A/N: I feel like I need to make something clear before we go any further. If I'm really going to attempt to take this story all the way through to the movie (and I would like nothing better than to pull that off), then I still have ten more years' worth of tale left to tell. That includes the daunting seven year gap between the second and third verses of "Snowman" (which, I'll be honest, kinda scares the crap out of me).
I point this out because some of the hints I've begun setting up in these last few chapters are things I plan to pay off over the long haul. I simply want to give everyone fair warning that, while I have answers to pretty much every question that you've been asking, it will take a while before all of them are revealed. I'm going for the slow burn on some of these. So I just don't want anyone to be expecting quick answers, only to be disappointed when they don't show up right away. But rest assured, they are coming…
Agdar rode swiftly through the forest. The waxing moon provided just enough light for him to follow the grassy path between the trees. He had brought the map with him again on this night, but once it had guided him to the point on the edge of the woods where this trail emerged, it had hardly been necessary. Now, it was folded carefully and tucked inside his jacket for safekeeping.
He was not pushing his horse as hard as he had on that night nearly three years ago, but he did not dare tarry either. His absence during these dark hours might well go unnoticed. When the new day dawned, however, he would be looked for. At that point, even though Ellinor had remained behind for this express purpose, she would not be able to hide his disappearance for very long.
In a way, that was just as well as far as he was concerned. He did not want to linger long amid the trolls. It wasn't that he disliked them, exactly. The one and only time he had encountered them before, they had certainly been polite and respectful, and they had done absolutely nothing to cause offense. And yet, they had made him distinctly uncomfortable. He suspected that he knew why.
Agdar was a practical man. He preferred to deal with tangible truths and sensible facts, and had never allowed himself to indulge in flights of fancy. This pragmatism had generally served him well as King of Arendelle. When it came to dealing with his daughter's uncanny abilities, however, it failed him utterly. Magic like that was simply beyond his ability to understand.
That didn't mean he feared it, though he'd often cautioned Elsa that this was a common reaction to such things. He was a wise enough man to know that there was so much in the world that he did not understand, and fearing it all would serve no useful purpose. What it did mean, however, was that he did not know how to deal with it.
Ordinarily, when placed in such a position during the course of his duties, he could turn to his advisors to help educate him on those subjects for which his knowledge was lacking. There was no such person when it came to magic, however – at least none that he'd been able to find. This left him in a perpetual state of ignorance, and that unsettled him greatly. The unknown was one thing. The unknowable was another matter entirely.
So when he'd dealt with the trolls, whose very existence seemed to somehow be interwoven with strange magics, he couldn't help but feel uneasy. It hadn't made things any easier, of course, that Anna had been gravely injured at the time. And though he was still immensely grateful to the patriarch of the troll clan for everything he'd done to save her life, he nevertheless had rather hoped that would be the last time he'd have need of their assistance.
The evergreens of the foothills were beginning to thin out around him, giving way to gnarled and scrubby trunks that could only generously be called trees. Still, these overgrown shrubs found a way to cling to life upon these rocky slopes, no matter how much they had to twist and contort themselves in the process.
Isn't that what we all do, though? the king thought to himself. Each and every one of us either makes a place for ourselves in this world or else we find a place and make ourselves fit into it. More and more these days, he felt like the latter. The throne had loomed over his life since the moment he'd been born. He had never truly felt comfortable with that destiny, but it had become his by the mere accident of his birth. So through the years, he had shaped himself into the man he was today – into everything that he believed a good and wise ruler ought to be, or at least as close to that ideal as he could manage.
Now it was his duty to make sure that Elsa would one day be ready to take the orb and scepter in his place. He didn't need to ask to know that she felt even more unprepared than he ever had. It was a daunting prospect for any young child, even under the best of circumstances. Elsa's unique situation clearly did not qualify for that description.
He would give almost anything to be able to help ease her burden. That was why he was here tonight, reining in his horse as he arrived at last at the edge of the troll's hollow.
Agdar left his steed near a patch of coarse mountain grass, hooking the reins over a low-hanging branch that would still allow the animal to graze a little if it so chose. After patting the horse's flank fondly, he turned and walked slowly into the center of the great circular depression.
