A/N: I am plagued with the mixed blessing that is perfectionism. I think that's largely why I stress out so much about my writing. It's also the reason that, only a few days after I announced that I needed a break, I was back to writing anyway. Once I've started a project, I really can't stand to leave it unfinished!

That said, some compromises are in order for the sake of my own sanity. So for the foreseeable future, I'll be cutting back my update frequency to something more like a single chapter a week. It's amazing how relaxing it is to allow myself some evenings when I can simply not write at all.

But you didn't come here to read about me. On with the story...

The brave paladin faced a wall of grimly determined defenders. There was no break in their line, no gap in their ranks. They were prepared to sacrifice themselves to protect their liege, if fate and their commanders decreed it to be. Of course, such action would not be their first choice. They would much prefer to send this enemy of the crown back to their masters, humbled and undone, as a prize befitting the execution of such a righteous campaign. Whether or not he was still in one piece when presented unto the royalty was not even a matter worthy of much consideration.

He knew that he could not stay where he was, or they would surely have him. He could retreat, and hope that an opening might form should they choose to pursue him in undue haste. Their captain was cunning, however, and the mounted warrior did not believe for a moment that he would allow such a foolish mistake. The troops were too disciplined, and had made not a single false move even as he had danced up and down before their formation, taunting and harrying them.

No, he could not stay. Nor could he flee. Only one option remained for the valiant champion. And so, with reckless abandon, he charged straight at the enemy. To their credit, they did not move. Only at the last possible second did he dig his heels hard into his horse's flanks. The animal, as lost in the heat of battle as its rider, pushed off the hard-packed turf and leaped with all its might. Its hooves barely cleared the stalwart picket line. Then, horse and rider thudded down safely upon the far side.

How long that safety would last was another matter.

• • •

"That was a rather bold move," Agdar observed as Elsa withdrew her hand from the black knight. "Quite theatrical, even. But might we be extending ourselves just a little too far, hmm?"

The princess leaned back in her chair, but her eyes remained firmly fixed on the board in between them. Her scrutiny shifted this way and that as she surveyed the state of the contest. Unfortunately, she feared her father might be right. There wasn't much encouraging to be seen, as far as she was concerned. Her pieces were heavily outnumbered. Just keeping enough back to provide even basic protection for her king meant that she had very little left with which to mount any sort of offensive against her opponent. It seemed likely that at this point, all she was doing was delaying her inevitable defeat.

Still, she wasn't ready to concede just yet. She thought that she could see one slim chance, a long shot that was more of a gamble than a strategy. It could backfire on her so easily, but it wasn't like she had all that much to lose at this point anyway. So she dared to attempt the unorthodox maneuver.

She glanced up at the king's face and watched him study the game in like fashion. He had been pressing his attack most determinedly. In fact, this had been the first time in the last several moves when Elsa hadn't been forced to immediately respond to an imminent threat of check. That she had taken such an opportunity to move one of her pieces away from its defensive posture straight into the midst of the white ranks was certainly unexpected. She could see her father attempting to work out what the gambit might mean.

Which meant that it was also time to put the other part of her plan into action.

"Tell me," she began in a casual sort of way, "what do you think of this new stable hand? I think his name is Josef, isn't it?"

It wasn't especially unusual for them to talk during their games. This was, after all, a chance for the two of them to spend some time together beyond the often dull routine of lessons. Of course, when a match was particularly challenging, then conversation tended to dwindle as both players concentrated closely on each and every move. So in part, Elsa was hoping to leverage the rather lopsided nature of the current match ever so slightly in her favor. If she could subtly convince her father that there was no particular need to think all that very hard...

He did not take his eyes from the board, but he did raise one hand to scratch thoughtfully at his chin. "Hmm. Well, he seems like a very nice fellow. And he definitely appears to know a thing or two about caring for horses. I think he should do quite well by us, if I'm any judge of character at all."

"I'm glad to hear that. All I've really heard about him so far has come from Anna, but she certainly seems to be... impressed by him. Given how she always dotes over her horse, it says something when she credits Josef for helping her learn to understand Adelen even better than she did before."

