The Ice Within Chapter 25: Epilogue, a frozen fanfic

Epilogue

A knock on a heavy wooden door. The quiet creak of hinges.

"Your Majesty, how is he?"

A soft sniffle.

"Lord Belland, thank you for coming. I wished to inform the other advisors myself, but I just couldn't face a crowd with this news. I… I know my uncle was a terrible man, but my love is stubborn and stupid. I beg your sympathy."

"It's alright, my Queen. I understand. You are performing most admirably, especially contending with all that terrible business surrounding your father."

"Thank you, Belland. I don't know what I would do without you." A sniffle. A pause. "Hans Westergaard has perished of his wounds."

"I am… so sorry for your loss."

"Don't be. I have been assured the doctors gave more than their best effort." Another sniffle. "Maybe it's better this way. A relatively painless death instead of a lifetime of imprisonment."

"Sound reasoning, Your Majesty."

"I wish for the funeral to be a private affair."

"That can certainly be arranged, Your Majesty."

"Good." A sigh. "Now, if you'll excuse me, my lord, I wish to be left alone to mourn."

"Of course. Accept my deepest condolences, Queen Iona."

The click of a shutting door.

Silence.

A soft laugh.

"That was awfully theatrical."

"I have to keep up appearances. Though I shouldn't have to explain that to the former Spymaster."

"So that's it then? Hans Westergaard is dead?"

"Well, it's not official until I send out these letters." The sliding of a drawer. "Look, I even have one addressed to Queen Elsa."

"Hmm."

"Clean slate, new identity, new life. You're a free man again, Uncle. What are you going to do now?" A sharp laugh. "On second thought, don't tell me. I don't want to know."

A chuckle. "You're not at all worried that I'll tell people about your magic?"

"Word will get out sooner or later. Although I'd appreciate it if you didn't speed up the process unnecessarily."

A long pause.

"Thank you, Iona. I owe you."

"I meant what I said in that throne room, Hans. I couldn't just let my uncle die."

"You're a good woman. The Southern Isles is lucky to have you on the throne."

"Oh, I already know that. Now get out of here before someone starts seeing ghosts. "

Another pause.

"One more thing. Can I have that letter?"

Fat droplets of half-frozen slush fell from the spotty grey sky, coating the cobblestones of the inner castle courtyard in a thick sheen of grey sleet. Thomas never liked the last snows of late spring. They were winter's dying breath, lukewarm and feeble, making a damp and miserable mess of everything they touched. Thankfully, however, he was currently far too distracted by the sword being swung at his face to pay much attention to the dreary surroundings.

Thomas ducked narrowly under the blow, the wind of the blade's passing rustling his hair. His assailant spun on her heel, keeping her momentum and continuing the attack with a cleaving downward strike. The prince redirected the blade with his own, causing his opponent's swing to slash at empty air as he stepped lightly to the side. His opponent growled in frustration, blonde ponytail flying out behind her as she pivoted to strike again. This time as the sword swung down, Thomas dashed backward and clutched the air with his off hand. A narrow pillar of ice shot from the ground, catching the opponent's blade in mid-air. Thomas stepped forward as his opponent tried in vain to pull her sword free, placing the blunted edge of his own practice weapon on the back of her neck.

"That's three to nothing, Annabeth!" he announced. "Since we're playing best out of five, I think that means I've already won."

His older cousin angrily yanked her sword out of the ice with a shower of crystal shards.

"You cheated," she huffed.

"Cheated?" Thomas feigned a look of offense. "Making me fight without my powers is like tying a hand behind my back!"

"Well, if only I had three arms, then maybe we'd be even," Annabeth shot back. She pouted playfully. "Besides, you're ruining my practice, Tom! I can't be worrying about watching for your tricks when I go up against a real threat. It'll make me slow."

Thomas's mischievous grin fell slightly. He wiped sleet from his shoulders.

"Anna, are you sure you want to join the Guard? Even after everything Roderick told you?"

Annabeth nodded determinedly. "I'm enlisting as soon as the call goes out."

Thomas sighed theatrically. "You really want to be my babysitter that bad, huh?"

His cousin laughed, but her tone turned serious. "Thomas, this is about the security of the kingdom. After… after what happened to Uncle Henrik, I can't just sit around anymore. I've found my calling."

"Well, when you put it like that." Thomas's expression darkened. He paused for a breath. "I suppose I should thank you." He cracked a small smile. "At least you're sticking around. Unlike your brother."

