Hank hid a yawn with the back of his hand, throwing the covers off as he woke. There was a part of him that couldn't stop thinking about how Elsa had changed since the cave—since being possessed. But the changes were overwhelmingly positive, almost as if Elsa had been transformed by the experience. It wasn't merely changing or adapting to the events in her life, this was almost like a new person—a truer, freer version of herself. She seemed to act with more confidence, more surety than before. She was even willing to take things that she wanted. And yet, she remained quiet and reserved, touched occasionally by the odd sadness of which she sometimes spoke.

His mind drifted back to that morning in the cave, Elsa wearing nothing but his jacket, uncaring of her state of undress beneath it. She lay there in his lap, perfectly content. They had shared a kiss. Not his first—and by her own admission not hers either. She had ignored their tearful kiss the previous night, and if she wasn't going to bring it up, neither was he. Still, that kiss… Hank pressed a finger to his lips, full of wonder. She had kissed him—the queen, and a commoner. She had asked for more—and he had given it willingly.

Still, it troubled him to know that he was not the only one that Elsa desired. It had surprised him to learn she might also like the company of women. It was not unheard of, but as queen, he doubted she would be given the freedom to learn for herself. Not from society at large. But they would never find out, not from him. He yawned again, his mind still leaping in circles around everything to do with Elsa, and being her houscarl, and more besides. She needed so much help, and he…

He needed no help at all.

He was helping Elsa, giving of his time and skill, taking nothing in return. That was why it felt unfair to have her falling for him. Because he was doing everything for her—at least as much as she would allow him to do—and she could do nothing for him. It also helped explain why she sometimes considered herself a burden to those that helped her. She simply couldn't help them back, and it was unfair in the cruellest of ways. Hank frowned at that. There were a great number of things that Elsa would be able to help with—he had just never thought to ask her to help, because he didn't need the help. It was the exact opposite of Elsa forcing him to help before their trip to the cave—she had not wanted to force him, but she needed him to be ready, just in case. It wasn't hard to see how much it had distressed her to do that.

His hand went to his chin. Perhaps a little short, but Elsa would surely appreciate being asked to help. He knew he would feel better for it as well—being able to receive some help from her, not just give. He pulled on his dress pants, and slipped a shirt on over his undershirt, leaving the front unbuttoned. It was a state he would never have accepted from another man in his squad. He looked at the figure he cut in the mirror. He couldn't accept such a state on himself either, even if he would be removing the shirt soon enough. Just because he was the queen's houscarl did not mean he could relax his standards. His imagination then ran away with the idea of Elsa slowly undressing him, starting with the shirt…

It was too improper, and her buried the thought. With a chagrined smile he rummaged through his shaving kit, making sure everything was still in place. Razor, strop, shaving soap, brush, a small scuttle, and a styptic pencil for any little cuts. The washcloth and towel he carried separately. It was just after dawn, but he was sure Elsa would be awake, preparing for another day—a harder day, because it was Monday, and that meant the weekly council meeting. He was forced to consider if this might be a fool's errand, given everything else Elsa had been going through recently.

In short order he found himself on the third floor, in front of a familiar door. From inside he could hear movement, and quiet speech. He knocked gently.

"Come in." Elsa's voice was bright. "Oh, good morning Hank."

He saw her wince in the mirror as Gerda, braiding her hair, pulled slightly too hard on a strand. He also saw her sudden look of interest as her eyes alighted upon the towel and his shaving case, also in the mirror.

"Just a little longer," she smiled, a little colour rising in her cheeks. "Perhaps when we are both ready for the day, we might share breakfast?"

"I would indeed enjoy sharing breakfast with you, your majesty." He only just caught Elsa's frown at the formal address, before it turned into a subtle smile and a gleam in her eyes. She knew it was because Gerda was there. Hank swallowed. This was yet another thing she would likely needle him about—something she seemed to derive a little too much enjoyment from for his tastes.

"You should not worry so much, Captain Erikson," and that smile only made him worry more.

He waited patiently, the minutes ticking by as Gerda finished braiding Elsa's hair before securing it in a tight bun. Hank suppressed a laugh at Gerda's disapproving frown as Elsa teased out a few strands to frame her face and look just the slightest bit messy—but even that expression of freedom was carefully controlled. Elsa nodded once, and Gerda left, closing the door quietly behind her. Before Hank could say anything, Elsa was at his side, a curious look on her face.

