CHAPTER 36- Jani, Part 2

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Elsa watched Jani fix himself up. Well, she was trying not to watch too hard- he was currently cross-legged in front of the washing pool she had made, his back to her and his coat slung over his head like a kind of cloak-come-tent. His shirt and leather jerkin were in a pile beside him, and he was moving around a bit, so she didn't really feel right getting closer in case the coat slipped down and she saw rather more of him than decency allowed, and, more to the point, rather more than he was clearly comfortable with her seeing right now. Although she wasn't sure she understood this change in his attitude- surely his... softer areas were no longer a secret? At least in the present company of her and that one big raven who always seemed to be nearby. Watching her, mostly. Peculiar.

A white flash of a hand reached out from under the coat and grabbed the tattered shirt. Sigh... he needed new clothes. The waistcoat followed, and then Jani stood, shrugging off the coat and stretching his arms over his head, wincing a little.

Turning, he smiled as they made eye contact. It was a slightly brittle smile, as if he still wasn't sure what she thought of the whole business. Afraid, but hiding it. She was gradually getting better at reading him.

The softer areas were gone, now. Tucked away. Should she have noticed that?

"They'll be back, don't worry yourself."

How did...? Elsa realised that her hand had risen unconsciously to her own bust. Blushing, she lowered it. Clearly there was no great art to reading her.

"So you just... tie them down?"

Jani shrugged. "Clearly."

"Doesn't that get awfully... sore?"

"It's worse otherwise." He made an expansive gesture which took in basically his entire body. "I don't like to... see myself, when I'm a guy. Or for other people to... see it. It's hard to explain."

He grimaced slightly. "Can we change the subject now?"

He wetted his hair and set about rearranging it. Elsa wasn't sure how one mass of tangles was supposed to be different from another; Jani- or Janna's- hair was a kind of attractive chaos, like some black-leaved bush growing wild, with branches at odd angles. It was... strangely beautiful, but one would not expect it to have been planned in any way. If it were left to grow long it would probably be worse than Anna's.

Strange how easy it was becoming, the 'he's and 'him's. How, as she got more used to her magical, changeable suitor, the words just sort of... fit. She wasn't sure what to make of it.

He was finishing cleansing the make-up from his eyes when Elsa chose to break the silence.

"It's the magic. Isn't it?"

Jani looked up. "Sorry?"

Elsa gulped. "I mean... the older Ulda... Mari?... she kept calling you her son... so..." Her tongue seemed to be failing her again.

The crow lord sighed, scratching his tousled head. "Honestly? I'm not sure."

He stood again. "How are you feeling now? You look... good."

A deflection? Choosing not to press the issue, Elsa smiled, raising an eyebrow. "Why, thank you, your Highness. Actually, I feel better than I have in some time."

Pulling his coat on, Jani stepped back into the pavilion, and retrieved his bag. "Well enough to breakfast as we walk?"

"I think so..." she called through the door.

"Excellent." Jani emerged, rummaging away. "Another couple of hours and we'll be out of the woods. A few more and we'll see your sister again." Elsa gave a sigh of relief; Jani winked. "I'm not sure why you'd be worried- for such a sweet girl, she's pretty formidable. "

Then he seemed to hesitate. "Elsa..."

He lowered the bag. "Are you really okay with this?"

His face was... what she saw in his eyes she could find no word for, in any of the several languages she had mastered... but it made her want to cry a little.

Elsa tutted. An unacceptable situation, but one she could remedy. She approached him, and, pressing a hand against the gentle curve of his back, the other against his cheek, pulled him, commandingly but not so roughly as to be forceful, into another kiss- the way she had first kissed him, all those days before. She held it a few seconds, savouring the sensation. His lips still... burned, dizzying, like kissing the lightning. His cheek was still so soft against her fingers, and it made perfect sense now, just like the scent of forest flowers which still rose from that perfect skin as she felt his chest heave, and his pulse quicken.

And yes, as she kissed him she still heard a part of herself saying Stop, Elsa! What are you doing? Everyone will know! This could break everything! And yes, the fear was stirring in her heart, power pulsing into her limbs until they ached with contained potential which threatened to burst forth like an explosion. But the voice was, perhaps, just a little quieter than last time. She could master this. And he was sweet on her lips, far sweeter than any prince.

Drawing back a little, and resisting the urge to purr like a contented cat, she shook her head in mock exasperation. "Didn't occur to you that I had factored in all this, when deciding whether to court you?"

"Yeah, but..." Jani seemed to be having trouble believing it. He still remembers what I said, Elsa thought, sadly, cold shame trickling into her mind to spoil the warmth of her mood.

