."

"And then?"

"We wait."

Next up:

"What is it about those two? Trouble and tragedy follows them like a deranged puppy or something," Kristoff said exasperatedly, throwing up his hands.

Grand Pabbie leveled a solemn look at his adopted grandson. "Which is why you should hurry back with the antidote. The sisters need you," he replied, his gravelly voice snapping the ice master out of his frustration.

Note: Very sorry for the long wait. Buried up to my eyeballs in work and personal stuff. Creativity held hostage by writer's block. Also sorry for the short previous update. Please review?