"Really?" Agdar said "I can't seem to recall her saying anything like that over dinner. Then again, she has talked quite a bit about the good Mr. Mikkelsen, so it's certainly possible that I might have missed words to that effect somewhere amid all the rest." They both smiled at Anna's well known penchant for effusive chatter whenever she got particularly excited.

"Well, if nothing else, she at least seems to have made a new friend. That's good too. Anna's not the sort to handle solitude well. She's always happiest around other people. That's one thing that she and I have never really had in common."

"We all need other people, Elsa," her father replied. "Even the shyest amongst us needs company from time to time. There are always things that we can't do alone, things that are just easier with a friend by your side."

At last, the king made up his mind. He reached out and, with no discernible hesitation, made his move.

Elsa blinked. Then she blinked again. He hadn't seen it. Whether her distraction had done its trick or whether he was simply too preoccupied with maneuvering into position for checkmate, he had failed to realize the significance of her knight's advance. She looked over the board again, convinced that she must be missing something that he had seen, and which would render her plans moot. To be perfectly honest, she really hadn't expected this ploy to actually work, so she found it far more likely that she had been the one to overlook something and not her father.

Whatever she might have missed, however, she still could not see it. Even so, she had only the narrowest of windows. If she didn't move now, then the carefully planned assault by the white forces would box her king in completely and that would be the game. Bold action at this precise moment, though, could take out the linchpin of that attack. It was nothing close to a guarantee of victory, but it at least might give her a fighting chance.

Silently, she moved her remaining bishop so that it was in position to attack her father's queen.

Agdar leaned forward, his hand starting to move in anticipation of the next play that he had already thought out in his mind. It stopped halfway to the board, however, as the nature of this new situation finally dawned on him. Then it withdrew as he considered his predicament, his head cocked slightly to one side in consternation and surprise.

"You've pinned her down," he declared, conveying with his voice just how impressed he was with his daughter's little ruse. "There's only one place she can go to avoid your bishop, but then your knight will take her instead. Well played. Very well played indeed." His eyebrows drew together as he set about the unpleasant task of deciding which of those pieces he would let take his queen.

For her part, Elsa was already pondering the options that would follow this exchange. She suspected that her bishop would be required to make the capture, if for no other reason than it would draw yet another of her pieces further away from the king's defense. Besides, simply leaving the queen where it was would allow her father to start repositioning his remaining forces for a revised attack that much sooner. Even with white's most powerful piece taken out of play, her chances of eking out a victory still remained exceedingly slim.

Sure enough, her father opted to advance one of his pawns, thus allowing the white queen to fall where she stood. Elsa looked down at the piece as she lifted it from the board. She felt the weight of it once again, in her head if not in her hand. Even now, she still experienced a little shiver along her spine whenever she held it. In a way, it almost gave her another reason to be thankful for her gloves. She felt that her bare hands might somehow sully this tiny little thing that she had come to view as very nearly sacred.

"Father, how did you ever manage after Aunt Primrose left?"

The question escaped her before she even knew it. Nor could she say what had caused her to ask it today of all days. After all, this was the first time she had ever actually prompted him about one of (what he liked to call) their history lessons. Many weeks – and many chess games – had come and gone since he had last spoken about his past. So what was so special about this day, this game, that had brought those words to her tongue?

Agdar spent another second or two in silent contemplation of the board. Then he straightened up in his chair again and looked across the table at his daughter.

"You have no idea how many times I've asked myself that same question."

• • •

"Well done, Your Highness! You very nearly almost had me that time."

Agdar briefly turned an annoyed glare upon the speaker before he remembered himself. Pulling his composure back into place, he nevertheless couldn't quite prevent the touch of sharpness that crept into his reply. "I sometimes think you enjoy our lessons a little too much for your own good, Wexel." He took a step back toward the older man, then winced. "Or mine, for that matter," he concluded, reaching back to massage the offended spot on his backside.

His instructor smiled and shrugged. "I keep hoping that the flat of my sword will eventually teach you what my words apparently still have not. You continue to overextend yourself when you lunge. It leaves you off balance and hopelessly open to a counterattack. You have to keep your weight centered at all times, so that you're free to move in whatever direction you need to. When you suddenly drive one leg so far forward like that, then you lose that ability to react until you've draw it back in and regained your stability. While you're busy doing that, you're practically begging any competent opponent to take advantage of your carelessness."

