Hesitantly, Jack crouched on the one of the castle's lower walls, nervously tossing his shepherd's crook from one hand to the other. He gasped short shallow breaths: one after another. His palms felt even colder than usual. Ice kept forming and reforming over his fingertips, the thin sheen cracking and breaking off with every movement. His capelet hung drab over his shoulders and he seemed as small as he could possibly get without shrinking, like a small blob in between the towering crenelations.

The sun almost set over the mountains of Arendelle. Only a few rays remained drifting slowly over the water giving it a soft purple shimmer. The castle itself was lit almost entirely by its own light. Bright diamonds of sunny yellow poured out of every window as the night sky glittered and sparkled with a host of stars above. In the mix of shadowy stone and golden light the silent towers looked different, a little more solemn and peaceful than during the day as their silent outlines faded into the darkness around them. Arendelle village was a mess of flickers and shiny dots, no more than that. The mountains had shrunk back to nothing more than a dark blanket, snuggling up to the sky. Only the water of the fjord around them still danced with life, invisible to the naked eye but a cacophony of gentle tinkles on the ear. Jack Frost sat half hidden under his short cloak, because every time he moved his pale skin was almost iridescent in the encroaching dark and, for the first time in many many decades, he did not want anyone to see him.

He had already left twice. In his mind he had left a thousand times more. It had taken days to get him back here; days to work up enough courage... and now it was failing him again. His fingers shook and he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He wasn't sure he could face this, but he was certain he couldn't face leaving again. Just being near her, even without speaking, he felt better. When he tried to return to the isolated existence he knew before, it was unbearable. The loneliness was maddening, worse than it ever been, because now he knew this small relief and it made living without it an impossibility. If he didn't go up there and do something soon however... he would probably lose that precious solace forever.

Every time he closed his eyes however Elsa's outraged face flashed across his mind. He had honestly thought she would like his gift, the ice sculture he had built in her courtyard. It had taken so much time, so much effort, but it had just been one more reminder of an invisible phantom that terrified her; a not-at-all subtle declarion that even when she wasn't thinking about him, he was still there ready to invade every second of her life.

How had he become something like that to her? He wasn't... He had never meant for things to come to this. She wasn't supposed to be afraid of him. He would never want to hurt or scare her. It was supposed to be sweet, a romantic gesture, a way to break the ice between them... Get them to talk. Instead her reaction had been...

If he was honest, he didn't understand it. Girls liked this sort of stuff, didn't they? Romance, surprise presents, secret admirers... He didn't know what he had done wrong, but he knew he had to make it right. He had to apologise; do something to make things right between them... He had to.

His lips dry, his body trembling, he leapt across the low roofs to her window. The wind curled obediently around him like a cold blanket, supporting him in every movement over the ice covered tiling. He swung the crook downwards, hopping down onto the brightly lit sill beside it in low crouch. So far he hadn't been attacked, so she couldn't have noticed him yet. The reason why became obvious as soon as he looked into her bedroom. She wasn't inside.

Still she couldn't be far or he would probably have been ambushed from a different part of the castle. Besides it was dark outside, she had to come back to her room soon enough. At least he would have a safe place to wait until she did come back.

Raising his staff, he tapped the edge off her window lightly with the curve of his crook. Ice built up slowly in the recess of the latch and with a twist of his crook, it suddenly forced open the lock. Hurrying to catch the swinging frame, he half-fell onto Elsa's window seat. His twine-bound legs ended up underneath him, his shirt almost threatening to tear as his arms went everywhere.

Wetting his lips, he ran a hand through his hair and sat up. "Erm... Your … your majesty?" he croaked, sliding his bare feet onto her warm floorboards and taking a few hesitant steps forwards. He took a deep breath, his fists clenching around his crook as he forced himself to raise his voice in an effort to get her attention if she was actually close enough in one of the adjoining rooms to hear him. "Your majesty..." he called again, his tone firmer this time, though he still wasn't quite sure what he'd do if he actually got an answer, "Your majest..urgh... Queen... my queen. Queen Elsa! Elsa! El...sah..." A sudden loud wooden rattling noise beside him shocked him out of his thoughts. His voice trailed off and his eyes went wide, as a pathetic embarrassed grin spread over his blushing features, "Oh... oops..."

