The Next Unknown

7 – A Little Sadder and Wiser

OoOoO

"What a waste of a seaworthy ship," Fisker sighed. "Especially at a time like this."

"It is old and decommissioned," Roys offered, fingering a black necklace that Hakon could tell had been made in and imported from the Southern Isles before relations had soured. It was difficult to tell if she was making a show of empathy or insensitivity. "It would have been broken down for firewood, anyway."

"This isn't firewood, Mona. It's a pyre, and it is not our way or our people. This ceremony is showy enough for kings!"

"Incorrect. The south buries their royalty, to signify their importance in a land of scarce soil. This," Hakon nodded at the scene before them, "is a warrior's sendoff."

"And who among those nineteen was a warrior? The poor infant who didn't make it to his first year?"

"Harald," Roys said nervously.

"No, listen; I sympathise with the refugees. I truly do. But is no one else worried that those southerners seem to have our queen wrapped around their finger? There are a thousand reasons she should go about her day, yet all they need to do is draw up a whimsical ritual, and Her Majesty immediately clears her schedule to make it happen."

"Fisker," Davidsen warned.

"And it's so public—half the village is preparing to attend the ceremony. Not only is it a disruption to our daily lives and economy, is it wise to send our people the message that—"

"You know she has an open door policy, right? Or did you want me to pass on the message?"

Fisker whipped around so fast that his ridiculous beard swayed. "Y-Your Highness! I did not see you there! Please excuse this senile old man uttering nonsense…"

"Oh, I'm sure you have plenty of sense, or she wouldn't listen to you guys so much," Prince Kristoff said dryly, crossing his arms. His shoulders appeared particularly broad in his black suit. "You've been worried about the refugees freeloading off the crown, right? Anna had me finding jobs for them first thing the next morning. Imagine my surprise when everyone wanted a hardworking employee from the Southern Isles; they even paid wages in advance so the refugees could afford nice clothes and burial goods. Anna said nothing about compulsory attendance; yet here they are, preparing to hike through the mountains for the funeral."

Kristoff shrugged. "I don't know about you, but I'm thinking they might actually want to be there. It's as if they've learned a thing or two from watching Anna and Elsa treat people like people. Fancy that."

Fisker flushed, mumbled an excuse, and scurried off. The other councillors followed. Davidsen smacked Fisker on the back with enough force to make the thin man stumble.

Kristoff turned to Hakon. "Are you Felix?"

Hakon raised an eyebrow. "No, sir. Hakon Erling at your service."

"Oh, shoot. Where did I even get… never mind. Sorry. You're the one heading to Weselton tomorrow? Anna wants to talk to you about something."

"Thank you for letting me know." Hakon offered a thin smile. "See you tomorrow, sir."

Kristoff's lips twitched. "Yeah. Bright and early."

It was hard to tell if she meant to make him wait, or if she simply couldn't refrain from talking to each person she passed. The queen was breathless by the time she made it to the edge of the crowd where Hakon stood waiting.

"Sorry," she gasped. "Write something down for me?"

There had been a time when this had been routine for them. A time when they would each scope out a side of a ballroom or dinner table, and Hakon would be on his third glass of red, mulling over his discoveries, before Anna tapped him on the shoulder, hissing, "Quick, write this down before I forget!"

They no longer attended galas together and made competitions out of unearthing the most valuable piece of gossip in the room. Yet he still carried that pen and notepad everywhere, and as the queen automatically turned around so he could use her back as a writing surface, he forgot that those times were now behind them.

Except Anna did not rattle off rumours of inheritance wars and lost shipments. "Okay, so there's a pothole near Market Square… Mr. and Mrs. Olsen think there are pigeons roosting in their chimney… someone's goat chewed up Rolf's garden but I can't remember if it's Rolf Jensen or Rolf Hansen…"

"Why on earth are you hearing petitions before a funeral?" Hakon muttered as his pen flew across the paper.

"Because Elsa made multitasking look easy, okay? Now write 'cereal' before I forget that, too."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"God, I don't know; we'll have to figure it out later."

"Please tell me you didn't call me over just to be your scribe."