Without the pressing urgency of an ailing daughter, the king found himself automatically wanting to fall back upon the formal rituals with which he would normally greet the ruler of another land. There were only two problems with this approach, however. First, he did not know the proper form of address for the leader of a troll clan. Chieftain? Elder? It was not something that had ever come up during his years of diplomatic training. He hadn't even caught the old troll's name the last time he'd been here. And then, there was the second problem.
He had absolutely no idea which of the many large, round stones arrayed about him on the rocky tiers might actually be the leader.
Well, when all else fails, one generally can't go too very wrong with a little good old fashioned politeness.
Clearing his throat, Agdar spoke loudly and clearly. "I beg your forgiveness for the unfortunate hour of my visit. However, I need to speak to the learned lore master who healed my daughter three years ago. I seek his advice on matters beyond my ken." A little stilted, perhaps, but such formality was often the best way to demonstrate one's respect in unknown situations such as this.
A moment later, a rumbling filled the hollow like the beginnings of a small landslide. In twos and threes, the stones rocked slightly, then began to roll down the rocky steps. Soon, a great number of them had gathered around the king's feet. Then suddenly, arms, legs, and heads unfurled on every side of him. Wide eyes blinked up at him in surprise and curiosity.
"The King!"
"It's the King!"
"The King is back!"
Agdar turned this way and that, taking in the sight of the peculiar little persons that now surrounded him. He had been too distracted the last time to pay much attention to any of them save the one who had tended to Anna. Still, these trolls dwelt within the borders of his realm, even if they didn't exactly fall under his rule. At the very least, they were neighbors who had done him a great favor. Regardless of how ill at ease he might feel among them, he had set aside considerably more acrimonious feelings when dealing with some so-called dignitaries who had done far less for Arendelle.
He lowered himself to one knee, to deal with them more at their own level. "Hello," he said with a gentle smile. "I didn't mean to alarm you. Again, please accept my apologies for the lateness of the hour, but this was the best chance I had to slip away without being missed or followed. After all you have done for me and my family, it would be poor repayment if I betrayed the secret of your location to anyone."
"We do not hide from strangers," came a rich and gentle voice that nevertheless carried with it the power of wisdom and authority. The crowd around Agdar parted, and into the midst of the little amphitheater walked the wizened figure of the elderly troll with whom he had spoken on that night three years ago. There was no mistaking the long grassy hair, the mossy eyebrows, and the weight of many years that he somehow managed to carry so serenely.
"We do not hide at all," the troll continued. "That our location is unknown to most is merely because we do not concern ourselves greatly with the wider world, and it has generally found us to be rather uninteresting as well. But we welcome guests when we have them, especially when they are as honorable as you." He gave a brief bow. Then the look of polite regard that he had maintained so far shifted a little to one of concern. "Is there a problem, Your Majesty? Is your Anna alright?"
"Yes, she is doing quite well. Though it occurs to me now that I do not believe I ever thanked you for what you did for my daughter. You must have thought me to be quite rude. Please accept my deepest gratitude on behalf of my wife and all of Arendelle." He dropped his head to his chest in a show of respect.
The venerable old troll tutted. "You had quite enough on your mind that night – more than enough to put anyone a little off their manners. Think nothing of it. I was only too happy to help. So then, what other errand has brought you back for a second visit, hmm?"
Looking up once again, Agdar hesitated only a moment before speaking. "I actually wanted to speak with you about my elder daughter, Elsa."
"Ah, I see. Well then, before we continue, might I suggest we retire to a more comfortable location? We trolls can stand for hours upon the hard stone with no great trouble, but I suspect you would prefer a somewhat softer seat. Come, follow me." With that, the troll turned and made his way back down the path that had been cleared when he had entered. The king followed.
He was led to a small stone shelf off to one side of the depression. The floor was covered with rugged but springy mountain grasses, and the cliff wall behind it was nearly hidden behind a thick blanket of moss and fine lichen. With a gesture, the troll indicated that Agdar should have a seat, which he did, and it proved to be a surprisingly pleasant one at that.
Having settled himself upon the living cushions, Agdar took a moment to gather his thoughts. Before he could begin, however, his host spoke once again.