She stared at him, revealed treacherously late by the dim glow of the gas lamps behind her. A part of the panelling in the wall had been pushed in on itself exposing a here-to-fore secret door and beyond that a small chamber with large armoires and tall boys on the far wall: her dressing room. (1) The private antechamber that served refined ladies both as a gaderobe and in some cases as a wash room. Steam billowed up behind her along with the scent of dried rose petals and preserved lavender. Her bare, wet limbs poked out of an oversized peshtemal towel, water dripping down her pinkened skin in riverlets as the damp floral fabric clung tightly to her exposed frame. Long heavy waterlogged tresses fell down over her naked shoulders, her expressionless face flushed with the heat of a recent bath.

Bath. Oh no. He had caught her bathing...

He threw his hands up defensively, backing away towards the window, watching in horror as her evident shock subsided and her eyes started to narrow in her now increasingly familiar outrage. "Look," he tried, shaking his outstretched hand in front of him, lowering the crook in the other, "It's not what you think, okay? I'm not trying to..." He ducked, rolling over the ground and landing on all fours. A burst of ice shot though the space his head had been in, smashing into a thousand glittering shards of white against the window pane, landing in glistening pieces on the purple window seat. Elsa hissed indignately at the sight of her failed volley, tightening her grip on her towel as she braced herself for another throw. "Listen," Jack yelled more loudly, scrambling upright, his arms still held out, "I just wanted to..." He thrust the crook in front of his face, using it deflect another ice blast before it could hit him.

"I came here to apologise!" he screamed, his eyes closed, his arms still held out in front of him. The crook was shaking in his hand, but nothing happened. Slowly he opened his eyes, letting out the breath he barely knew he was holding. He could feel the faint heat of her freshly tended corner fireplace almost searingly hot against the eternally frosty skin on his side; he could her indignant angry hiss in the near silence, broken only by the occasional loud coos of pidgeons on the roof or the rattle of an iron pane in the wind.

She had paused, her lips pierced tightly. One hand was securing her towel, the other thrust out in front of her. An icy pallor was creeping over flesh were the hot water had once left her pleasantly pink. Her hair was still wet, but the steam behind her was gradually dissipating with exposure to the new chill in her bedroom. Puddles were forming next to her bare toes as she shivered uncomfortably on the naked floorboards, goosebumps crawling up her legs. Ice swirled between her splayed fingers, but it didn't as yet move.

The shepherd's crook lowered in front of him as if it had a mind of its own. He inched backwards towards the over-arching window frame, only drawing himself upright against when he felt the wooden corner of the seat hit his knees, nearly making him topple over. His lips were much too dry and his eyes wouldn't leave the furious expression on her face. "I know I made you uncomfortable," he stammered, his shoulders shaking. "I didn't mean too," he paused, wetting his lips, readjusting his grip on the crook, "I just wanted... I didn't know how to talk to you." He paused talking a deep breath, running a hand over the back of his neck as he glanced away out of the window. "I mean you're so pretty and you have powers and you... you can see me... and I think I love you and..."

"So what?" she whispered quietly. Her outstretched hand still the epicentre of a miniture ice storm.

He started, his face snapping back to hers. His eyes were wide. His eyebrows knitted. "So..." he repeated faintly, his voice raising in pitch, "So what?"