"Of course not—oh, Oaken has a new invention he wants to bring up to the castle; something about pulleys?" Anna pulled her hair over her shoulder. She had left it down, and with her black attire, Hakon couldn't help recalling the fifteen-year-old girl who had stood alone beside her parents' empty graves six years ago. "I thought you'd have questions about the… message I sent you. This morning. I know it's, um, a last-minute change of plans."

The note was folded in his breast pocket, its hard corners pricking him as he wrote. "I found your message perfectly self-explanatory. It would be my honour to travel with Prince Kristoff."

"Oh, please. We both know you hate company. You hated me."

"I seem to remember that being a reciprocal sentiment."

"I didn't hate you. I just maybe wanted to throw a dictionary at your head every time I saw it."

"You did, once."

"I tripped." Anna let out a sigh. "What changed, Hakon? What made you go back to hating me?"

He recapped the pen and slipped it back in his pocket. "I didn't hate you."

She turned around to face him, desperate eyes searching. "But you do now?"

He handed her the notepad. "Is there anything else I can do for you, Your Majesty?"

"You can say it if you do. I wouldn't… I mean, it would hurt, but I'd understand if…" Anna bit her lip, then abruptly shook her head. "You know what? I don't understand and I never will unless you talk to me. What did I ever do to you, Hakon? We were fine before Elsa and I went to the Enchanted Forest. Do you think I shouldn't be queen? What is it?"

"What is it you want me to say, Your Majesty? Since I have evidently lost your trust, I may as well tell you something you want to hear."

"And whose fault is that?" Anna's eyes seemed to burn. "You think I don't want to trust you? You think I feel good about sending Kristoff to Weselton with you?"

"You mean His Highness is not accompanying me to familiarise himself with the negotiation of state affairs? I hadn't suspected."

Anna threw up her hands. "What do you want me to say, Hakon?"

"I dare not put words in a queen's mouth."

"Oh, that's rich. You don't think it's a little late for that when you've jumped at every opportunity to call me an idiot? If we're talking about proper etiquette, I should already have stripped you of your rank."

He regarded her steadily. "So why haven't you?"

There was a moment of stunned silence as Anna opened and closed her mouth. "Because," she said slowly, "you're the one who taught me never to give up on a negotiation until the odds are in my favour. And I need your silver tongue. I need you to go to Weselton and get us iron, grain, and crossbows. I need you to take Kristoff with you and bring him back safely."

Hakon tipped his chin up to prevent his glasses from sliding as he stared back at her. "Then you've learned nothing at all. I taught you to never reveal your cards. Your needs become my leverage. I could use that against you."

"So why haven't you?" When he said nothing, she plowed on. "We can't keep going on like this, Hakon… I need to be able to trust you. But for that to happen, you need to tell me what you want." For a second, she looked like she wanted to reach out and take his hand. "Please?"

For a fraction of that second, he considered it.

Then a stableboy approached with Anna's horse, not noticing what he had interrupted until the mare delightedly trotted up to Anna and licked her across the face.

"Aww, Havski!" She waved a hand at the mortified stableboy. "Don't worry about it, Walter. Thanks for bringing her. Go have your lunch."

Stroking the horse's head, Anna looked back at Hakon. He had taken a step back and clasped both hands behind his back. "There might be a real war coming. Do we really have to be fighting each other, too?" she asked in a small voice.

Hakon gazed into the face of the queen and saw a little girl who still believed in happy endings for all. A child who didn't understand that it was never about one war, this war, but every conflict that had come before them; drawing territories, shaping kingdoms, dividing men. They were collateral damage in history's battlefield. The real war was in their blood, and it cared nothing for their needs or wants.

"Please have a safe trip through the mountains, Your Majesty." Then he walked away without waiting for her permission because this, at least, was a battle he could control.

OoOoO

Oskar hugged his legs tighter and pressed his brow into his knees, trying to focus on the breeze and the sunlight glowing behind his eyelids. But each time the wagon jolted, so did his heart.

"How much longer?" The sound of his own thin, reedy voice only made it worse.

"Not long," came Emil's voice from his left. "I can see the water from here."

There was a shift in the rhythm of hoofbeats around him, and another familiar voice called, "Oskar? Hey, what's wrong?"

Why was her timing always so lousy?

"Your Majesty. It's nothing. He—the young master does not enjoy wagons."