"All this talk of manners has just made me realize that I have quite forgotten my own. I have never properly introduced myself, have I? I beg your pardon. The youngsters call me Grandpabbie, but I think perhaps Pabbie would be more suitable between us. Wouldn't you agree?"
"Certainly, if that is what you would prefer. And you may call me Agdar."
Pabbie smiled and bobbed his head at the honor, but his words spoke otherwise. "I do not think that would be appropriate, Your Majesty. While we keep to ourselves and enjoy the autonomy we have been given, we are nevertheless loyal to the crown. It would not feel right to address you in such a familiar fashion."
"As you wish," the king replied.
"Now, you wished to speak about Elsa?"
"Yes," Agdar began. However, he found it surprisingly difficult to go much beyond that simple affirmation. So many years of hiding his daughter's secret had become second nature at this point. His instincts now rebelled at confiding the details to someone who was, for all practical purposes, little more than a stranger to him. And yet, that was the very reason he had come here. If he couldn't talk to this person, who already knew more about magic than anyone else Agdar had ever known, then Elsa truly would be on her own.
"Yes," he repeated. "When last I was here, you told Elsa that she must learn to control her power. Well, three years have passed, and she still seems to be struggling with that. Her mother and I want to help her in any way we can, but we know nothing about magic. The queen thought that, since you have more experience in such things, perhaps you might be able to offer some advice."
Pabbie sighed. "I suspected that might be the reason."
"From your tone, I take it that you won't be able to help?"
The troll held out his hands, palms upward, and rocked them back and forth. "You have to understand," he attempted to explain. "Magic... is much like music. In fact, there are those who contend that music is merely a form of magic in itself, but that's a matter for another time. The important thing is this.
"Just as there are hundreds of different instruments that one can use to play music, and countless different songs one can learn to perform, so too are there endless types of magic. A musician who only plays the pipes would be a poor teacher for someone who wished to learn the lute.
"My talents lie mainly in the magics of healing and memory. I also have a rather limited skill for divining the future, though I'm afraid I cannot often see things as clearly as I would like."
Agdar nodded his understanding. This was exactly what he had told Ellinor, after all. Nevertheless, he couldn't help but wonder how far the old troll's analogy could be pushed. "You say it's like music. But doesn't all music share some things in common? Notes and chords, rhythm and meter?"
"There are a few threads that most magics seem to share, yes, and I will tell you what I can. You must understand, however, that learning to master such things is a very personal journey. No two people ever have quite the same experience along the way."
The king leaned forward attentively. "I am already in your debt, but whatever advice that you can give would be most welcome."
Pabbie paused for a moment to marshal this thoughts, then he spoke. "Magic is, in many respects, an art form. It isn't governed by rules so much as by convention. Most people, before they ever discover their own powers, already have formed ideas about what magic is and what it is not from stories they were told as children. Those notions are usually so difficult to leave behind that they typically shape what any given individual can and cannot do with their abilities.
"As with all art, however, there are a rare few who find a way to transcend those conventions. They often become the greatest among us. In the right place and at the right time, such a person can change the world."
"So you're saying that a person with magical abilities can only do as much as they believe that they can do?"
"In a sense, yes." the troll agreed with a trace of reluctance. "Like most things in life, of course, it's never quite that simple. Who among us hasn't, at one time or another, surprised ourselves by doing something we never thought we possibly could? The same thing happens with magic too.
"Still, the mind is the chief tool through which magical power is wielded. One's beliefs, one's desires, even one's emotional state will have a tremendous impact on one's control. It can alter the shape that your magic will take. Even more importantly, it's very easy for the magic itself to then turn around and reinforce the beliefs that created it."
Pabbie looked hard at Agdar, trying to see if his words were being understood. The blank expression he received in return seemed to provide that answer. "It is difficult to explain to one who has not experienced it first hand. Let me see. Have you ever been moved by a picture or a song? Well, it's not unlike that. It is likely that the artist who made that work experienced those same feelings at some point during its creation. As the work took shape, it became an embodiment of those emotions. Then, in the same way that it moved you, might it not have moved the artist as well?
"We pour our ideas and feelings into that which we create. Then those feelings are reflected back into us from our creations. Do you see now? Magic is the same way. Therein lies its greatest power, but also its greatest danger."