"It's not often you seek me out like this, and never with… things, so I would quite like to know what you have planned."

Hank sat against the edge of Elsa's bed. "I had been thinking of how unfair it seems, for you to always need help, while those around you can seemingly manage fine on their own. It also occurred to me how distressed you were when you asked me to be ready, before the cave, despite the pressing need."

"It's nice to know your thoughts, Hank, but you haven't answered the question."

"Oh," Hank looked down, at the shaving kit in his hand. "I was going to ask for your help."

"My help?" Elsa seemed confused, and Hank couldn't suppress a smile at how pure and innocent her expression was.

"Everyone helps you, and sometimes you ask for help—but I've noticed no one asks for you to help them. So I thought perhaps I could fix that."

"Okay," Elsa's voice was bright and clear again, but still held a trace of confusion. "But with what?"

"Shaving," and Hank ran a hand against the stubble on his chin. He saw her look of concern. "Don't worry, I can teach you—though it might be a little different from the way my father taught me."

Elsa was already moving towards her bathroom. She turned back to look at him. "You need a mirror, and some water, right?" Hank just nodded. "I saw Papa shaving a few times; when I was a little girl he would sometimes let me make shapes with the foam…"

Hank laughed. When he was a child he'd done exactly the same thing, fascinated by how this light foam could somehow stand up on its own, but be so easily shaped into snowmen or boats or stars or so many other things. After a moment he followed Elsa into the bathroom, standing in front of the vanity. Where she would be unable to reach. Kneeling might work, or sitting—but then he might not be high enough to see himself in the mirror. The simple expedient of sitting on Elsa's lap would be indecorous in the extreme, although he had the distinct feeling that in this moment she would not have minded such a thing.

"I think we might need another chair," Elsa's hands moved as she spoke, conjuring a simple chair of ice and moulded snow. Hank sat, finding it surprisingly comfortable, if a little cold.

He leaned forwards and unpacked his shaving kit onto the vanity, running a little water into the basin itself. He dipped the brush in the water, then started to whip up a lather in the scuttle. He stopped when Elsa reached forward, but instead of taking hold of the brush, she just stole a little bit of the lather shaping it, freezing it, thawing it, and generally exploring its properties. He continued to lather, then started to apply it to his chin. Only then did Elsa gently capture his hands.

"May I?" She asked. He nodded in reply.

Elsa's hands were not skilled, but it was clear she enjoyed the task, and the closeness between them. The lather had perhaps gone a little far, but it seemed harder to do given how much she had to reach both around her chair, and around him. He picked up the razor next, keeping it closed for now.

He turned to look at Elsa. "Do you know how to use one of these?"

"Carefully?" Came the tentative reply.

"Well, yes," Hank took her hand in his, opening the razor and guiding her. "But there is more to it. You need to use a little pressure, or you won't take the hairs off. You keep the angle shallow, so it slides against the skin. Try to never draw it up or down—that's a very good way to cut someone. And you generally move towards the chin. And if you don't feel confident, just say so, and I'll help guide your hands, alright?"

He had led with examples through the entire little lesson, with the exception of the cut. He pointed to the styptic pencil. "And if you do give me a little nick or a shaving cut, apply that, it will stop the bleeding."

There was a certain feeling of strangeness to be being shaved by someone else. It wasn't something that had happened since his early teens, when his father had been showing him how. But this was different, with a strange, not-quite-tension as Elsa very carefully shaved the side of his jawline, rinsing the blade in the basin before drying it on the towel over his shoulder. When she had watched her father shaving, she had obviously paid close attention. She moved to his left, shaving the other side of his face, then paused, not sure how to do the rest.

Hank took her hand in his own once again, very carefully placing the razor against his throat, blade towards his jaw. Short strokes, lifting a little, then moving across, rinse, dry, then the same again, under his jaw with the blade towards his chin. And as he rinsed the blade again, he caught Elsa's expression in the mirror. Intense, focused, but also with a subtle kind of happiness about it. Her smiled widened as they finished, and he rinsed the basin before splashing his chin and face with the washcloth.