"Why didn't you say so earlier? Do you want to ride with me? Havski is really steady, aren't you, girl? Oh. yes you are."

Oskar didn't have the strength to say no.

The wagon rolled to a stop at the queen's request. Ragna and Emil helped him to his feet, and there she was—the queen who asked instead of ordered, insisted on riding her horse instead of sitting in a carriage, and always seemed to have an eye out for him.

Grinning, Anna held her arms out. She had steered her horse close enough to the wagon's side that all he had to do was take a step. Towards her. "Come on. I've got you."

Then a black horse bearing a man with a general's rank on his epaulets trotted down from the head of the procession. "What's this? The boy is welcome to ride with me, Your Majesty."

"It's okay. Oskar and I have rapport—don't we, buddy?"

"No, we don't." The nausea dropped away as he fixed the general with a flat look. "You want to search me? See if you can find the butter knife I'm planning to stick in her ribs?"

"Oskar!" Ragna hissed.

"Don't mind if I do," the general replied.

This time, it was Anna's head that snapped around incredulously. "Mattias!"

"I'll suffer no threat to your safety, ma'am—butter knife or fork." Rising in his saddle, the general loomed higher than the surrounding mountains, his face as stern as their rocky surface. "Arms up, young man."

For a long moment, they stared each other down.

Oskar raised his arms.

The general regarded him, one thick eyebrow arched. Then he reached out and lifted Oskar out of the wagon, planting him on Anna's horse.

Oskar would have pitched off in shock if not for Anna's arms around him. "Gosh, Mattias—some warning would have been nice!" she admonished.

"Where's the fun in that?" The general chuckled as he settled back on his steed. "Remember, lad—in a real emergency, forget the knife and fork. Go for the frying pan and ladle."

He gave Oskar a mock two-fingered salute, then cantered back to the front of the line, shouting orders to continue the procession.

Oskar felt Ragna's eyes on him as the wagon trundled past.

"You really are something," Anna sighed as she helped him settle more comfortably on the saddle. "For a second there, I seriously thought you'd made Mattias angry. Not that I would have minded that, actually. I've never seen him get mad at anyone."

"You should take your safety more seriously. You're the queen."

"Did you know no Arendellian monarch has been successfully assassinated? It's actually so interesting. The first recorded attempt was on my great-great-great-I-lose-count-of-how-many-greats grandfather; he was visiting someone's farm and I kid you not, someone tried to know him out with apples—"

"This isn't a joke," Oskar scowled.

She fell silent. Then there was her warmth at his back and the weight of her head stacking on top of his. "Worried for me, are you?"

"No."

"I'll have you know I'm a very careful person."

"With a very heavy head. Get off."

The procession began moving again, and so did her horse.

"Hey," Anna said brightly, "do you want to be my little bodyguard?"

Oskar stiffened. "No."

"Fine. Big bodyguard. Your special power will be your all-powerful glare; it can melt metal and—"

"I said no," he snapped.

Silence again. That would teach her.

Then she passed him the reins. "Here. Olaf calls this 'controlling what you can when things feel out of control'."

"I'm fine." But he took it because there was nothing else to do with his hands, and he didn't want Anna's arm around his waist to be the only thing grounding him to safety. To reality.

At least this horse was far calmer than the jumpy one he'd seen Anna's sister depart on the other day. Too bad it was also uncomfortable.

As his hips started to hurt, Anna asked amusedly, "You don't know how to ride, do you?"

"How would you know?"

"You're bouncing like the Easter bunny. Wanna learn how to post the trot? Of course you do. It'll be a little tricky since you can't reach the stirrups—oh, don't look at me like that; we'll find you a pony another day. Just rise a bit in the saddle…yep, that's it. It's okay, I won't let you fall. Now try to get a feel for Havski's movements; find the rhythm and—oof." His skull smacked into her chin.

"Forget it," Oskar grumbled.

Anna rubbed his head. "Nah, you're not even half the disaster I was. Let's try that again, shall we?"

By the time they crested the last hill, sweat ran down Oskar's face and his legs were sore. Yet there was a strange satisfaction there, too.

Until the sea came into view. Then the guilt flooded in, because how could he dare to forget, even for a moment?