"Don't you see?" Elsa let her fingers slide tenderly down his cheek, brushing against his lower lip with her thumbnail. "This is the face I first... the first face I... ever really wanted to kiss. As an adult, at least." She felt herself grinning foolishly. Anna would have teased her if she'd been there to see it. "My boy is back. How could I not be happy?"

Jani looked uncertain. "I never went anywhere. It's always me."

Elsa nodded. "I know, you kept trying to explain to the others, and they never seemed to get it."

"You were listening to all that? I thought you were furious."

"Of course I was." Or... hurt, perhaps. Confused. Guilty. Humiliated. Self pitying... I made such a fool of myself. She shrugged, and forced a smile. "I still eavesdrop on other people's conversations. A lifetime habit- it comes of spending your childhood listening through your bedroom door. I can't seem to break it."

She then took his hand in both of hers- that one the hind woman's claws had marked. She drew her fingertips slowly, slowly along the thin, pink scars.

"You're very... ah... good with your hands..." Jani whimpered, if whimpering can sound happy.

"Put it down to the sketching. I also write a lot of letters." Elsa planted a kiss on Jani's knuckles. Her smile was genuine, now. "This is the hand of the person who saved me. Who came and found me. It's you. Whatever your name, whatever you call yourself, however you dress. And I'm..." Tears started to well in her eyes. "I'm sorry for when I've ever made you feel ashamed."

Jani looked at his hand, and then at Elsa.

"You know, kultani, if... oh, I'll take it."

Then he swore under his breath, and kissed her back.

It was glorious but brief- a second's contact of the lips; fortunate, since the moment his mouth touched hers her heart shook like it was about to break free of its moorings. As he released her she staggered backward a couple of steps, dizzied by the rush of power and by a strange mixture of pleasure and panic.

Looking down, she watched patterns of frost spread over her hands, coating them like fine crystalline gloves. Jani looked at her in alarm; regaining some presence of mind but still tongue-tied, she shook her head to indicate that there was nothing to worry about, and focused hard.

Controlling her ice had proven, fittingly, to depend on 'warm' feelings. She could think of her sister, her old friends and advisors, her home, anything that let her draw upon the glow of love within her and reverse the flow of her enchantment. But on this occasion...

She focused on him.

Oh, there was a such an unhappy look in Jani's eyes, like he'd broken the whole world. It struck her, not for the first time, that this... jumble of a person could go from being a joker, to a terror on the battlefield, to a lost little boy over the course of a minute. What was it Anna had said? A puppy that thinks itself a wolf?

He feels terrible- he thinks this is his fault... Her heart melted to see him so adorably bewildered, as it did, so did the frost on her hands; indeed, such was the rush of warmth from within her that she felt fortunate it didn't take her dress along with it.

Come to think of it, that might have cheered him up... Now, Elsa, don't be vulgar. Jani does quite enough of that for the two of us...

"It's alright, it's alright!" she insisted, raising her hands to show that their warmth had returned. "It's just... I guess you maybe startled me a bit?"

"Sorry", he mumbled, still crestfallen. I always find some way to ruin things... Elsa wrapped her arms around Jani and gave him a squeeze.

"I said, it's alright", she whispered into, well, his neck, since she was still barefoot. "I guess I'm not used to... that kind of contact, is all."

"You kissed me. A couple of times."

Elsa considered. "It's odd, I know. Maybe kissing, and being kissed, are different? I couldn't say, this is all so brand new..." She set her jaw determinedly. "It will pass."

Jani sighed. "Aye, good thing we already decided to go slow, then."

Crouching down over his bag, he pulled out a slightly wrinkled apple and placed it in Elsa's hand with a flourish of ceremony. Breakfast.

He winked at her, clearly feeling better about the situation. Or else putting on a good act. "We should meet up with the others today, and then it's over the mountains to Arendelle. Shall we get moving?"

Elsa smiled and, hand in hand, they did.

No, not just desire, she considered. Desire could never melt a frozen heart. Yet the alternative... no, that was too much to think about just yet. Baby steps, even if some foolish part of her wanted to go galloping off ahead.

She and Anna would have a lot to catch each other up on...

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What precisely happened at Larkspur on that strange, strange day was a source of some disagreement, even as soon as the early evening- such are the unreliable memories of fishermen when, following some momentous event, normally involving catching something big, the liquor has been flowing since noon and every man, or woman, crowded into the tiny tavern under the eyeless gaze of the mermaid's head has told and retold their own version of the fish tale, bigger and better each time.

Manner Junior, being, while not quite dry as a bone, certainly more sober than most as he awaited news from his father up at the old fox castle, listened to his fellow villagers with a critical ear. The catch this time was not, of course, edible, but a ship. He had stayed out of sight when the military had brought the trading vessel into dock and begun to order the villagers around, badgering and threatening them into helping to unload its cargo, finding a vantage point from which he could discreetly watch the course of events.