The whole time, holding her hand, guiding her, being so close, he hadn't felt the least uncomfortable. Taking just a little power from her—to guide her—hadn't provoked that same feeling he'd had when moving her legs. A tap on his shoulder brought his mind back to the present. He turned to see Elsa beaming up at him.

"So, breakfast?"

He simply couldn't say no to that face.


"Why is this even a thing?" Kristoff growled in frustration, finger poking accusingly at the page he was reading.

"Because, master Bjorgman, breaking certain rules in high society can have consequences that are not immediately apparent." Kai's voice was even, but his frustration was clear.

"And they just expect people to remember everything?" Kristoff flicked through a few more pages. "When most of this changes if you're in Rossiya, or Corona, or Iberia, or—"

"In Arendelle, the rules of Arendelle apply," Kai's attempts at being soothing were not helping. "But it is useful to know whether a gaffe happens because someone is used to different rules, or if they intended it to be insulting."

"I feel like I'll be insulting everyone just by being there." Kristoff let out a heavy sigh and shut the book with a soft thud. There were just too many rules to learn, and not enough time to learn them all, and what happened if he broke one, or two, or ten. And the very idea that his words—or someone else's—could require the noble equivalent of weregild. This was a world he simply didn't understand. He wasn't sure if he could, and trying to was a mighty struggle, even with how knowledgeable Kai was.

"In your current, attire, perhaps." Kai's smile was surprisingly warm. "But clothes, as they say, maketh the man, and it is easy enough to tailor cloth, or purchase a fine suit."

"But my clothes are practical," Kristoff wasn't sure if he was complaining or explaining. "I can still move all around, I have jackets to keep me warm on the ice, and I'll bet not a single one of those other nobles has a worked a day in their lives, or lifted a hammer, or done a single useful thing."

"Master Bjorgman," Kai dragged a hand down his face in frustration, the gesture making his cheeks wobble slightly. "There are more ways to be useful than merely crafting an item, or harvesting ice, or chopping wood for lumber. Negotiating trade, for a surplus of food. Forcing another kingdom to back down from the threat of war. Keeping the peace between guilds, so that the town still functions. Calming the people and leading efforts after a disaster strikes. Few of these take the kind of work of which you speak, but all are eminently useful."

"But just using words—it doesn't feel right."

"There have been more than words. Handshakes. Fights. Duels, even," Kai stepped back and spread his hands. "It is not the work you think of, but that does not make it any less valid or important. Especially to those people that do that work. They likely will look down on you for being so physical, but the better men and women will respect you for it. I know that both the queen and the princess consider your loyalty and dedication as laudable qualities, along with your willingness to learn."

"And I'm trying, Kai, but there's just so much."

"That's how I feel sometimes."

Kristoff looked up, because it wasn't Kai that had spoken. Anna leaned against the door, her hair in something of a wild tangle, barely tidied. "But you're a princess."

"And that doesn't mean I have any idea what I'm doing at these events," Anna smiled as she moved to sit opposite Kristoff at the small table he'd been reading at. "I don't remember half my lessons on royal etiquette, and I mean I try to be polite, but there are certain things—and people—that make it really hard sometimes, and anyway I haven't been up long so I wondered if you wanted to take a break and get something to eat?"

As he rose, Kristoff noted Kai's frown. "I'm going to have to come back, aren't I?"

"Yes, master Bjorgman, you will—perhaps after a small meal you might see things clearer, and your mind will be refreshed once more for learning."

Kristoff stumbled as Anna practically dragged him from the room. Only then did he notice one reason why Anna's hair might be so wild—because she seemed to be hiding something in the top of her dress. Something moving. He stopped dead as it peeked out from her collar, pointy-nosed and wide whiskered. A stoat? No, with white fur it was an ermine. It took Anna another two paces before she realised he'd stopped. She turned back, looking at him, and obviously saw him staring at her top.

"What are you—oh, yes. That," Anna held her hand out in front of her collar, and the ermine climbed onto it, then up onto her shoulder. "Rask, this is Kristoff, my boyfriend."

The ermine sniffed the air, then seemed to look accusingly at Kristoff before nuzzling Anna's cheek.

