"…the Duke of Weselton."

The words sounded distant and hollow, as if they drifted across dream worlds, and they were unable to break through the fog surrounding Elsa, the young queen of Arendelle.

She sat on a blueish-white throne which appeared to have been chiseled from ice, complete with icicles protruding from the top that glistened in the sunlight streaming through the open window. Her platinum blond hair twisted into an intricate braid which hung over her shoulder, and her sky blue eyes seemed to glow in the light of the setting sun. From the second floor of the castle, where the throne room was located, she watched the waters of the fjord change from blue to gold to orange, and she knew it was going to be a magnificent autumn evening.

"Queen Elsa?"

The name, uttered like a question, was filled with concern. The creature who spoke it was standing at the entrance, framed beneath the tall arch which led to the hall. He was a fantastic sight, a squat little snowman with two stick arms poking out the sides of his body and a stout carrot planted above a mouth which was twisted into an uncharacteristic frown. A small cloud above his head dispensed life sustaining snow, a gift from his beloved creator and master whom he was trying to communicate with now. He was waiting for a response, but she didn't reply.

After the Great Thaw, which was over a year ago now, Olaf experienced some trouble finding his place amongst the residents of the castle. At first he'd been happy to roam about, picking flowers, chasing butterflies, blowing bubbles, and enjoying other activities which thrill someone infatuated with summer, which he was. Elsa rarely saw him as he explored the countryside, searching for new and exciting adventures which brought with them new and exciting discoveries. But it wasn't long before there was nothing new left to satisfy his curiosity.

Restless, purposeless, and running out of things to do, Olaf wandered the castle, trying to help the servants and guards who went about their duties, but mostly getting in their way. There were complaints and expressions of discontent, and that's when Elsa decided to assign him a job of his own, giving him a position in her official court where it was his duty to greet new visitors and introduce them to the queen. He relished the task and usually performed it with a smile, but smiles were something far less common these days, even for someone as endlessly optimistic as Olaf.

"Elsa?"

At last her attention was captured. She saw his frown and wondered if she'd caused it. Had she been ignoring him? Olaf enjoyed his job of announcing visitors, and she didn't want to rob him of that joy by making him believe she wasn't interested. Some might say he only had the job to keep him out of trouble, but that was only half the truth. It was, after all, an important function of her court.

"I'm sorry, Olaf, what did you say?"

He hopped a few steps into the room, wiggling his fingers.

"The Duke of Weselton is here."

Her full attention was captured by the uttering of that name. The duke was the last person she wanted to see. He had a lot of nerve, she thought, showing his face here after what he'd done.

The duke had collaborated with Hans, the disgraced Prince of the Southern Isles, who tried to overthrow her kingdom and usurp the throne after her coronation. Was the duke drawn back for that vile purpose? To take advantage of Arendelle in its weakened state and finish what he and Hans started? She was struck by the memory of his men, his personal bodyguards, chasing her through her ice palace on the North Mountain and attacking her with their crossbows. If he thought she'd forget about that, he was sadly mistaken. In the end she'd thrown him out, sent him back to Weselton and severed all ties between their kingdoms. She'd never expected to see him again, and would've been happy if she hadn't.

"Why? Tell him to go back home, he's not welcome here!"

"He's asked to see you. He says he's come to help."

"Ha!"

That was the joke of the day, she thought, the duke wanting to help anybody. The only person he cared about was himself, and he'd trample anyone who got in the way of what he wanted.

"You tell that lying, conniving, no good, son of a jack rabbit I want nothing to do with him! And what's more—"

"He's brought food and water."

Elsa couldn't believe what he was saying. Food and water? Why would he do such a thing? She realized now she couldn't turn him away, she'd have to swallow her pride and welcome him to Arendelle.