"Hey, lay off him! Chris found his calling, too."

Thomas raised an eyebrow. "Natural philosophy? What could possibly be so exciting about cataloguing the names of plants' sexual organs?"

"Science, Tom. Stop living in the eighteenth century. You know, they're talking about bottling up lightning and using it to power machines! Doesn't that sound amazing?"

"Sounds like magic," Thomas laughed. "Is that what Chris is going to England to study? How to trap lightning in a bottle?"

Annabeth slapped him hard on the shoulder with a grin. "Well, maybe it's time you stopped having a monopoly on magic, don't you think?"

"I'll believe it when I see it."

Another voice sounded from the courtyard entrance.

"Ah, so that's where my practice swords went. I had my suspicions." Roderick strode out of the castle, his polished boots squelching through the slush as he made his way toward the two royal cousins. "You really shouldn't train with Thomas, Your Highness," he told Annabeth teasingly. "You'll pick up all his bad habits."

"Bad habits! Everything I know, I learned from you, Captain," Thomas retorted in mock-indignation.

"Lieutenant," Roderick corrected sternly. "I report to Captain Anja now, remember that." He turned back to Annabeth, smiling lopsidedly as he extended a hand. "You two really couldn't have picked worse weather to do this in. Come on, let's get you back inside."

The princess shook her head, heedless of the mixture of sweat and melting snow seeping through her layers of clothing.

"No. Tom still owes me two matches," she protested with a stamp of her foot.

"Fine by me," Thomas said with a nonchalant shrug. "The cold doesn't bother me."

The now-lieutenant folded his arms over his chest and chuckled. "I don't envy whichever batch of trainees will have to contend with you, Annabeth Bjorgman. Very well, just make sure you return those swords in one piece." Roderick turned smartly on his heel and strode back in the direction of the castle. "Oh, and Thomas!" he called over his shoulder. "Your mother wants to see you afterwards. Something about a game of chess."

Thomas focused his attention back on his opponent, lazily twirling his practice sword before squaring his shoulders and sinking down into his ready stance.

"Show off," Annabeth grumbled, blowing a tuft of hair out of her face. With shrill battle cry, she charged.

The opaque, dirt-stained tarp covering him smelled of manure and earthen damp. The bare boards of the wagon bottom jolted over every bump in the mountain trail, each tremor sending an unpleasant rattle through his bones. His stomach lurched with motion sickness as he was thrown about in the blind dark. Nonetheless, Marcus Everett bared his teeth in a relieved grin.

He had spent the last three years in imprisonment, first captured in Corona by the Southern Isles Spymaster, then captured in Arendelle after he had finally been promised freedom. Three years of terrible, hollow uncertainty, where his life had been nothing more than a tool for some royal's devious whims. Where every next day could easily have been his last.

When he saw the opportunity for escape, he launched himself at it like a drowning man at a piece of flotsam. The moment the soldiers of Weselton ambushed the Snow Queen's forces on that frozen bay, he knew it would be his only chance, and he took it for all it was worth. The gunfire and the clashing of steel easily masked the jangling of his manacles. A narrow dagger nicked from one of the fallen soldiers proved sufficient to coerce the locking pins into freeing him from his bindings. It also came in handy for wrenching open one of the gunports of the Arendellian frigate and worming his way into the hold of the ship.

The week he spent stowed away aboard that frigate were the tensest days of his life. He pilfered water and grain when he could, just enough to keep himself alive. From the conversations he overheard from the crew, he discovered that he had been presumed lost, and he thanked whatever twisted gods held the threads of fate at that moment. Thus, he scurried like a bilge rat around the feet of his former captors, sticking to the shadows and seldom seeing the light of the sun.

He survived. But it would be a while yet before his gamble paid off.

The reasoning behind his plot was simple. If the Snow Queen was still searching for him, her own kingdom would be the last place she would think to look. It was a plan verging on insanity: hiding in plain sight right under the nose of the sorceress whose husband he had helped murder in cold blood, biding his time until he found a means to disappear for good.

It was just crazy enough to work.

The frigid northern winter was both a blessing and a curse. The short days and heavy snows made it easy for him to stay hidden and slip from dwelling to dwelling unnoticed. It also made every night a potential death sentence if he couldn't find shelter. Fortunately, Marcus was an experienced thief, and he knew exactly how to take what he needed to survive without raising suspicion. A set of boots here, a winter coat there, a hundred little morsels of food from every which where, a handful of Crowns when the opportunity presented itself, and soon he was set for the next phase of his plan. He huddled in the corners of taverns to stay out of the elements during the day and slept on the floor of barns and stables at night. The coat helped him hide his disfigurement and avoid recognition. All of it was almost comforting in its wreched familiarity—this was how he had lived for much of his life, after all.

