Chapter Seventeen
Disclaimer: I neither own the rights to Disney, Frozen, the Disney universe nor any of its associated media, derivatives or products. I do not profit from this work.
The street was covered with dirty, slushy snow, sprayed every which way by the crossing farm-carts. The older boys had made a point of hitching up their sledges to the back of these carts and riding them to any place in or around the town. Some did it for fun; others, like the dark-haired young man of about fourteen on the street-corner, took the free rides to their jobs, working for one shopkeeper or another, or doing odd-work for the wealthy families.
This boy was poorer than the rest, and it showed: his clothes were patched, his shoe had a hole in the toe, and he had no gloves at all. But there was something about his eyes- gray and sharp- that betrayed a cleverness and intelligence about him. He was watching the carts pass by, waiting for his chance to jump in and hitch up his sled. His eyes caught sight of something and narrowed in confusion. A sleigh of what appeared to be white wood, its rider wrapped in white fur with the face shrouded in shadows, was circling the town square. "What about that one?" one of the other boys commented, having noticed the sleigh, as well.
The gray-eyed boy shook his head. "I don't recognize that one," he said with a strange wariness in his tone- even he didn't half understand it. "Leave it alone."
"Ah, what would you know, Willum?" a different boy jeered. "Your father can't even read!"
"I'm telling you, I don't trust it!" the gray-eyed boy insisted.
"You're just afraid!" a little voice piped up, and the three older boys turned. A child with copper-colored curls looked up at them. Willum felt his discomfort worsen; there was something about the way the boy was sneering at them that seemed so incongruent with his eight-year-old features. He had always been a good child, polite and kindly, but as of late something seemed quite wrong with him, and Willum could not for the life of him understand how such a change had come to take place.
"It's only little Kai," one of the others said dismissively, turning away. "Go home, Kai; this isn't a game for children."
That seemed to anger the boy, and without any further ado, he ran out into the street, his little toboggan sled trailing behind. "Kai! Get back here!" Willum shouted.
"I'm not scared! I'll show you!"
"Kai, you'll be trampled!"
The boy wasn't listening. As the sleigh rode past, Kai reached forward and latched his toboggan onto the back of the white sleigh. He jumped on as it took off through the slush and snow, down another road, and out of sight. Willum stared, stunned. But surely, Kai would return- he'd know to unhitch his sled at the town gates. Surely.
Hours went by. Night came. The family went looking; people began asking questions. Willum and the others told them everything they'd seen, but no one found any sign of the boy. Eventually, people agreed he must have drowned in the nearby river, and a funeral was held to him. Willum went, in his best Sunday clothes- which were really like everyone else's normal clothes, but it was the best he could do. Standing quietly in a corner, embarrassed for his shabby appearance, he alone noticed how, at the back of the church, stood a little girl with curly dark hair, tears pouring silently down her cheeks.
His eyes opened, but his face was creased into a frown. Willum sat up with a distinct sense of uneasiness and looked around. The room was quiet and familiar: his bed and warm gray quilt, his overstuffed bookshelf, the unlit lamp on his desk and the crucifix on the wall. All appeared normal. But all did not feel normal.
The bishop put on his slippers and made his way down to the kitchens. When he entered, he was surprised to find that the main stove was already burning, as were a few of the candles in the wall sconces. Willum was confused until the door to the pantry opened, and Gerda came out, looking surprised.
"I thought I heard noises," she asserted. "What are you doing up at this hour?"
"Ah, well, I came in search of a cup of tea. Yourself?"
"Someone has to keep the stove heated; the girl who usually works nights is sick."
"I see. Is Kai awake?"
She raised her eyebrows. "Not for another hour yet. Were you looking for him?"
"Maybe," Willum answered vaguely, frowning slightly.
The matronly housekeeper noted this and said, "Why don't you sit down, and I'll put the kettle on." He did so, and she put an old metal teapot on the stove before taking a seat at the table across from him. "What seems to be the trouble?" she inquired in a motherly way.
He shook his head. "I don't know… it's probably nothing." She tilted her head, and he said, "…I had an odd dream… the day Kai went missing."
Gerda's face had grown somber. "I don't know why," Willum continued. "It's made me uneasy…but I'm sure I'm only imagining it."