She sat down hard on the throne, elbows on knees, chin in hands. She imagined the duke's smirk, his gloating smile, and she glanced over her shoulder, finding the place where Marshmallow loomed like a gargoyle guardian behind the throne. He was massive, his head nearly touching the vaulted ceiling, with glowing yellow eyes that searched the room and icicle claws which protruded like spikes from giant hands. Seeing him there brought her a measure of comfort, but it wasn't enough to allay her anxiety. She still dreaded the idea of speaking to the duke, especially after swearing Arendelle would never do business with him again.

Olaf was still waiting for a response.

"Fine," she said, her voice almost a whisper. "Send him in."

Elsa sat back, gripping the throne like it was a runaway carriage, resting her head against the backrest as she closed her eyes. Had it really come to this? She, the protector of her people, bowing before an enemy, kneeling before those who tried to destroy her? Yes, because she'd failed to find another way. She'd failed to provide a solution for her people.

She was unaware of the small crusts of ice which formed beneath her fingers, tracing tiny paths around the decorations of the armrests and spiraling down their stems. It was the first time in more than a year her magic had acted without her knowledge, an involuntary response, an unconscious release spurred by her inner turmoil.

Footsteps in the hall signaled the approach of the visitors and she sat up, brushing the wrinkles out of the front of her sky blue gown. Olaf entered first, followed by the duke and his two companions.

The duke looked the same as when she'd last seen him, his navy blue jacket decorated with medals and crossed by a red sash, his white mustache twitching above a disingenuous smile. Beady eyes peered out from behind rounded spectacles, appraising everything of value in the room and no doubt wondering how much of it he could fit on his ship. It sickened her, just being in the same room with him, but she was quick to bury such feelings. Hiding her feelings was a talent she possessed in remarkable supply, although it'd been some time since she had to employ such a skill.

Conceal, don't feel.

Olaf stopped the procession halfway between the entrance and the throne.

"Queen Elsa," he said, trying to sound official. "I present…the Duke of Weasel Town."

"Weselton!" The old man shrieked.

Olaf gave her a wink and she couldn't help but smile, but as Olaf left his levity left with him, and the three unwelcome visitors were left standing before the throne, visitors who couldn't be denied.

The duke stepped forward and at the same moment Marshmallow stirred from behind Elsa, a low rumble resembling a growl filling the room. The duke took a quick step back, regarding the beast with displeasure.

"Your Majesty," he rasped, bowing low to the ground. He motioned for his companions to do the same. "You're a welcome sight for these old eyes."

Elsa wasn't convinced by his display of respect, wondering, and not for the first time, what his true agenda was.

"I wish I could say the same, duke. Why have you come here? You know you're not welcome in Arendelle."

"My dear queen, all that was a long time ago. I was hoping we could let bygones be bygones."

"You didn't answer the question," she said, not hiding her irritation. "Why have you come here?"

The duke maintained his smile.

"We've heard of the suffering of Arendelle. As your closest partner in trade, it's our duty to help the best we can. We've brought food, water, and supplies to ease the suffering of your people."

She doubted his motives were genuine. Such a caring, giving sentiment defied everything she knew about the duke.

"A noble act indeed. And I suppose you came all the way over here out of the kindness of your heart?"

"We've heard the stories," he said, his tone turning harsh as he abandoned his pretense of respect. "The rivers have stopped, the wells have run dry, the crops are dying. People are fleeing Arendelle like it has the plague."

It sounded to Elsa like a recital of accusations, a recounting of her kingdom's troubles as if to charge her with neglect.

"Is that why you've come here? To point out the suffering of my people, as if I'm not aware?"

"Your Majesty, I meant no disrespect."

"No disrespect? I'm the Queen of Arendelle. It is my duty to protect my people, to provide for MY people! And you think I'm unaware of their suffering?"

A sudden breeze ruffled the duke's poorly fitted toupee, a rush of chilled air which made him and his men shiver. A single snowflake swirled around the room and landed on his nose, where it melted. He wiped it away.

"No, Your Majesty. We only want to help. We've brought the tradable goods you seek, a boat full of foodstuffs, barrels of water, and other provisions. It's for you and your people."