Agdar nodded slowly. "Yes, I believe I understand." At least he thought he did, mostly. He now regretted that he'd never had the chance to dabble in art or music himself when he had been younger. His father, however, had viewed such things as a waste of time better spent on more serious matters. It was why he now entrusted most of the decorating around the palace to Ellinor. His sense of aesthetics was underdeveloped at best. Nevertheless, he considered the troll's words carefully before he spoke again.
"So mind affects magic affects mind. Yes, we've already seen signs of that with Elsa. Whenever she gets upset, she's more likely to lose control of her powers, and that only upsets her further. But if you're saying the same holds true for other feelings, then it stands to reason that the opposite should also be the case. That the happier she is, the easier it will be for her to remain in control."
"Certainly," Pabbie replied. "The magics I possess are more subtle than your daughter's, so it would be far more difficult for them to ever truly run out of control. But in my younger days, when my temper ran hotter, I would often find that my abilities would simply desert me whenever I found myself in an ill humor. Which, of course, would only serve to make me crosser than I already was. Now that I am older – and, I would hope, a little wiser – my emotions have become more tempered. With that came a sensitivity and precision that I never could have achieved those long years ago.
"Thank goodness for the mellowing of age, eh?" The troll winked at his guest, who smiled back... and tried not to think about his fit of anger the summer past.
That's the trick though, isn't it? the king mused to himself. Ellinor and Anna and I do our best to keep Elsa's spirits up, but we can't always be with her. And she remains so unsure of herself that it only takes a momentary lapse to set her back all over again. How do you impart confidence to another? You can offer all the encouragement in the world, but if they won't believe in themselves...
"Is there nothing that can suppress the magic?" Agdar asked. "No talisman or spell or something that would weaken it, make it easier to manage?"
"If such a thing exists, I have never heard of it," the troll replied. Then, his gaze seemed to turn inward for a moment as he considered the question further. "Though I suppose it might be possible, after a fashion. Since the mind plays such a critical role in the channeling of magical power, then if someone believed that such a thing existed, there's a chance it could actually work that way. It would be a tenuous solution at best, however. As I said three years ago, the head can be persuaded to change with relative ease. It would only take a shred of doubt, and the effect could be shattered."
Elsa's gloves, thought Agdar. That must be why they worked – only because she believed they did! How fragile that security must be. Even though she had now taken to not wearing them from time to time, the fact that they were still there if she needed them might be the only thing giving her the confidence to do without. So above all else, Elsa could not be allowed to question her belief in those gloves. He and Ellinor would have do everything they could to reinforce it.
Would it be possible to find something else that might work in a similar fashion, that might serve to reinforce or supplement the trust that Elsa held in her gloves?
He rose from his seat. "Thank you, Pabbie," he said. "You have given me much to think about." Once again, he lowered himself to one knee. Looking the troll elder squarely in the eyes, he spoke earnestly. "The Kingdom of Arendelle is truly blessed to count your people among its many citizens. I only wish I could offer you something in return, as a gesture of my gratitude for all that you have done for my family."
The king extended his open hand. Pabbie grasped it firmly and smiled. "Our needs are few and simple, Your Majesty. For the present, your continued friendship is all that we require in the way of thanks."
"You shall have it, for as long as my reign lasts, I can assure you," Agdar replied sincerely. Then he stood, bowed slightly to the wise old sage, and retraced his steps across the bowl to where his horse awaited. Pabbie followed behind, to see his distinguished visitor safely on his way.
The king had unhooked his reins and was just about to lift his foot to the stirrup when a final thought suddenly occurred to him. Turning back around, he looked down at the diminutive figure.
"You said that a pipe player would be a poor lute teacher. So perhaps I need to seek out a lutenist. Have you heard of anyone else with magic like Elsa's? If there are others out there with these same abilities, perhaps they would be better able to help my daughter find her control."
Pabbie frowned. "I'm afraid, Your Majesty, that I have only ever heard the rumors of whispers of one such person, and that was many long years ago now. I'd heard little before then, and nothing more since. Nor did I pay much attention at the time. As I said, we generally take little interest in the world beyond our own small community.