She nodded. "Yes. That must be it."
He hesitated. "…It's odd, isn't it, how things turned out?"
She looked up. Their eyes met, brown and grey. "…She's still out there, isn't she?" Gerda said finally, voice little more than a quivering whisper.
"It's possible. Very possible. The powers of evil are strong." His expression was concerned, yet firm. "But the powers of good are stronger; you know that better than anyone."
"Do I? Sometimes I'm not so sure."
The kettle had started to whistle. Gerda got up and walked over to it. She poured two saucers of tea, and then stopped. "…Kai thinks we should tell her," she said finally. "He always has."
"And what do you think?"
"I swore an oath."
"So did I."
"Then you know why we have to keep it!" she said, turning to look at him. "She can never know the truth; you know that!"
"And what if we've underestimated her?" Willum demanded, getting to his feet. "Elsa has proven herself a remarkable queen, wise beyond her years. Doesn't she have the right to know why she's different?"
"The king and queen made the decision; don't you think they knew better than anyone what was best for their daughter?"
"They could have been wrong."
"We promised, Willum!"
Her voice was so ardent that he relented with a sigh. "…I know," he agreed, sitting back down. "But I can't help but feel as if we've kept this secret too long as it is."
Gerda pursed her lips, still looking troubled, and then brought over the cup of tea. She set it down in front of him. "This is silly," she said with a sigh. "That was more than twenty years ago; we're all in a muddle over nothing. One can never think clearly at night, anyway; it's no time to make hasty decisions."
"…Perhaps you're right," he conceded tiredly. "Demons are always more frightening in the dark; old memories, too." He stood. "I think I'll take my tea with me, if that's alright."
"Of course. You look tired; you should go back to bed."
He shook his head. "Something tells me sleep isn't much of an option. Besides, the sun will be up in a few hours; I'll just get an early start on the Sunday sermon."
"Alright then." As he stood and started for the door, saucer in hand, she said suddenly, "Willum."
He glanced over his shoulder. There was uncertainty in her eyes, and she looked as if she were about to ask a question. Then, she shook her head. "Never mind; it's nothing."
The bishop wanted to press the matter, to ask what she had wanted to say, but in the end decided against it. With a nod, he left, leaving Gerda to stand in the kitchen alone with a quickly cooling cup of tea.
Day had broken over Arendelle, and already at mid-morning the castle was bustling with activity. Elsa's sleep had been fitful and broken, and as a result she felt more exhausted than ever. She hadn't bothered to pin up her braid, instead letting it fall loose down her back, and the idea of going to the effort of making up her face was positively absurd. She finished a piece of toast as she walked through the halls, her mind a hundred different places and nowhere all at once.
"Elsa!"
The tired queen turned, startled, and saw her sister running up to her. She smiled despite herself. "Anna. What is it? I thought you'd be with Kristoff right now."
Her sister glanced away, fiddling with her hands. "No, he's busy right now…" She brushed this off and looked up at Elsa again. "So anyway, I was wondering, how're you doing?"
"Me? Oh, fine…" She trailed off as a servant hurried up to her.
"Your Majesty, a trade ship from Dun Broch scheduled to arrive two days ago still hasn't docked," the manservant said, looking concerned. "And on that note, neither has that second ship from Corona."
"I've been keeping the fjord passages open for guests," Elsa said, frowning. "They should have been able to get through…"
"A small messenger vessel did manage to get through by tacking along the cost, bearing word that Corona apologizes, but they won't be able to send representatives to the wedding for fear of sea troubles."
"Understandable," Elsa sighed. "Well, there's nothing for it, then. Tell me if the ships do arrive; thank you."
"Yes, my Queen," the servant said, giving a quick bow and then hurrying away.
Anna frowned, worried. "That's strange that the ships couldn't get through."
"I've kept the channels from freezing over, but perhaps there were other troubles. Hopefully the ships have only been waylaid. That's not the troubling thing, though."
"What do you mean?"
"I sent a scout vessel to the Southern Isles to monitor their progress on military preparations."
Anna stared. "You sent spies to the Southern Isles?"