"I like him, so you have to be nice, go and say hello," Anna held her hand out, clearly expecting the ermine to run along it. Instead, the animal hopped from her shoulder to her head and started padding around, nibbling on a stray hair. Anna reached up and picked it up by its scruff, placing it back on her shoulder. "Be nice, Rask, you might meet a lot of people around the castle today."

Kristoff held his hand out, loosely closed into a fist—just so his fingers couldn't be bitten. Rask leaned forward on his perch, sniffed, then tried an experimental nibble anyway. Kristoff sighed, rubbing his finger. He laughed as Anna tapped Rask's nose sharply.

"I said be nice. Biting people isn't nice."

Rask sat back on her shoulder and trilled in annoyance. Kristoff looked between both of them. "When did you find an ermine?"

"Rask's a ferret, and kind of, last night?"

"I'm sure it's a better story than all these noble rules Kai's trying to fill my head with."

Kristoff saw the sudden concern on Anna's face, how she swallowed quietly and looked around. She said a single word, and he knew asking further would be unwise. "Elsa."

"Well, if you've been sworn to secrecy, maybe we should just get that food."

As they walked down the hall, Kristoff noted how Rask darted from shoulder to shoulder, sniffing the air and peering out windows or at some of the paintings that lined the hall. There was something strange about this particular ermine, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. It was white all over, just like any other ermine. As it stood on its back legs, turning to sniff at the air, he saw that its paws were white as well. And its nose. And whiskers. Even its eyes—no, those were clear, almost icy. Only then did he realise.

Rask wasn't an ermine at all. He was one of Elsa's creations, like Olaf, or Marshmallow. Which also explained why Anna was evasive and unwilling to talk too much about it.

After collecting a small tray of biscuits, and a pitcher of chilled fruit juices, both he and Anna were surprised to find Hank and Elsa already in the small, informal dining room, engrossed in a deep discussion about council politics. Upon seeing them enter Hank offered a small bow, and Elsa turned to face them, addressing Anna.

"Morning, Anna."

"Hi Elsa." Anna gave a start as Rask leapt from her shoulder towards Elsa's lap, turning once then settling with a contented chirrup. "Traitor."

Elsa smiled, scratching absently behind Rask's ears. "Anna, I have to ask you something; something that might be quite difficult, so I'll understand if you can't do it this time."

"Wait, this time?" Anna's confusion was clear. "And what, Elsa—just ask me."

"Will you help me with the council meeting this afternoon?"

Anna paled and took a step back. Kristoff put an arm out to keep her steady as she took a shaky breath. She took another breath, then sat heavily in a chair facing Elsa.

"Is that a no?" Elsa's voice was soft.

Anna shook her head, then held out her hand. Rask jumped down from Elsa's lap and scurried back to Anna, running up her dress and perching on her shoulder, nuzzling her cheek. "It's more that I'm just not sure, Elsa. The council's a lot of new people—for me, I mean. You know all of them, right?"

"I do," Elsa confirmed. "But you've met most of them too, around and about. Marshal Gerhardt, for example. Bishop Gudbrand we both know. Vanja—the woman who interrupted us yesterday during your report. Søren… well, I don't know if we'll ever hear from him again, so probably another guildsman that even I don't know. There's also Justicar Kristoffersen. And last we've got trade minister Per Johanssen."

"I think I ran into him the other day." Anna had a sheepish grin.

"Literally," Kristoff supplied, trying to clarify.

"So you've met at least half of them, and you know me—"

"Sort of."

"—okay, fine; we're still working on that. You won't have to say much if you don't want to. I would just like you there, for me. There's a lot that needs to be discussed, and it would be nice to have someone I can trust absolutely in that room with me. Not mention you did a commendable job keeping up with reports and correspondence in my absence. Your brainwave about keeping journals, as well, and your ideas on how to recover the library are also worth mentioning."

"Alright, alright," Kristoff couldn't help noticing Anna's sudden blush. "You've convinced me—just as long as I don't have to talk too much."

"That's fair," Elsa motioned to Hank. "I believe you, too, had a question for my sister?"

"I do," Hank smiled, leaning back slightly in his seat. "Do you intend to miss sparring practice this week as well?"