"All that I can recall now was vague talk of a woman who lived in a land far to the north, and who supposedly had powers very similar to your Elsa's. Even back then, however, the stories had the flavor of myth about them. And that had to have been... oh, at least fifty years ago, I should think. It's unlikely that she would still be alive by now, assuming she ever truly existed to begin with.
"I am terribly sorry, but I'm afraid that I simply cannot be of more help."
"You have been more than gracious with your time and your wisdom," Agdar replied. "And now, I really should be going. I have kept you too long as it is, and I have a long ride ahead of me as well."
The king mounted his horse and swung it around to face back up the grassy road. He turned back to the trolls (for several others had gathered now around their leader) one last time, however. "May you and your people ever live with peace and joy abounding."
Pabbie nodded his gratitude. Then Agdar called to his horse and it sprang quickly away, eager as its rider to once again return to the warm comforts of home.
The small crowd of trolls began to disperse across the clearing, returning to their usual resting places. Most of them had curled up and settled down for the remainder of the night when one voice suddenly called out.
"Kristoff? Kristoff! My goodness, has anyone seen that boy? He's always wandering off whenever I turn my back on him for two seconds. Kristoff!"
"I'm right here, Bulda," another voice called in answer. A mop-haired lad of about eleven years walked out from among the straggling foliage alongside the mountain trail. He was looking back along the road, even though the horse and rider were already hidden from sight. "Who was that who just left?"
"Never you mind that," the female troll snapped in that particular tone of half-irritated, half-concerned voice shared by mothers the world over. "Just where have you been, young man? You should know better than to go roaming about at this time of night. There are wolves out there, and worse! You're not made of stone, you know!"
"Oh, Bulda," Kristoff answered, fighting to keep a grin off his face at this all-too-familiar scolding. "You know the wolves never come near this place. And besides, I had Sven with me. You'd protect me, wouldn't you buddy?"
Emerging from the shadows between the trees, a nearly full grown reindeer cantered up to stand beside the young boy, nuzzling his friend affectionately with his muzzle. Kristoff had found and befriended the orphaned animal only a few months before they had both been adopted by the troll clan. Each had seemingly found a kindred spirit in the other from the moment they had met. And though Sven, being a reindeer after all, had reached his full growth far faster than his human companion, the two remained practically inseparable.
The presence of her adopted son's large guardian seemed to mollify Bulda somewhat, but not completely. "You still haven't explained to me what you were doing off in the woods," she scowled.
"Buuulda..." Kristoff drawled. His head sank to his chest and he looked at her with a plea in his eyes. "Please don't make me say it."
She stood there, fists planted on either side of her torso, tapping her foot impatiently. The boy's eyes dropped again, and he turned his head to one side. Whatever answer he gave then was so badly mumbled that Bulda had to ask him, in that same motherly tone, to repeat himself and to speak clearly this time.
Sighing, Kristoff threw a long-suffering look to the heavens and then replied, "I had to tinkle."
The sounds of quiet giggling could be heard from some of the youngsters nearby, who'd been awakened by all the night's excitement. Kristoff blushed to the roots of his hair.
It was now Bulda's turn to try to keep a straight face. She was pretty much exactly as unsuccessful as Kristoff had been earlier. "Well," she began. "Alright then. But it's very late, and growing boys need their sleep. So off with the two of you now. Go on!"
The pair beat a hasty retreat to the grassy hollow that typically served as their bed. Sven curled up on the ground first, then Kristoff lay down beside him, pillowing his head against the reindeer's warm hide. Though Sven's breathing quickly fell into the slow and even rhythms of slumber, Kristoff continued to stare up at the starry night sky for quite a while, his mind wandering while he waited for his own sleep to arrive.
He still wondered who the mysterious visitor had been, and yet he was unwilling to press his luck with Bulda at the moment. Maybe he'd ask her in the morning. Then again, probably not. The past three years living among the trolls had definitely rubbed off on him. He had already been forced to become a loner at an early age – with the one exception of Sven, naturally. But that had only made the clan's insular attitude a near perfect fit. If it didn't concern him, then he didn't concern himself with it. Life was far simpler that way.
I only need a sled and my reindeer, he thought to himself as he finally began to drift off. So I'm doing pretty good. After all, I'm only eleven, but I'm halfway there.