"Yes, so what," she spat as her face hardened. The puddles by her feet had soildifed with more ice growing up her legs like jagged war boots. "Does that make everything okay? Is it now alright that you were invading my limited private moments, because you love me? You love me so never mind that you break into my room or leave giant gifts in my courtyard for the world to see?" Her fist shook and she glared at him, making him shrink backwards. "You embarrass me," she hissed, ice climbing the doorway around her, "You frighten me. You make me look crazy in front of people whose respect I need. And it's all okay because you were in love?" The question came out in a strangled choke, her face flushed with rage. He swallowed. His eyes were wide. His arm lowered, defenseless.

The deep golden light from the window started to wane and die against the sombre purples of Elsa's room, retreating back over the dark wooden floor and thick ornamental rugs. Somehow the place felt colder and darker to Jack than it ever had before.

"Well, I am not in love with you," she declared fiercely, glaring at him as her eyes started to well up, "Do you have any idea how horrible it feels to know that somebody could be watching you at any time? To never be sure if you're alone or not?" Tears were flowing freely down her face. The ice died in around her fingers and she brought her hand back to its twin as she gripped her stomach, shaking, and swallowed down the cracking in her voice as her anger freed her words, "How my skin used to crawl or how my stomach churned thinking you might be looking at me and I wouldn't know? How I've had to dart around corners and check my room four times every half hour to make sure it's safe? Do you have any idea how scared I was?" The flush of warmth from the bath had totally left her as the tears fell, mixing with the residual water all over her skin. She seemed to shrink back into the small chestnut paneled alcove in her wall, just another glittering item on the racks of fancy gowns and petticoats strung up behind her. Ice crystals formed on the expensive Turkish fabric around her fingers, obscuring its blue floral pattern in frosted flakes that gathered upwards slowly over her exposed flesh as if a part of her was desperately trying to build some kind of armour, to make herself less vunerable than she currently was.

He bit his lip, stepping forward into the last of the dim light flickering down onto her small round purple rug. His silver white hair sparkled slightly as it caught the illumination and his pale hands and face looked almost irredesent as he raised them, pleading. "But I..."

"You what?" her eyebrows twitched as she waited for an answer. She was shaking. Her lips quivered and her shoulders trembled, but her fists were clenched tight and her eyes remained hard and firm as she stared into the pale face by the evening panes. He seemed to shrink away, backing up against the purple cushioned window seat. The broken ice of her former volley crunched flat beneath his feet, but he did not even notice. His eyes were fixed on her.

She stared back at him, shaking with emotions he couldn't name. "Just because you feel a certain way about someone," she breathed, regaining her composure on the intake of air, "Doesn't mean you get exclusive rights to every second they are alive. It doesn't even mean they have to return the sentiment – especially when you've done nothing but behave in some twisted disturbing way the whole time. Tonnes of stalkers think they love their victims, but that's not love. You don't do this to someone you love."

"Whoa!" he exclaimed, raising his hands defensively. The leather capelet fell back over his shoulders, showing the grubby ends of his linen shirt. His eyes were wide and he straightened up, a beseeching look on his face as his flat palms pushed at thin air in front of him. "I think you're misunderstanding me... I'm not a stalker, when I said I love you I just meant I..." He trailed off, his narrow fingers hovering uselessly, suddenly unsure of what to say next.

As the silence wore on Elsa rolled her bare shoulders, pulling the towel closer around herself. "Well? Do you even know what you meant?" she intoned, giving him another pointed tilt of her eyebrows. "You think have feelings for me? You like me?"

"I just... I didn't mean it like that," he blurted out, almost tripping over the balls of his feet as he bounced nervously on the spot. He flexed the hand with his crook, instinctively using it to steady himself.

"Then how did you mean it?" she demanded, her gaze cold.

He shrugged his shoulders, running his hands through his hair. His eyes traced the way the looming four poster bed left growing shadows over more than half the room in the fading light. "You know..."

"I don't know," she snapped back at him. Her tone as cold as the ice spiralling on her skin. She barely moved, watching him through narrowed eyes.

"Just kinda..." he gulped, awkwardly glancing down at his feet one of them rubbed at the exposed swell of the other's ankle, "You know..." He shrugged his shoulders, but offered nothing further.