The prince nodded. He understood what the sword master was telling him, of course. It all made sense, and he knew perfectly well that he consistently made the same mistake over and over again. The difficulty came in trying to get his body to listen to his brain once the duel began. At that point, he rarely had time to think. He had to trust his muscles to respond in the way they had learned that they must. Unfortunately, he sometimes found that his body had apparently picked up the wrong lessons. The unlearning of such bad habits was never a simple matter.

"Again then?" he asked.

"They're your bruises, Your Highness," Wexel said, lifting his blade in a salute. Agdar returned the gesture, and then both men brought their swords back to guard position.

Now the dance began.

Master and pupil began to circle a common center, each stepping carefully so as to always maintain his balance while keeping his weapon between himself and his opponent. This was the part of the fight in which each duelist supposedly sized up the other, searching for weaknesses. When two men had sparred together as often as these two had, however, that was something they each already knew.

Agdar was well aware that he still had far more gaps in his technique than the man he now faced. Then again, he also knew that he was steadily managing to close those gaps. He would never be able to dedicate the same single-minded focus to perfecting this art form in the way that Wexel had. Still, he was determined to become the best swordsman that his time and abilities would allow.

He suddenly slid his feet forward, looking to drive the other man back the same distance. The superior swordsman only grinned, however, then tipped his blade forward and tapped Adgar's lightly. The sound of steel on steel shivered through the still morning air. Frowning slightly, the prince gave back the little ground he had gained, then continued to wait for that ineffable something that indicated the time was ripe to make his move.

Wexel apparently saw it first, however. His advance was not a tentative feeling out as Agdar's had been. He closed the distance between them suddenly, his saber moving even as his feet brought him forward.

It was a backhanded sweep designed to knock the prince's sword far off to the side, thus leaving his body exposed for the return swing. This propensity of Wexel's for suddenly shifting the sword to his off hand was one of the many things that made him such a formidable opponent. It was also one of the skills that Agdar still could not emulate. He had, however, learned ways to defend against it.

He took a half step backward, so that his sword arm was temporarily pulled away from his attacker. At the same time, he dropped his blade slightly and shifted the angle somewhat toward the horizontal. With the weapon held diagonally across his chest, he managed to remain mostly guarded while at the same time allowing Wexel's blade to whistle past. In the next instant, Agdar brought his right foot forward again, lifted his elbow, and thrust his own saber out before him. The combined leverage of his pivoting body and extending arm caused the tip of the weapon to shoot out with remarkable speed.

Naturally, however, Wexel was no longer there to receive the attack. He had allowed the momentum of his own swing to carry him into a spin, then actually rolled off Agdar's left shoulder. Indeed, as the prince had stepped forward, the corresponding backward movement of his weaker side had only helped to propel the other swordsman behind him.

In turn, Agdar capitalized on the power behind his own spin. Planting his front foot, he pivoted. His left side swung around so that he was suddenly facing the opposite direction. Simultaneously, he lowered his right hand and brought his sword back to a near vertical position – just in time to catch Wexel's sweeping blade.

Steel slid along steel until the hand guards met with a clack.

"Better," Wexel acknowledged before he disengaged, pushing off sword against sword in an attempt to off-balance his opponent. Agdar was unwilling to oblige, however, and merely used the impulse to dance back a few steps and get well out of the older man's reach.

But despite conceding that small bit of ground, Agdar was not willing to surrender the initiative again. He immediately began to advance in a sideways sliding shuffle that always kept his sword arm out in front and presented the slimmest profile for possible attack. Per his mentor's advice, he took great care to maintain a proper center of gravity, never allowing his feet to get either too close together or too far apart.

This time, Wexel did not remain in place in the face of his oncoming foe. While keeping his saber up in a defensive posture, he began to circle backwards quickly, attempting to find a larger target surface and a better attack angle. Agdar adjusted his vector of approach to keep that from happening, and soon the two were circling each other once more.