Winter was on its way out when he finally found his ticket out of Arendelle. It came in the form of a grizzled merchant selling fresh fertilizer for the coming growing season. Marcus shadowed the man until he finished selling his cargo, learning from eavesdropped conversations that he hailed from a neighboring kingdom called Dunbroch. The merchant didn't bat an eye when Marcus approached one evening and handed him a handful of coins with a quiet request for transport out of Arendelle. The next morning, the former prisoner was well on his way out of town, curled up in the merchant's empty wagon beneath a dirt-stained tarp.

By then, that night in the Southern Isles capital was over a hundred days behind him.

Eventually, the tarp was lifted a crack from the direction of the driver's seat, revealing a sliver of the merchant's bearded face.

"Oy, you can get up now. Nobody to see you out here."

Marcus narrowed his eyes in suspicion, but the discomfort of his battered joints quickly won out. He pulled the tarp off of him to reveal a clear late-morning sky. He squinted as his eyes adjusted to the sudden light.

"You got a name?" the merchant asked through crooked teeth. His accent was guttural and unpleasant.

"Where are you taking me?" Marcus asked back, ignoring the question. The merchant scowled.

"Mama didn't teach you manners, then?" the man remarked with a scowl. "Never gave me directions, so I'm going back to Dunbroch. Unless you got more coin on you, that's where you're going, too."

Marcus did not have more coin, but he did have a knife. After a moment of consideration, he decided against using it.

"Fine. How long will we be on the road?"

"Usually about a week or so." The man paused to spit a wad of phlegm off the side of the cart. "Lucky for you, I know a shortcut."

"As long as I don't starve before we get there." Marcus turned away, sliding down to sit with his back supported by the edge of the cart.

"Ey, why were you being so sneaky-sneaky trying to leave Arendelle, huh? You some kind of criminal?"

The merchant cackled. Marcus remained silent. His hand played with the handle of the knife underneath the folds of his coat. Fortunately, the merchant seemed content to mutter incoherently under his breath instead of pressing the line of inquiry further.

They traveled in silence for a long time. By dusk of the second day, it was clear that the wagon-horse was no longer taking them along any paved path. The wheels of the cart creaked in complaint as they traversed increasingly uneven terrain. Marcus pushed himself up on his knees and looked forward over the merchant's shoulder.

Drawing closer in front of the wagon was a dense forest of golden aspen. Though the dimming sky remained clear, a cloud of white fog had rolled in, obscuring his view of the depths of the wood.

"You're taking this thing through there?" Marcus said incredulously. "The bloody wheels will come off before we get anywhere!"

"She's tougher than she looks," the merchant replied, patting his seat. "I made the trip before, we'll be fine."

Marcus watched the trees grow closer and tighter around them as the merchant urged his horse into the twilight wood. The fog was much thicker than it looked from afar, and soon he could barely see thirty metres in any direction. Eerie sounds drifted to his ears through the gloom, and his imagination evoked images of enraged bears and packs of ravenous wolves. He found himself clutching the edge of the wagon with his one hand, his heart leaping into his throat at every shadow.

"Maybe we should wait until morning so we can actually fucking see?" Marcus hissed.

"Are you the driver, or am I?" the merchant retorted flippantly.

It was the last thing he ever said.

The entire wagon shuddered as something flew out of the mist. Marcus leapt backward. A black spear-tip coated in fresh blood poked through the wooden planks of the driver's seat. Another metre-long spear struck the side of the wagon as Marcus scurried across the bottom, trying to flatten his body as much as possible to stay out of the attackers' sightlines.

The horse reared and screamed in terror. The cart cannoned forward as the animal broke into a reckless gallop. The wheels struck a root and for an instant, Marcus was weightless. His body slammed into the base of a tree with an impact that knocked the air from his lungs. The cart flipped end over end, the reins finally snapping from the strain and freeing the horse to bolt into the night. One of the wheels came free and landed with a thud near Marcus's feet.

Gasping for breath, Marcus could only watch as figures emerged from the fog around him, each leveling wicked spears akin to the one that had impaled the merchant. He pulled the knife from his belt, holding it in front of him in a trembling hand as he shrank against the trunk of the tree.