Most versions of the tale broadly agreed with his recollection up to that point. Those who had gone down into the cargo hold gave accounts of what they found within ranging from 'nothing' to 'shitting hell demons!', in accordance with their varying degrees of imagination and/or alcoholism, but never mind. Certainly, much of the cargo- blocks of ice, bizarrely- had already been stacked up on deck, and some moved to shore, by the time the mayor arrived and began to argue with the commander of the ship.

Now, the mayor knew how to argue, and it had not been long before the altercation deteriorated into threats. The commander, flanked by a couple of his men, had held the point of a sword to the mayor's throat and insisted that, in fact, the villagers of Larkspur would unload all the ice from the ship, they wouldn't ask any more questions, and they would stop heckling him and his crew- at least one old lady had thrown rotten fruit at the sailors.

Manner Senior had always said that you can give a Myrtleman an order he can respect, or with a threat you can back up- but cringing and slaving is for outlanders. Manner Junior took that to mean that Myrtleans were never too slow to start a bar brawl or a riot. None of the people of Larkspur had any love for taking orders or for the new regime, but they didn't fancy dying either, so at that moment every eye in the village was watching that sword tickle the skin on the old mayor's chin, weighing up whether this was a fight they could afford.

The mermaid's head grinned down from its position over the bar, pearly teeth glistening in the candlelight, as if sharing Manner's sense of wry amusement. This was the point at which accounts of the incident started to diverge. At this point in the evening, a frontrunner had emerged among all the various versions of events, perhaps popular enough to become official village history by the morning. It was an inspiring tale to be sure.

According to that account, the commander's increasingly desperate threats had been interrupted by a loud noise from the ship itself. Then, with a roar of righteous fury, a great spirit reindeer had leaped from the hold, kicking the stack of ice blocks still piled up on the main deck and sending them flying over the guard rail, down onto the commander, striking his back with a noise something like a crab being stamped on. For a moment it had stood there, shining like starlight as it scanned the horizon, a trio of attendant spirits perched upon its back and mighty antlers. Then, with sublime speed, it had galloped off the ship, through the crowd, and off into the wetlands of the bay, disappearing from sight before anyone could think or react.

The village had, as one man, glanced at the deer image in their village square, glanced at the crushed remains of the hapless commander, leaking slightly from under a pile of what was now fairly pinkish ice, noted, with glee, the fear in the eyes of his remaining crew, and rushed them. Most of them had no swords, but fists, hammers, and knives served them pretty well. Another thing his father had said to him- all Myrtleans are dangerous. The sailors should have remembered that.

So, now they had a ship. That was real enough, and made the other events easier to accept. That said... Manner Junior was but one man, a simple ferryman, and not one to contradict so many others. But, he thought, as he chuckled quietly into his tankard... He had stood at some distance, yet had the Great Reindeer's leap from the hold not been more of a... skid, into some cargo which had been stacked rather precariously? And the star shining upon his chest... well, it had looked a lot like a medal, to him. Those spirits with him, though- Mother of God...

The discussion in the bar had turned to whether they were rebels now. The villagers were rather divided on that. No one really liked the usurper, whatever he was called, and most had some affection for the slain king, or at least the Marttila line. But the argument was put forward by some that, being just a small village, out on the edge of things, they should keep things quiet and just hope that no one came looking for their new ship.

And then, too, they had all heard the rumours from the city. The crows had declared a Lord, screaming it out from rooftop to rooftop. There had been riots there, as well. Soldiers killed. Perhaps they were not alone. Perhaps the land willed it.

He had stepped outside for a piss earlier. The village's deer figure had flowers around it. Flowers.

Bollocks to flowers.

He had also seen hordes of crows feasting on the bodies. There had been a lot around, over the last couple of days, following in the wake of their Lady Lord. She fed them well, he supposed. Those who didn't know about the princess were calling it a portent.

Manner sipped his beer. He didn't know, if he was honest. Was it for the likes of them to care about the rise and fall of kings, what with real life, all the fishing and ferrying there was to be done? Ha. But, then he was reminded of the day his daughter's body was returned to him, by a young girl in a battered coat, whose eyes burnt with the dark light of the wild. Who had waited, patiently, as he had wept broken tears over his child, until he had exhausted himself, and then, without a word of judgement at his display, offered him a gift.

Opening up the little leather pouch he wore around his neck, he emptied the contents onto the table and stared at them half-drunkenly. A small ring of pewter- his daughter's, simple and lovely. A ring of fine gold and emeralds which had belonged to that one, who was anything but lovely. And a handful of little, dry, dead flowers, which rustled like tiny bells as he brushed them with a fingertip. Perhaps, if he held fealty to anyone, it was to the woman who had brought him some small peace, and some small justice, all those years ago.

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Notes:

He's not the Messiah, he's a moderately naughty reindeer.