She didn't know what his agenda was, what he was really after, but his claim was enough to calm her rising anger. She went to the window, the only window in the room, and looked out over the fjord. The sun had dipped so low it'd nearly kissed the face of the water, and the duke's ship was awash in its glow as it bobbed up and down at the docks. Had he really brought all those things? If so, why? What did he want?

"Arendelle has nothing left to trade," she said. "We've exhausted everything we have, traded everything of value away."

It was true. If the duke sought compensation for his delivery of goods then he was too late, they'd already given it all away, sold everything to their trading partners in exchange for the supplies they lacked, such as food, water, and other necessities. She looked back at him, expecting to see disappointment, but he was wearing a strange grin she found disturbing.

What was he waiting for? Why didn't he respond? He was probably gloating, reveling in his new found power over her, enjoying every moment of her distress. Is that why he'd traveled all this way? If he was here to witness her suffering there was plenty for him to see, but she had no intention of placating his despicable cravings.

"I will not beg for your charity," she said, looking away.

He held the silence between them a little longer, long enough for Elsa to become uncomfortable. When he did reply his tone was one of deep satisfaction.

"Ahhh, but there'll be no need, Your Majesty. Arendelle has plenty left to trade."

He plunged his hand into his waistcoat and produced a roll of papers bound by a yellow ribbon. He held them out, motioning for Elsa to take them. She didn't.

"What's this?" she said.

The duke stepped forward, as if to approach, then glanced at Marshmallow and thought better of it. He stood there, arm extended, holding the papers out.

"Land deeds. A simple transaction. Sign these deeds over to me and everything on my ship is yours."

Land deeds? What was he talking about? Elsa regarded him with suspicion before hurrying across the room and snatching the papers out of his hand. She turned away, undoing the ribbon with a flick of her finger and unrolling them as she headed back to the throne, but what she saw stopped her. She flipped to the second page, then to the next one, then to another. She couldn't believe what she was seeing, and she paged through the rest of the sheets, about 20 altogether, before whirling back to the duke.

"Where did you get these?" she said, holding the papers out like a teacher brandishing a ruler.

"Does that really matter?"

"These are the finest plots of land in all of Arendelle!"

"A small price to pay for the lives of your people, is it not?"

Elsa couldn't believe what he was asking. She'd expected him to have ulterior motives, but this? This was incomprehensible! He wanted to take half her kingdom for a single ship of food and water. And what would happen when those supplies ran out? No doubt there'd be another ship and another offer, until all of Arendelle was ripped away. On the other hand, if she refused, she was gambling with the lives of her people, and the odds weren't in her favor.

She returned to the throne, sinking into it like a wilted flower.

"You're a monster," she said.

"No, you're the monster, as I recall. How do you know you're not the one causing this cursed drought?"

The accusation struck her hard, a verbal attack which felt like a physical blow. That was the one fear she refused to give words to, as if concealing it beneath a litany of alternatives would somehow make it untrue, and now the duke had dug it up and thrust it in her face. But it'd always been there, hiding and trying to work its way out. Now that it was free there was nothing to blunt its poisonous sting and a chill passed through her, followed by a cold breeze which swirled around the room, bringing with it a flurry of snowflakes.

The men grasped their coats, pulling them tighter. The duke was the first to regain his composure, and he wasted no time in continuing his attack.

"Think about it! Arendelle suffers from the worst drought anyone has ever seen, yet every other kingdom around you prospers! Face it Elsa, you have cursed this land!"

"No!" Elsa shouted, rising to her feet.

The chilling breeze intensified, howling through the room and churning with a ferocity that made the men clutch their coats and turn their faces from the wind. Elsa stood upon the dais, looming over them, braid flapping.

"I will not be bullied by a selfish, opportunistic predator who wants to pad his coffers with the tears of my people!"

A burst of snow bloomed around her in a gush of white flakes. They were caught up in the vortex, pelting the duke and his men with ice crystals that cut into their skin, and they raised their arms to protect their faces. The two bodyguards backed away as she approached, but the duke stood fast, looking her directly in the eye.

"Think about it, Elsa. They'll die without my help!"