The line of Elsa's brows and mouth tightened further. "The way I see it," she intoned, shifting her slowly icing tresses off her shoulder with one slender hand, "There are only so many ways to take the words 'I love you', which did you think you meant?"

She waited for him to speak, but he didn't, looking away from her into the corner fireplace behind him that acted as the sole heating system in the ancient bedroom. He seemed to be trying to draw breath, but he couldn't.

His paralysed reticence seemed to act as confirmation for her. "How can you say something like that?" she whispered, her shoulders shaking, "How dare you say that? You don't even know me. You've never had a proper conversation with me. Everything you know about me you've got from following me and... sitting outside windows and spying on me..."

His eyes widened and he pushed away from the windowsill the crook vibrating in his hands. "Spying is a bit harsh, don't you think?"

"No, I don't think," she shot back, her lips drawn into a thin line, "I think it's totally accurate actually. You spy on me. You stalk me. Heck, even this conversation is happening here, outside my bath, when I'm clad in nothing but a towel... because you did not have the simple decency to try to arrange a meeting at a time that would suit me." She clenched her hand into a fist, her eyes narrowing she drew her head back, letting her wet hair slap into her shoulders. "I hold audiences for the people every week. You could have spoken to me there. Or at any number of public engagements. Or at any time when I'm in the castle grounds. Or you could have left a note or some other kind of message. Or just done something, anything, that isn't as creepy and invasive as barging into my bedroom during my bath!" She waited, taking a deep breath, for him to start speaking.

"Elsa, I..." He stopped. His fingers shook, he ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes. Trembling, he pulled his crook closer to his body.

"You what?" she inquired slowly, taking a few steps away from him.

He stood still, his head bowed, words sliding slowly over his leaden tongue, "I'm sorry."

Elsa took several barefooted steps back into the dressing room. Her arms were folded tightly across her chest. "Understand something here," she mumbled, her head bowed, as an angry expression slowly stole over her face, "I don't need you to be sorry. You shouldn't have to be sorry, because you should never have been enough of a feature in my life to do anything you would need to be sorry for." She looked up fixing him with a hard stare, her voice slowly gaining volume, "The only thing I need from you is to leave me alone."

His face fell. The wind was knocked out of him. "Elsa..." he breathed.

She closed her eyes, turning her face away so that she was looking passed her shoulder at the door frame. "Please, just go away."

"I..." he hesitated, glancing at the floor, "Okay..."

She looked up. "Okay...?"

He bit his lip, his fists tightened around the crook. "You're right," he whispered, drawing the staff closer to himself, "I scared you. I never should have... I didn't even think about... I'm sorry, Elsa. It's been so long since anybody could see me, I didn't think about what it must be like to have someone staring in at you all the time. I didn't think about how weird it would be for you if I just came into your room without asking... or that you might need your... privacy... I shouldn't even be here. I should go." He turned away, pulling himself back up onto the window seat. Pushing the glass open with his crook, he placed one hand firmly around the metal frame and started to pull himself up. For the first time the woman relaxed her shoulders. She took a step forwards, shaking her ridiculously long thick wet hair off her shoulders, but did not take her eyes off his retreating back.

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1 While there is no doubt that noble ladies in Elsa's time would have had dressing rooms and Elsa almost certainly has one somewhere – given the lack of any clothes storage furniture in her bedroom – this idea of a secret doorway is a bit of indulgence of mine. It's not totally unheard of, but be aware there is zero evidence for it in the film itself. However in Frozen Fever Elsa does appear to have an extra door in the room and her bed in a different position, so it is possible she moved things around and had the secret dressing room door exchanged with a proper one for convenience. More probable though (and more widely accepted as a theory) is that she moved to a different bedroom (that either happened to have the same wallpaper or which she had decorated to her taste), possibly to be closer to her sister as she's no longer hiding herself away or because she is now queen and entitled to a larger room... or both.