That was when the prince saw him, beyond Wexel's shoulder as their wary circuit continued. There in the doorway, seeming very nearly to fill it, stood his father. Ragnarr's arms were crossed over his chest and his face wore a grim glower. Agdar knew that look only too well. The king was merely waiting to once again be disappointed in his son.

His expectations were nearly met right then and there, as even that brief distraction was enough to convince Wexel to make his next move. He bore fiercely down upon Agdar. There were no showy off-handed swipes this time. Instead, he harried the prince with a determined series of shorter but still brutal strokes. Agdar blocked and parried like mad, struggling to defend against the onslaught and finding himself steadily retreating against the ferocity of the attack.

He was finally able to put an end to his backpedaling only by actually jumping away from the advance and then swinging his sword in an extended arc.. This forced Wexel to draw up short to avoid the tip of the blade. Agdar took advantage of this momentary lull to now step forward and bring his sword sweeping back the other direction, requiring his instructor to at last give ground in his own turn.

Now Agdar brought his blade back up to a more neutral pose from which he was better prepared for either attack or defense. There was no question in his mind, however, which course he needed to pursue. His saber flashed in a series of short, swift strikes that forced the other man to block blow after blow. Indeed, Wexel even slid backwards a step, then another, in his attempts to find room to maneuver around the glinting steel. A feral grin spread across the prince's face.

Never before had Agdar managed to press his mentor this hard. The relentlessness of this assault was driven by an inner fire that had ignited deep within his gut and now seemed to be raging throughout his entire body. This was his chance. He finally had an opportunity to prove his mettle, to show the sort of man that he was, to make perfectly clear what the future King of Arendelle could really do... To not be a disappointment.

And yet, a small voice whispered above the roar of that fire, it would change nothing.

Wexel dropped back another step. It was nearly impossible to tell from his face how hard the man was being pressed, except that his lips were set in a thin line instead of the usual cocksure smirk that they normally wore. Agdar did not step into the newly formed gap, however. Instead, he slashed his sword toward his opponent's midsection. The stroke was deflected away, but he quickly redirected his blade back for a diagonal swipe from hip up to shoulder. Wexel only just managed to spin in time to bring his saber into a blocking position, the two blades dragging along one another with the sound of ringing metal.

Agdar did not need to look at the king again to know that Ragnarr's posture and demeanor had not changed. Nor did he need to see this punishing attack through to the end to know that there was quite simply nothing he could ever do that could possibly redeem himself in his father's eyes. Seventeen years under this roof had proved that beyond any doubt. He had spent too much of that time trying to please, or at least appease, this one man – a man who appeared to possess a deep-seated and immovable need to hate him beyond any and all sense or reason. A victory here would not change that.

Wexel had withdrawn far enough that his body was now beyond the reach of the prince's sword. From this distance, the duel could only be a clash of steel upon steel. The sound of those collisions continued to fill the air like deranged church bells.

But one day, Agdar thought to himself, there would be a different king seated upon the throne of Arendelle. Perhaps he ought to give more thought to making that man proud instead. Perhaps he should have started doing that long ago.

In less time than it took to blink, Agdar made his decision.

He shifted most of his weight back onto his trailing left leg. His right foot rose up off the floor, then drove forward as the prince fired his right arm as far out in front of him as he could. His sword was a mere extension of his arm, neither wobbling nor wavering in the slightest, just a single straight line from blade tip to shoulder.

Agdar felt the familiar sting across his posterior once again. He had been expecting it, of course. He welcomed it. He had practically demanded it, after all. And yet, he had a part that he was now expected to play, and so he did.

He winced as he straightened up and turned to face his sparring partner.

"I very nearly almost had you that time," he said without the slightest hint of irony.

Wexel nodded, but did not say a word. He merely pinned his pupil with a penetrating stare. Agdar returned it, unphased and unflinching, his face practically devoid of all expression. He'd had plenty of experience perfecting that look.

He saw Wexel's eyes dart briefly past his shoulder, then heard the sound of heavy boots beginning their retreat down the hallway. Neither man spoke until the echoes of those mighty footfalls had faded away.

"Why did you do that?" the older man asked, his eyes once again boring into Agdar's. "Why did you make such a stupid, reckless move?"