Elsa stopped before him, tore the papers apart, and let them go. They circled around the room like leaves in a dust storm.

"You will not come into my kingdom and threaten my people with extinction!"

She took another step forward, and this time the duke yielded to her advance, backpedaling as she marched him toward the door.

"You will not blackmail me into selling my people or their land so they may become slaves to a barbarian!"

The duke and his companions missed the door during their retreat, their backs pressed up against the wall, their hands shielding their faces, their eyes squinting through snow which tore at them like a blizzard.

She didn't want to lose control. If she let the duke get to her then he had power over her, and she wouldn't allow that. She turned away, leaving them behind as she went back to the throne. The wind stopped and the storm subsided, the snowflakes falling to the ground where they dotted the floor in patches of white. But the storm inside Elsa wouldn't be so easily quelled. It'd been a long time since she'd felt like this, and she didn't like it. What's more, she didn't want to give the duke the satisfaction of seeing her this way, so she buried her feelings, concealing them in that old familiar place which she knew so well.

The duke stepped away from the wall, brushing the snow from his arms and readjusting his toupee, which had twisted at an odd angle. His companions tugged at the edges of their coats and squeezed their gloves together, trying to appear unruffled. They stood in a line, defiant, as if preparing a response to her angry outburst, but she had no desire to hear anything else they had to say. She was done with them. When she spoke again, her tone was flat and emotionless, a considerable achievement considering her condition.

"You're banished from Arendelle." She was too agitated to consider whether the punishment was appropriate, and frankly, she didn't care; she just wanted them gone. "I never want to see you in my kingdom again."

The duke drew himself up to his full height, which wasn't very high, and jabbed a finger at her.

"You'll regret this," he said between clenched teeth.

"Marshmallow, escort these men back to their ship."

Marshmallow took a giant step forward.

"That won't be necessary!" the duke said, turning with his men to flee, but the beast was too large and too fast and it easily caught up with them. It scooped them up, the duke in one hand and his guards in the other, and carried them kicking and screaming back to the harbor where he threw them onto the docks. They landed in a tangled heap of arms and legs.

"DON'T COME BACK!" the beast roared.

The men scrambled to get up, tripping and falling over themselves as they scurried up the gangplank in a rush to board their ship. Marshmallow stood guard as they detached from the mooring and prepared to leave.

"You'll regret this!" The duke screamed, shaking a fist at the castle. "You'll regret this!"

When the boat was gone Marshmallow returned, taking up his position behind the throne where Elsa still sat, staring at the empty archway. Olaf returned too.

"Are you okay?" he asked, but the question didn't register. She was thinking about what the duke said, his words repeating themselves over and over, like an echo.

'You have cursed this land!'

Could it be true? Was her magic betraying her? It wouldn't be the first time.

She looked at the last fading clump of snow in the middle of the room, watched as it dissolved in the dying light of the setting sun. She'd lost control of her magic today, lost control for the first time since…

She didn't want to think about the last time.

…since Anna's sacrifice.

Another chill passed through her. She thought those days were far behind her, but was that just a foolish dream? Was she deceiving herself?

"Elsa?" Olaf put his hand on hers, looking at her the way a son might look at an ailing mother. "Are you okay?"

Elsa tried to smile, wanted to reassure him everything was fine, but she was unable to produce the desired expression. Instead, a row of ice crystals sprouted from her hand and enveloped Olaf's little stick arm. He drew back, shaking them off with considerable effort.

She tried to tell herself tonight was just a mistake. A one time slip of her magic, a wayward stream of ice on Olaf's arm, an unlikely to be repeated storm. She tried to tell herself she could control it and it wouldn't happen again. Perhaps she was right, perhaps it wouldn't happen again, but she'd told herself such things before and discovered with terrible consequences she was wrong. Could she be wrong again? How much had her magic already betrayed her?

'Elsa, you have cursed this land!'

As much as she hated the idea of welcoming back old habits, she had to do something.

"Olaf."

"Yes, Elsa?"

"Please get my gloves."