"Oh…" Anna's face fell. "I kinda, completely, forget last week although… Wednesday… so… that's right, I was with Elsa all night, just before she exploded the library."

"Anna!"

"Hey, you did," Anna was indignant. "Don't give me that look."

Kristoff sighed, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Hank giving him a long-suffering smile. Well, at least he wasn't alone in this.


Anna sat to Elsa's right, arm crossed in front of her instead of drumming her fingers against the table. The meeting so far had not been anything like Elsa had told her. It wasn't boring—far from it—but there were lots of issues and details to cover about almost everything. There were also things she knew Elsa was pointedly not saying in this meeting. Getting possessed was one of them. Talking about her slowly blossoming romance with Hank was another—although when Anna considered the situation, the council might well have been aware of that.

She had also been paying close attention to how the various council members spoke to Elsa. She could do that because no one seemed to be paying a great amount of attention to her, and it allowed her to concentrate on something that wasn't her nerves at being around so many people. Marshal Gerhardt was an interesting one, not defiant—not openly—and not quite combative. Adversarial. He was civil, even friendly towards Elsa, but was also the first to voice criticisms or poke holes in plans. It wasn't just being contrarian either, because every time he found a mistake or issue, he also proposed a possible solution, if he knew of one. It also seemed odd to see Elsa smiling at some of his criticisms, given what Elsa had told her about the marshal in the past.

And now everyone was staring at her, almost like they expected her to say something—and had Elsa just asked her a question?

"Anna, you had a solution for the memory issues caused by these new trolls?"

"Oh, right," Anna looked at everyone around the table. Pretty much all of them had journals and ledgers anyway. "Keeping a journal, or a diary. Little details and important stuff. We don't know how troll magic works—or any magic, really—so I guess we just record everything, and if there's an odd blank, we go back to the journal and see what we do remember. I mean, we know a little about troll magic changing memory, or removing it, but we don't know how it works, just that it kinda does, and is… permanent."

"As far as we know," Elsa clarified, her hands hidden beneath the table. Concealing again. "The trolls saved Anna's life when she was younger, and changed memories of my magic. The old memories have not come back."

Anna wanted to feel betrayed by that revelation, but it was known throughout most of the town, and it was very relevant to the discussion. As she stared disapprovingly at Elsa, her sister gave her a brief, nervous smile, then looked down at the edge of the table between them. Anna looked down too. Rime ice glittered in the afternoon light, spelling out a curt message: sorry; later? Anna gave a small nod in reply, the gesture apparently caught by Vanja Ostberg-Lang who merely raised a questioning eyebrow before returning to the ledger in front of her.

"Given the danger inherent in such magic," bishop Gudbrand took the initiative. "I would like permission to study the apocrypha and arcana in the castle library pertaining to this magic."

Anna heard Elsa's sharp intake of breath. Another thing she'd not yet told the council, and this one likely to be a significant blow to their efforts against these hostile trolls. Anna shuffled closer, her hand finding Elsa's under the table, giving it a tight squeeze. Elsa didn't relax.

"That may be more easily said than done, bishop Gudbrand," Elsa wore a concerned look. "The library suffered extensive damage due to an accident last week. On Wednesday."

Anna looked sharply at her sister. There was being frugal with the truth, but this was something else. Elsa was still holding her hand, but now Elsa's hand was trembling.

"It was my fault. After the execution… my emotions…" and here Elsa took a deep breath, bracing herself. "I couldn't hold back the turmoil inside anymore. No one was hurt, but little of the library survives. Not even my sister's favourite Flynn Rider."

"That is deeply regrettable," the bishop answered carefully, then turned to the newest face—and quite likely the oldest person—on the council. "Torgeir, the hall of records?"

The older man nodded. "Anything acquired through trade, certainly. King Agdarr did update the records occasionally when he found a truly useful volume, though those were few, and rare. I don't know if we can recover additional copies—if such things even exist."

Anna could feel her sister's grimace, could see the invisible weight once more settling on her shoulders. Thinking of weights on shoulders reminded Anna of how the young trolls played around Kristoff, clambering over him. It also set her mind to wondering about the stone bar with the message on it that Vanja Ostberg-Lang had delivered to her sister. A message that had not yet been seen by the council—or at least it hadn't been mentioned by those who knew of it: Elsa, the bishop, and the marshal—and of course Vanja, who seemed very reserved about everything.