The boats were exactly where they were supposed to be, but the tide wasn't. He was the smallest target. They all knew it but wouldn't say it, so he bolted out of the cover and across the beach. But he knew as soon as he pushed that he was too weak, always too weak; the boat was sliding into the water too slowly, and any moment now he'd be staring at a bloody arrowhead jutting out of his chest.

Anna's arms rose around him, her hands settling beside his on the reins. "You're getting the hang of it! Let's pick up the speed."

Then her arms were on either side of him; her familiar steadiness at his back, firm voice cutting over his furious protests, "Less talk, more muscle. And when we get out of this, you and I will have a long chat about your stupid heroics."

Oskar heard guards hastening to keep up, but the queen raised one hand over her shoulder and the scramble of hooves dropped off. It was just them and the horse and the open beach before them. And the single ship on the horizon.

It was nothing like the one in Oskar's drawings. He'd known it wouldn't be, which was why he hadn't held back. He'd even asked Kristoff to hunt down a ruler so he could emphasise the grandness of its scale. That ought to show the naïve queen not to go around making empty promises.

Only Anna hadn't grimaced when he'd shown her his plans. Instead, she'd swept her paperwork off the table to gawk at his drawings. Are you sure you're twelve years old? she'd kept asking him. Sick of the same question, Oskar had run off before she could get the idea to frame the damn thing. He'd entertained the queen. Done. Time to get on with nothing.

Except the next morning, so early that the sun hadn't finished rising, Anna had flounced into the guest room Oskar shared with Emil. She'd roused him with a finger to her lips, eyes bright in the grey light, and forced him into an oversized sweatshirt that must have belonged to Kristoff. Then she'd led him out into the chilly courtyard and across the bridge into the village. Just as Oskar had wondered if she planned to throw him back into the fjord, Anna had steered him into a shipyard.

"Sorry it's so old and tiny,"she'd said tentatively, watching him. "It's all we can spare right now. I know it's not… enough. Nothing ever will be. So if your people would rather stick to a land burial than have your traditions misappropriated, that's totally fine. It's just, you know—here. For you. If you need it to get proper closure."

Shouts of alarm rang out from the castle. Sand flew in a storm as arrows rained down, and as the other boats scrambled to launch amidst cries of pain, she said, "Keep pushing. We're okay." And he prayed and pushed, and when the last boat finally slid into the water, they scrambled on and rowed and rowed.

Havski slowed as they neared the water's edge. They watched the ship glide languidly through the water, getting into position.

Anna murmured. "Do you remember what I told you when we were in the fjord? You haven't lost all of her."

The leather reins bit into his palms of his clenched fists. "What do you know about loss?"

She flinched. He felt it. He felt nothing.

It wasn't until they were out on open water, when he let himself believe that they had made it, that she slumped over him, breathing raggedly. Feathered shafts sticking out of her back.

"You don't know," Oskar hissed. "You don't know how long it took, because stopping the bleeding didn't stop her from dying. You don't know what it's like to sit with her and talk to her and watch her be in pain, and just… wait for it to happen. So don't expect me to be grateful that you saved my life because I'm not, okay? And don't say that you don't care, because that's all you do. I hate it. I hate this. I hate—"

The word stuck in his throat.

Breaking waves, salt in the air, blood on his face and clothes and hands. None of it his. He was too angry to be horrified, because she had broken the rules and now he had broken his oath to protect her, and he wanted to shout, What were you saying about stupid heroics? But it was his fault for being weak; his fault for getting attached; his fault for not being able to hold back the sob and collapsing into a bleeding, dying girl as she said, "Come on, crybaby. Patch me up. I'll be fine."

And even then, it was his fault for believing her.

Anna didn't stop him when he tossed the reins aside and leapt off the horse. Of course she wouldn't bother; there was nowhere to hide on the open beach. He could run to the ends of the earth, and it wouldn't bring him any closer to the past.

It took days. She was lucid towards the end, which he didn't realise until he mumbled, "What am I supposed to do without you?" And she had opened her eyes and somehow found the strength to reach up and tousle his matted hair.

She didn't ask if he was okay, or tell him it was okay not to be. She didn't hug him. She said nothing at all. She sat down beside him, gazing out at the water.