The attackers wore simple grey tunics and coats of animal pelt. Their skin was a deep tone of olive, their dark eyes gleaming with deadly anger beneath locks of raven-black hair. They yelled at him in a language he did not understand.

"No, please!" Marcus cried, dropping the knife to the ground. "I'm not your enemy! I didn't want to come here!"

The attackers closed in relentlessly. The points of black spear-tips tickled his chest.

Not attackers, he realized faintly through his rising panic. Defenders.

"Who are you?" he shouted desperately.

To his surprise, the two warriors directly facing him stepped aside. Behind them stood an aged woman, her white hair in stark contrast to the black of the younger men and women around her. Her posture belied authority, her angular face seeming expressly made for the communication of detached contempt. Unlike the others, she did not hold a spear in her hands, but instead clutched a gnarled staff of white wood tipped with a strange light source that Marcus could not identify.

"We are Northuldra," the elder spoke. "You trespass, Arendellian."

Kai walked down a hallway in the royal wing of the Arendelle castle, drinking in the familiar surroundings with a fond smile. Portraits of rulers past looked down on him from their perches upon the walls as he passed below them, resplendent and frozen in time. The chamberlain of nearly five decades stopped momentarily under the paintings of King Agnar and Queen Iduna, bowing his head in respect. The smile fell from his face as he came upon the portrait of Henrik, the colours still vibrant from its relative newness even beneath the fine mourning veil currently draped over the frame. He scraped a droplet of congealed candle wax from the small stand situated under it with a sigh—must have splashed out of the dish.

It was tradition to leave the portrait veiled for a full year after a monarch's passing. For Kai, that meant he wouldn't be the one to take down the veil this time around. After forty-eight years of service under the royal family of Arendelle, he was retiring. His wife, who had served for even longer than Kai had, was retiring with him. Despite the ceaseless invitations from the royal family for them to stay in the castle, they had made the joint decision to use part of their savings to purchase a small property in the countryside. Having helped raise two generations of royal children, they never had children of their own, but Gerda convinced him to adopt a child from the orphanage. There was one thing that Gerda was adamant on: the child was to be a girl.

Perhaps two girls, so the children could be sisters.

He had already bid Anna's family farewell. The younger of the royal sisters had barely been able to get out her goodbyes through her tears, but Kai knew they were more tears of joy than sadness. She had made him promise to visit the castle at least once every week, and as unrealistic as that was, he hadn't had the heart to refuse. He never did with Anna, not since the day she first learned to speak.

He reached the door of the royal study and knocked gently. There was no response. He tried again more firmly.

"Queen Elsa?" he called.

He was met with silence. He eased the door open to find the room beyond empty. He frowned, bemused. He knew Elsa's schedule like the back of his hand, and it was strange for her to not be at her desk at the current hour.

He closed the door and walked further down the hallway, past the door to Anna's childhood bedroom, which had long since been converted into a bedroom for Kristoff and her children—at least before they, too, had moved out. Further down the hallway on the opposite side stood a similar door of dense white wood embellished with diamond patterns of blue and teal. Elsa's old bedroom. Unlike her sister, the Queen never fully abandoned her childhood quarters. Instead, she kept it for use it as a secondary study. Having taken care of Elsa since she was a baby (and he still had a full head of hair), Kai knew that despite all her social graces, the Queen was an introvert at heart. The room provided her the space she needed to be alone with her own thoughts.

If Elsa wasn't in her study, she was likely in her sanctuary.

He moved to knock on the door, but found it already ajar. Poking his head in, he found this room as empty as the last. A stack of documents lay neatly spread out on the bureau. An open fountain pen sat at the foot of the chair, looking like it had recently rolled off the sloped surface of the desk. The chair itself was pushed back at a wide angle, as if the occupant had left in a hurry.

A soft breeze caressed Kai's cheek, blowing from somewhere further down the hall. He backed out of Elsa's room and ventured around the corner in search of the source of the draught. The balcony doors were wide open. Curtains fluttered in the wind, lit from behind by the warm light of a summer afternoon. As the chamberlain approached, he found several members of the Royal Advisory Committee holding a meeting in the conference chamber opposite the balcony. However, a quick scan of those present at the table confirmed Kai's suspicions: the Queen was not among them, either.

That left only the balcony itself.