Anna blinked, thinking back on what Vanja had said when passing the message to Elsa. A troll had died to deliver that message. A troll. One of Pabbie's clan. Suddenly her lie to Søren about Elsa looking for allies came back to her. Okay, so maybe Elsa had found a new enemy, but it seemed like these news trolls were enemies to Pabbie's clan as well and that meant they should be allies, or at least someone should go and ask if they might help or something, or maybe they were too busy defending themselves?

She didn't like the smile marshal Gerhardt was giving her. Or the odd looks from everyone else. Elsa's head was down, buried in her hands.

Anna looked around the table again, at the expression on everyone's faces. "Oh," she couldn't help it. After running off that spiel without realising, it felt like she'd completely run out of words to use.

"Some most astute observations from princess Anna," Gerhardt steepled his fingers. "But to my knowledge, trolls do not fight. Not like we would."

"Marshal," Elsa held up one hand. "That might actually be what we need—these new trolls do not fight as we would either."

"Then how would you have us combat this threat, your majesty?"

"In a perfect world, by not fighting at all," Anna noticed everyone staring at her sister, especially the marshal with his look of stern disapproval. She also saw Elsa's little smirk. "But we do not live in a perfect world. Still, I would prefer not to declare war over past wrongs—not when the wrongs are more than five hundred years old."

"Your majesty?" Vanja's tone implied a much harsher question, and Anna turned to watch her. There was a large ledger open in front of her that she was now leafing through. "Arendelle's records go back a good three hundred years, and not a single mention is made of these new trolls—and of 'Pabbie's clan'—" here Vanja fixed Anna with a level gaze. Anna returned it evenly, too stubborn to back down. "—perhaps three notes; rumours, little else."

"You want to know how I know about events five hundred years old?" Elsa's voice was level, measured. Dangerously so. Anna tapped her on the shoulder. "What?"

"So you've talked to me about kingdom running and stuff, but do you think they'll get over knowing about Thyrí?"

Elsa smiled, turning slightly. "I wasn't going to bring it up." Then Elsa turned to the rest of the council. "Arendelle's records might only go back three hundred years, miss Ostberg-Lang, but we are not the only kingdom of the north. There are also troll records—or memories, rather, as they don't seem to write much down. In fact, that runestone you showed me is the first troll writing I've seen."

Anna saw the bishop frowning in deep disapproval. He knew—he had to—but he couldn't reprimand Elsa being liberal with the truth in front of the rest council. The why still bothered Anna, and she couldn't figure it out. While she mulled that over, the meeting continued around her. She was still somewhat surprised to not be running away, and to not feel nearly as anxious as she had earlier in the day. Not until Elsa raised the specter of war.

"I hate admitting this, but we might be at war—a secret war, hidden from the rest of the kingdom. I don't want to see anyone hurt, but we have to take precautions, as marshal Gerhardt has advised. We need more information on these new trolls—as miss Ostberg-Lang has said, our records do not go back far enough. We will need an envoy to the trolls, officially—I have two candidates in mind already, but if you can think of anyone else well suited, submit their name to me by the end of Wednesday. Bishop Gudbrand, confer with Justicar Kristoffersen, Guildmaster Torgeir, and anyone else you need to at the hall of the records; Kai will assist you with what's left of the castle's collection. Guildmaster Torgeir, I don't know what we'll need from the guilds, it may be weapons, special armour, or something else entirely, find the best men and women you can to put on this project. Minister Johanssen, continue planning for the harvest festival as you would, but make arrangements that might include trolls; also make arrangements lest we need to postpone the festival to deal with all these issues."

Anna watched as everyone took notes, some scribbling furiously, most merely underlining a phrase or instruction here and there. There was a scraping of chairs against the floor, and everyone was leaving. Her first council meeting was over. It hadn't seemed so bad, aside from that not meaning to say things out loud part, and the part where Elsa needed to talk to her later, but it was really okay. Right? She looked down at her hand. Six people, mostly strangers to her. She'd held it together throughout that entire meeting.

And now—now she was worried that her hand wasn't shaking.