"Eat your vegetables," she told him in her regular no-nonsense voice; if he closed his eyes, he could see her on the other side of the dinner table, sternly pointing a fork at him. "Just… grow taller than me. Older. No more stupid heroics."

She stood up, brushed herself off, and reached back to pull him to his feet as the rest of the procession arrived. The same way she had pulled him out of the water. "We'll do it together," she told him, once more. "Okay?"

"Promise me, Oskar. Okay?"

He bit his lip and nodded.

OoOoO

The bishop said the prayers and recited nineteen names. The ship's crew emptied the oil barrels on the deck, raised the anchor, and rowed back to the shore. The wind and current instantly snatched at the ship's sails, pulling it down the strait as Kristoff had predicted.

Oskar saw nothing else. Not until the ship seemed to sail away too far, too quickly. Then he finally tore his eyes away to look for Emil; the only one of them who could shoot.

Emil had drawn the bow but couldn't take aim because his arm shook. His whole body shook as silent tears rolled down his cheeks. Oskar didn't think it was from the pain of the flaming arrow searing his hand as he stood frozen, the fire swimming in his anguished pupils.

The general—Mattias—hastily snatched the bow away from him. The arrow slipped free and sizzled out on the sand.

Emil sank to his knees and broke down completely, the back of his hand red and angry.

The ship continued drifting away.

Mattias looked back at Emil, then the ship.

Sofia wouldn't be standing uselessly because she was too weak to draw back an unmodified bow.

"I'll do it."

It had been subtle, but the ring of guards around the queen had tightened when Emil had been handed the bow. Now, they parted for her as she stepped forward to touch Emil's trembling shoulder. She met Oskar's dazed stare and flashed a faint smile.

She looked directly at Mattias and repeated, "I'll do it."

There was no hesitation. He passed her the bow. "Your Majesty."

Oskar stalked over to her. "Do you even know what you're doing?"

She tested the draw as she squinted into the distance. "Maybe, maybe not. If I miss, I'll keep trying."

Sofia would never miss.

"There won't be time for that. If the ship isn't already out of your range, it will be with the air resistance from that flaming cotton."

"Are you sure you're twelve? How do you not know how to ride a horse, yet be an expert on the physics of archery?"

Oskar's mouth snapped shut. Then he growled, "I'm a Westergaard. What does it matter? You won't have time to keep trying. The ship will sail too far; let Mattias or Kristoff do it."

"Do not let Kristoff do it," Kristoff said as he approached with another arrow, its tip drenched in alcohol. "Kristoff would take out his own eye."

Over a hundred people were gathered on the beach, and not one person made a move to stop the queen as she nocked the arrow. Even Emil's sobs had quietened in the background. They all watched her.

And she watched him, waiting.

"It doesn't have to be you," he told her.

"I know. But poor Emil needs a break. And we need to respect the tradition. You wrote it in your plans—don't say I didn't read it."

"The lighting of the pyre is a test of marksmanship," Prince Gregory said, without missing a beat in his drawing and shooting. Thudthudthud. "It is not a stage of glory. It is not an honour. It's a vow to protect those left behind by the dead. This duty typically falls on the king; the father of our nation." Thud. "This family is unfit to protect anyone. But you are different."

No, he wasn't. She was different.

"You're not our queen."

"No," Anna agreed, reaching out to ruffle his hair. "I'm your friend."

Show no weakness. Trust no one. Westergaards are lions, not mice.

She didn't miss. The arrow flew through the windless sky, arcing out of sight. A flicker on the ship followed swiftly by a dance as flames raced across the oil-slicked deck. Engulfing the bed of flowers.

Lowering the bow, Anna cupped a hand to her mouth and sang the haunting melody of a kulning.

The wind came alive around them. The fire grew. The ship started moving again; a smoking speck.

He would never see it again. He would never see her again. He would never have another reason for stupid heroics.

A fine line of scarlet flowed between Anna's left forefinger and thumb.

"You're bleeding," Oskar mumbled. That was what she got for not wearing a glove. For not wearing armour around a Westergaard.

"It's okay. It'll heal."

Not this.

Not Sofia's wounds. Not the scar the arrow's fletchings would leave on Anna's hand.

Not the sob that finally wrenched free as he tipped into her open arms.