"You said it yourself," Agdar replied with a shrug, "I always overextend myself when I lunge. I know it's a problem, but it's one I'm just struggling to correct. You know what they say. Old habits and all that."

He could see in Wexel's face that the sword master was not falling for this fanciful tale. Part of becoming a truly great duelist with a sword is learning to read the subtle cues of body language that can telegraph what your opponent is about to do. This includes being able to recognize the difference between an upcoming feint and an actual attack. So he could absolutely believe that this man had read in Agdar's face, during the split second before his lunge, the fact that he had made a very deliberate and conscious decision. This had not simply been a case of the old quirk in his technique betraying him once again at the most inconvenient moment.

The prince was unspeakably grateful that his teacher was apparently just as good at picking up on those same nonverbal signals even when weapons were not involved. After inflicting Agdar with a few more seconds of his piercing scrutiny, Wexel finally nodded. "I suggest you work on that," he decreed. Then he spun on his heel and, sheathing his sword, walked stiffly out of the room.

Alone at last, Agdar blew out his cheeks. "I guess that's the end of lessons for today then?" he asked the empty room. Returning his own saber to its scabbard, he leaned against the nearest wall and waited. He wanted to give Wexel time to disappear from the corridors before he followed after.

More than that, though, he needed to be sure that his shaking legs would not simply give out from underneath him the second he passed through that door.

• • •

"I... I don't understand."

King Agdar drew his attention back from his youth and instead focused on his daughter on the far side of the chessboard. The confusion on her face almost rendered her words unnecessary.

"I'm sorry," he said with the hint of a smile. "I guess I'm not the best storyteller. Why don't you tell me what's confusing you, and I'll do what I can to clear things up."

Elsa looked back at him, but she did not say another word at first. She seemed to be struggling to even figure out where to begin. Finally, she lowered her eyes to gaze at the white queen that she still held in her hand. That small symbol seemed to be enough to break through her indecision.

"Well, for one thing, I asked how you managed to cope with your father after your sister left. But your answer was to tell me a story about sword fighting. I... I guess I don't see what one has to do with the other."

"Ah," Agdar nodded. "Yes, it wasn't the most direct answer, was it? You'll have to forgive me. I've not allowed myself the chance to revisit those bygone days all that often over the years. I'm afraid I get a little lost in the memories sometimes and forget the point I'm trying to make. But there was a point to that particular tale, I assure you.

"After Primrose departed for Corona, I found myself with an abundance of time and a shortage of friends. I suppose my situation was rather like that of a favorite target of the biggest schoolyard bully. Otherwise decent people may fear to be seen making friends with such a child, for fear that they might become a target themselves. Few people besides Prim ever dared to stand up to my father. As such, few were ever willing to intercede on my behalf.

"However, there were still a few who stuck by me, even if only because it was their job to do so. My teachers, for instance. By that age, much of my formal education was behind me, so that wasn't a particularly large group. What was left, however, I threw myself into with a passion. I suppose it was an escape of sorts, and one of the few avenues where I could expect to earn a little praise for a job well done.

"Now I had always enjoyed my lessons with Wexel more than all the others. There was something about the art of the sword that appealed to me. To this day, I can't say what exactly it was. I think, however, that it might have reminded me in some strange way of my games with Prim. Even though the two seem radically different, there's an element of strategy that nevertheless connects them. You have to understand your opponent, the way he thinks. You have to learn to predict what he might do next, and be ready to counter it. And both also teach you that, no matter how good you might become, there will still be times when you will lose, and there is no shame in that fact."

Agdar paused and considered Elsa thoughtfully for a moment before he continued. "There was another reason why I chose to tell you about that specific match, however, and it had nothing to do with the particulars of thrusts and parries. It had everything to do with my father's presence at the end."

"That was the other thing I didn't understand," Elsa interrupted. "It sounded like you could have defeated Wexel, and yet you chose not to, even though your father was there watching."

"Because my father was there watching," the king corrected. The princess's expression once again reflected the fact that his words made no sense to her whatsoever, and so he continued his explanation.