He stepped slowly into the open air. The summer breeze filled his lungs, pleasantly fresh and warm. Arendelle fjord lay spread out before him, its deep blue waters twinkling in the clear sunlight. At the edge of the balcony stood the Queen of Arendelle. She was facing away from him, leaning on the railing in front of her. She was clad in a flowing summer dress of creamy ivory that left her shoulders bare, and her hair was draped across the back of her neck in its usual French braid. Kai could see her tensed muscles bunched under the fair skin of her back.

"Your Majesty?" he called.

"Oh!" Elsa exclaimed, flinching.

Kai felt a cold gust of wind at the same time as he heard a crackling of ice. He bit back a chuckle as the Queen struggled to pull her hands free of the masses of ice that had frozen them to the railing.

"Excuse me!" Elsa laughed sheepishly as she finally yanked her hands back. "What can I do for you, Kai?" The Queen's gaze seemed distant, distracted. Abruptly, her eyes widened. "Wait, this is your last day, isn't it! I'm so sorry, I should have-"

"It's quite alright, Your Majesty." This time Kai didn't stop the laughter from bursting out. "I just came to say goodbye."

A bittersweet smile touched the Queen's lips. "Please, just Elsa from now on."

"If you insist, Your… Elsa."

Elsa's smile broadened as she shook her head good-naturedly. "What am I going to do without you, Kai?" She took his hand. "Walk with me, I'll take you down to the courtyard."

"I'm sure I can find-"

"Kai?" Elsa's eyes twinkled. "Please. I insist."

Kai nodded with a smile of his own. They started back toward the castle in step, his age-calloused fingers dwarfing hers as they walked hand in hand.

Right as they crossed the threshold, Elsa froze. Her hand gripped Kai's tightly as she whirled back in the direction of the balcony. Kai shot her a confused look, but found only the back of her head. Elsa was staring towards the fjord, her very being seeming to vibrate with unseen tension.

"Do you hear that?" she murmured in a trance.

"What?" Kai's brow furrowed as he strained his ears. Apart from the gentle wash of the wind, he could discern nothing.

Elsa shook herself. She turned to face Kai with an apologetic smile.

"Nevermind."

But the furrow in the chamberlain's brow only deepened, for a shard of glowing white shone embedded in the icy blue of the Queen's left iris.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

(Characters in bold are property of Disney)

The Royal Family of Arendelle

| Sven, reindeer
| Grand Pabbie, ancient troll
| Bulda, troll

| Olaf, snowman (deceased)
| Sir Gingivere, golem of ice (destroyed)

… and their friends

| Kai, Chamberlain
| Gerda, servant
| Gregory, Bishop

| Norman Edwards, Captain of the Royal Ship
| Felix, Admiral of the Royal Navy

| Roderick, Captain of the Royal Guard (demoted to Lieutenant)
| Anja, Lieutenant in the Royal Guard (promoted to Captain)
| Terese, Andre (deceased), and Nicolai (deceased), Royal Guards

The Royal Family of Corona

| Rapunzel of Corona, Queen-Regnant
| Eugene Fitzherbert, King-Consort
| | Warner Fitzherbert, Crown Prince

|Pascal, chameleon

The Duchy of Weselton

| Rudolph, Sovereign Duke (deceased)
| Gilbert, Steward

The Royal Family of the Southern Isles

| Mathias Westergaard, King-Regnant (abdicated)
| | Iona Westergaard, Crown Princess (Queen-Regnant)
| Joseph Westergaard, Admiral of the Imperial Navy
| Hans Westergaard, Spymaster (presumed deceased)
| … and 10 other brothers

… and their friends

| Kurt Weiss, Military Advisor
| Belland, Lord

| Albricht, guardsman

The Kingdom of Dunbroch

| Maria Ingouf
| | Ansel Ingouf

and the mysterious
Marcus Everett, hired blade

I did it. I actually did it. Six years in the making, and it's finally finished.

Thanks for sharing this experience with me. My motivation to start a fic comes from the source material, but my motivation to finish it comes from your views, favourites, and reviews. I couldn't have done this without you.

Now that the story is finished, if you're so inclined please feel free to leave a review of anything and everything that stood out to you. I want to know what worked and what didn't, what was clever and what was clumsy. Also, if you have any questions, ask away in the reviews section or shoot me a PM.

Until next time…

Keep going North.
– Azimuth Zero

Note: I set up the epilogue to segue into a Frozen II-esque plotline, but I currently have no plans to write a sequel to The Ice Within.