"You're okay, Oskar," she murmured thickly into his hair. "It'll heal."

That was what he got for breaking the rules.

OoOoO

"Well?"

Yelana didn't look up from her knitting, but she heard the yelp as Elsa tripped over the ice boat she had just stepped off. "Here I thought you were the coordinated one."

"I'm sorry to disappoint." Elsa sat down on the log beside Yelana and rubbed her ankle. "Is that a scarf?"

Yelana grunted an affirmative.

A long silence.

"You're still angry with me," Elsa said quietly. "I'm sorry."

"You don't know what you're apologising for."

"I'm afraid not. Sor—" Elsa sheepishly caught herself.

Yelana exhaled through her nose. "You reminded me of her," she said shortly. "Another child who went missing when the mist came up around the Forest."

Elsa sat up straighter. "You knew my mother?"

"No. I only helped to raise the child she was before she became your mother."

"But—"

"What did you see in Ahtohallan?"

The excitement on Elsa's face instantly drained away as she winced. "It... wouldn't answer me. It's gone dark again; back to the way it was before I came to the Forest."

"So the river knows, but it will not show. Not without all the spirits."

The Fire Spirit poked his head out of the curtain of Elsa's hair to lick at a snowflake. Except Elsa, with her pensive gaze lost in the Dark Sea, didn't appear to be conjuring them for his pleasure. No—this was the snow that had fallen while Yelana had watched Elsa mumble and sweat in her sleep.

"Yelana, about the Nokk… do you know… is it…"

"I am an old woman and you are the bridge between man and nature. What do you know, Fifth Spirit?"

Elsa lowered the Fire Spirit to the sand and watched him scamper after a hermit crab. "Something happened to the Nokk. I know it; I feel it. But I wasn't there—I wasn't here. When the Nokk stopped answering my call, I was wrapped up in myself; worried that the spirits were angry with me, when they were actually afraid of me."

"Nonsense."

"I beg your pardon?"

"They are spirits of nature. Conduits for the elements. They have seen civilisations rise and fall. You are a mere human, arrogant in your belief that your mortal actions have the power to intimidate nature. You may be a spirit, child, but you are not that important. None of us are."

Elsa dropped her gaze down to her hands. On the beach, the Fire Spirit stopped and turned to look back at her, as if she had called him. "I understand what you are saying… but I still feel it. Even now, Bruni is afraid."

Yelana began a new row on the scarf. "Honeymaren told me what happened in Arendelle. Where do you think you went wrong?"

Elsa hesitated. "I interfered with nature's course when I saved the drowning people. The Nokk was furious with me."

"Why would it be? Did it not help you stop the flood from washing away your kingdom?"

"This is… was… different."

"Again: why?"

Elsa fell silent once more. The Fire Spirit returned and sat on the sand, its head tilted as the two of them gazed at each other.

Her epiphany came out as a mortified whisper: "I didn't ask. I assumed. I only thought that I needed to do something—that the Nokk needed to do something. But it has never had to help; it chose to. I took that for granted and in my panic, I… commanded it."

Yelana nodded. "Part of the fault is mine. I didn't think you would make that mistake. I didn't tell you about Vuos."

"Vuos?" Elsa seemed to recognise the word. "'First'… was Vuos the first Fifth Spirit?"

"Far from it." Yelana tightened a stitch. "If the legend is to be believed, he is the reason your role exists."

Elsa's lips parted in question. Then she pressed them shut again and angled herself towards Yelana, her expression one of undivided attentiveness. Just like another younger, more rambunctious listener.

"Nature is a force both powerful and strange. Merciful and merciless, because it does not have a will to speak of. It does not discriminate between the sinners and the saints; it gives and it takes. Then, from the source of all magic, as old as the first glaciers, the spirits were born: air, fire, water, and earth.

"The spirits inspired both awe and fear—for nature now possessed the sentience to be appeased and enraged. The spirits had emotions akin to ours, but without the threat of mortality tempering their existence. They just were, and to our ancestors, that was too whimsical an explanation for beings of such power. To presume that the spirits were created to fulfil a specific role was to suggest that they existed in subservience to a higher power. Which begged the question: whom do they serve? And so spawned tales of gods and heroes, messiahs and chosen ones.