"I had spent most of my life up to that point looking for a way to appear worthy in the eyes of a man whose good favor was rarely a sign of a person's good character. Even after my sister repeatedly warned me against measuring myself by his ruler, it wasn't easy to break free from that pattern. Every son wants to make his father proud.

"That day, however, as I was bearing down upon Wexel with such a violent fury, something finally clicked. It happens that way sometimes. When you least expect it, your view of the entire world can suddenly shift. I realized that, at that moment, I was burning with the same all-consuming rage that drove my father. I was so incensed that all I could think about was proving to him how wrong he was about me.

"Actually, that's not true. To be perfectly honest, I was barely thinking at all. Every emotion that I had held inside and hidden all those years was taking over, and I was very nearly out of control. That was when I realized that if I allowed myself to continue, if I gave myself over to it, then another day could arrive all too swiftly when I would look into the mirror and see staring back at me the face of the man who had tormented me my entire life.

"Then I thought of Prim, and of all she had ever done to protect me and shield me and to show me what family was really meant to be. Suddenly, it seemed like very poor repayment to abandon everything I had become because of her in favor of what I could so easily become because of our father.

"And I knew then that, if I ever allowed myself to travel that road, then I would suffer a worse fate than not being able to meet my own eyes in the mirror. I would never be able to look my sister in the face ever again."

"But... couldn't you have just stopped then? Or found a different way to fight without that anger? Or... I don't know. It's just... Why did you choose to lose the way you did? I don't understand what that proved."

"It finally became clear to me that, since nothing I could do would ever change my father, the only way I could possibly hope to improve my situation was to change myself. The problem was that Father was absolutely certain that he had beaten me down. If I dared to defy him, he would stop at nothing to break me again. So as I said when I was telling the story, I now had a part to play. I had to live down to his low expectations, so that he would never think I might have the potential to become something more."

Agdar grinned. "I've often found it useful to be underestimated."

And with that, he reached out to the chessboard and made his move.

"Mate in three," he declared.

Elsa stared down at the arrangement of pieces, searching for some way to escape that dire prediction. He was perfectly correct, of course. His victory was inevitable. Shaking her head, she tipped over her king, then looked up at her father.

She couldn't shake the feeling that there was so much more to him than she would ever possibly know.

"Well, I think that's enough for today," he said as he slapped his knees and then stood. "Don't forget, no lessons tomorrow. It's Midsummer's Eve, after all."

The princess rolled her eyes but smiled all the same. "I don't think I could forget that even if I wanted to. It's all Anna's been talking about for the last week."

"It always was one of her favorite holidays. More so now than ever, I think, even if she does miss you at dinner and the bonfire."

Elsa's smiled faded, just a little. Then, with only a small effort, she restored it to its former state. "Oh, I suspect she'll be looking to somebody else for company this year."

Agdar lifted his eyebrows. "Really? Is this something I should know about?" He watched as a touch of pink darkened his daughter's cheeks.

"Oh, I thought you... Never mind, it's nothing really. Certainly nothing to worry about. It's only..." She shrugged. Even if her father and mother hadn't noticed Anna's infatuation yet, it would only have been a matter of time. She just hadn't thought she'd be the one to tip them off. Now that she'd let the hint slip, however...

"You'll see tomorrow night, I'm sure," she finished.

Her father gave her an odd look. In the end, though, he judged from Elsa's shy smile that, whatever small secret she held, it did not appear to be a cause for undo concern. Besides, a single day's wait was not so very much after all. Then, if his older daughter was to be believed, he would have the answer for himself.

"Fair enough, then," he agreed. "Lessons or no, your mother and I will stop by sometime tomorrow anyway. There's no reason you should be left out of the celebrations entirely. So until then..."

He would have kissed her on the forehead. He wanted to at least touch her shoulder or squeeze her hand. Elsa still wasn't ready for that, though, and she continued to draw away from any attempts at direct physical contact. So he had to settle for the emotional shorthand upon which they had eventually settled over the course of the last year.

Agdar touched two fingertips to his lips. Then he lowered his hand and, smiling, placed those fingers above his heart. Elsa's small smile grew broader as she returned the gesture.

"Love you, princess."

"I love you too, Papa."