"Call it 'counter intelligence.' I was wondering why I hadn't heard anything back from them yet, but if there's been trouble at sea…It looks like we're on our own up here." She sighed again and then shook her head, turning back to Anna. "Anyway…was there something you needed?"
"Oh, I was just wondering if I could help you with anything. You've been stressed lately."
Elsa tried to smile. It turned out more like a grimace. "I am. But it's alright; I can handle it."
"You sure? I can totally help with whatever you need."
"I'm quite alright." She loved her sister, but her thoughts felt so tangled and irritated that her sister's perpetually bubbly attitude was beginning to get on her nerves.
"Seriously, Elsa, I-"
"Anna," the queen said sharply, cutting her off. "I'd just really rather be alone right now, alright?"
Anna stopped, stared. After a moment, she found her voice. "O-okay. Yeah. Sorry." She stepped away, and Elsa saw the way she tried to valiantly hide the hurt in her eyes. "I'll just… see you later then." She walked away, leaving the Queen to stand there alone.
Elsa rubbed her temples, feeling as if she were developing a migraine. She felt bad about hurting Anna's feelings, but at the same time relieved. While the queen didn't necessarily want to be alone, she also didn't think she could handle company, not right then. Her whole world had been upended and she couldn't even begin to sort out her own thoughts, let alone someone else's.
She went the library and sat down at her desk, putting on her reading glasses with a yawn. Work. Work would bury her and help her forget the insanity life had become. She was halfway through drafting her rewrite of the grain report when she heard a voice. "Heya, Elsa!"
The queen groaned inwardly. Couldn't anyone just leave her be today? "Hello, Olaf," she sighed, turning to look at the snowman who had just walked in the door.
"Watcha doin', huh?"
"Rewriting a very complicated report," she said shortly, hoping Olaf would take the hint and just leave.
"Oh, that's cool." He paused. "So, listen… about Hans…"
This time, she almost let out that groan. Why couldn't people talk about anything else? "What about him?"
"Well… I've noticed you guys are kinda strange around each other."
That got her attention. "What do you mean?"
"Just that sometimes you seem to like him and sometimes you seem to hate him," the snowman said simply. "I just wanna know why."
She sighed. "It's complicated."
"That's what he said."
"Yes, well, he's right," she replied irritably, reaching for a piece of parchment and starting to scribble down a few notes about the bill.
"So anyway, I thought of a way that you guys could fix that!"
"Oh? And what's that?" she said, distracted.
"Well first, you guys play some games together, and then you talk a lot, and then you give him a warm hug!"
She chuckled bitterly at this. "Not everything can be fixed by warm hugs."
"Why not?" he said, confused.
"Because they can't."
"But I think if you really tried hard-"
"They just can't, Olaf!" she snapped, slamming the fountain pen down on the desk. Ice scattered across the papers in sharp points, and Olaf took a step back, startled. Instantly, the Queen felt awful. "I'm sorry, Olaf, I…"
"No, no, it's fine," he said, voice small. "I guess I just thought… but I must be wrong. Sorry."
He sounded so much like Anna that it only made the queen feel worse, but before she could apologize, Olaf quickly walked away, still looking hurt.
Elsa crossed her arms on the ice-covered desk and laid her head down on them with an "Ugh," feeling absolutely horrible. "What is the matter with me?" she mumbled to herself. "First Anna, now Olaf…" A horrible thought occurred to her. "Am I shutting people out again?"
The answer to that was a big, obvious yes. But what else could she do? Olaf would hardly understand if she tried to explain what was bothering her, and Anna… she paled at the very thought. Opening up to Anna about this would be akin to stabbing her own sister in the back. Anna could not know. Ever.
Her stomach twisted uncomfortably, for the last time Elsa had sworn something like that to herself, she'd ended up shutting her sister out for the better part of two decades. But this won't last that long, she reasoned. You just have to make it until the end of this month, to the wedding. Then everything will finally go back to normal.
Except for imminent war and destruction, of course.
She groaned. This was just fantastic. She needed to stop thinking about all of this right now, or she'd drive herself crazy. With a steeled resolve, Elsa sat up straight again and went back to writing the report, losing herself among the technical law language and redundancy.
Just until the wedding.