"But Vuos—he was the first to ask that question and dare to believe that the answer could be him."

The Fire Spirit let out a displeased snort that flared skyward in flames.

"Magic begets magic. Where there is creation, there is destruction. Even the most invincible of forces cannot exist without limits. Vuos fancied himself a god, so he harnessed an ancient sorcery and bound the spirits to his will. Their command over the elements became his to wield.

"It was in vain; their immortality soon consumed his spirit. Nature's fury tore Vuos apart. But not before the spirits heard his brother, Nuor, pleading for him to restore the harmony between humans and nature. Begging that his sinful brother's life be spared. And only Ahtohallan knew what had to be done. When Vuos the False God fell, Nuor the Fifth Spirit rose."

Yelana paused her knitting to glance up at Elsa. "Many generations of Fifth Spirits connect you to Nuor, child. But not all your predecessors could resist the allure of Vuos's path. Do you understand?"

Her face a mask of horror, Elsa turned towards the Fire Spirit. "You weren't afraid of me—you were afraid for me. Worried that I would overstep my power and begin demanding yours. And then you would have had to… I'm sorry, Bruni. I'm so sorry. I didn't… I would never…"

The Fire Spirit scuttled up her arm and licked her face.

"We are the people of the sun," Yelana told her. "We are neither chosen nor blessed. We do not take for granted nature's grace or demand its protection. We merely listen. But you must do more, and less; as the Fifth Spirit, you have to maintain the balance. You must not lose sight of it."

"I already did." Elsa wrung her hands. "Yelana, the last time I felt the Nokk, it was furious with me And it was right to be! How can I be calm when I can't apologise because it's gone? There is not a single wave in the Dark Sea. The rivers have dried up. I can't sense the Nokk anywhere, and no one knows what happened. It's my job to protect the Forest and the other Spirits, but when they were in trouble, I was the one who needed protection. The Nokk was in pain and I didn't even know it. Now even Ahtohallan won't—can't—show me the way. What if something happens to the others—"

Yelana tossed the unfinished scarf over Elsa's head, breaking her off mid-sentence. "Breathe."

Elsa's hands came up in surprise, but she didn't remove the scarf. A moment later, Yelana heard an exhale, followed by a quiet, "Do you have chocolate hidden up your sleeve, too?"

"Do you have another fever? You're making no sense."

"Sorry. You reminded me of Anna. You sounded like her." Elsa pulled the scarf off her head and folded it, holding it back out.

"Keep it. Finish it. It's for you; all Northuldran children should have one."

Elsa drew the scarf to her chest. "Thank you, Yelana," she said quietly. "I know I need to find out what happened to the Nokk and bring it back. I know I need to apologise. I just… don't know where to start."

"Whatever happened to the Water Spirit, you were not the cause. That does not mean you can't be the solution."

At that moment, the surrounding breeze swirled with leaves. Elsa perked up as her hair flipped and blew into her face. "Gale," she breathed in audible relief. "How was she?"

The Wind Spirit deposited a folded paper boat in her lap. The Fire Spirit crept forward curiously.

Yet Elsa did not read the note right away. She cradled the boat in her hands, running her fingertip across its folded edges, and the simple act seemed to anchor her. "Yelana? Why did Vuos seek power? Why was it not enough for him to be loved by Nuor?"

Yelana watched the Wind Spirit skim across the Dark Sea in an attempt to coax a ripple of life from the water. "Only Ahtohallan knows."

"I had a feeling you would say that." Elsa stood up, her eyes now bright and determined. "But there is something Ahtohallan does not know—and I know where to find it."

A/N: I wrote an icebros oneshot between this chapter and the last, because I couldn't get enough of writing the Kristoff braids Elsa's hair scene. Please check out Of Nowhere in Particular if you're interested!

P.S. A note on the sea burial: not gonna lie, this scene was almost scrapped because I was clearly inspired by Hollywood (actually, it was Game of Thrones) but then did research and found out that such 'Viking funerals' are historically inaccurate. Apparently burning a ship is expensive and, uh, messy because the fire doesn't burn hot enough to properly cremate. But it exists because Anna with a bow overrides all. That was honestly my thought process. Yes, I am an incredibly simple person.

P.P.S. Hamilton reference?!