The Next Unknown
15 – A Scared Child
OoOoO
Release. Thud. Release. Thud.
'This family is unfit to protect anyone. But you are different.'
Release—
'You are a shadow.'
The last knife flew wide and sailed into the bushes behind the target board.
He didn't move immediately. It took him several seconds to realise it was out of habit; holding his position so Sofia could come over and correct his form. Wow, Oskar, he could hear her chuckle. I think you decimated an anthill. Go apologise.
Today, his form was perfect; it was his vision that had betrayed him.
It kept showing him a man, tall and thin, standing beside the bullseye with his arms crossed, unfazed by the possibility of getting stabbed by a wayward throw. Oskar saw shirt sleeves rolled up four times, always four, and shaggy auburn hair impatiently hacked off with a knife despite Sofia's pleas to let her trim it properly.
He saw everything but the face.
He couldn't have forgotten it so quickly. So easily. He could still picture Sofia as clearly as a photograph in his hands—so why was Prince Gregory already slipping through his fingers like water?
Maybe it would be different if he had stared less at the ground. Spent less time telling himself that they would be the same height one day, and by then he would have earned the right to look the man in the eye and try to call him 'Father'.
Now he had all the time in the world to live with the regret.
Someone whistled from behind him. "Amazing! Remind me never to get on your nasty side."
Trying to act like she hadn't startled him, Oskar crossed over to the target board to yank out the knives, pointedly ignoring the queen as she jogged past to rustle through the bushes.
It wasn't long before she returned, hopping on one foot to pull out a twig that had somehow got into her boot. "Here you go." She held out the last knife.
Days of passing her bedroom without entering, followed by nights of pretending to be asleep each time she snuck in to check on him. Of making himself scarce whenever he heard her voice in the hallways, never meeting her eyes. Always staring at the ground.
Now, though, there was no avoiding it. She stood in front of him, bright-haired and grinning, the same Anna as usual. Except for the still-pink scar on the side of her head.
Anna's smile slipped. "Are you still mad at me? I'll never figure out how to make it up to you if you don't tell me what I did. Give me a clue?"
She could keep wondering, because that was what she had almost done to him. He'd told her to be careful; to take her guard detail seriously; to run. And she hadn't. He was sick of stupid heroics. Sick of being the fool who had allowed into his heart a person even more insanely self-sacrificial than Sofia.
Show no weakness. Trust no one. Westergaards are lions, not mice.
He was sick of being a Westergaard.
"Oskar?"
He made the mistake of glancing at Anna's hopeful, puppy-like expression.
Her tentative smile broadened as she used the knife to gesture at the target board. "Can I try?"
'You're the queen,' he had told her in the beginning. 'Do whatever you want.'
Wasn't she sick of trying so hard?
Oskar stepped back—a fair distance out of the way, because it would be just like Anna to unwittingly unlock the technique of boomeranging a knife back at their faces.
"Oops!"
Oskar blinked. The knife was gone, but it wasn't on the target. "Where'd it go?"
His response seemed to delight Anna. "Oh, just into the pond!" she said, too enthusiastically.
"In the what? How?"
"Hush, it was way lighter than I thought. Where did you even get these knives from? Was it Mattias again? Do I need to have another talk with him?"
Oskar almost bit his tongue stifling the impulse to point out that if Mattias hadn't given him that first knife, he and Anna would be dead right now. He also didn't mention that the knives had come from Osmund. 'Just from scrap metal,' the old blacksmith had grunted. 'Didn't want to steal too much from the queen. Better than nothing, next time there's trouble.'
Emil, too, had looked like he itched for the resources to remake Oskar's custom bow. Both men knew his measurements by heart. They knew there was always a next time.
Anna knew nothing, though, so Oskar said nothing.
He passed her another knife and watched her smile shine impossibly brighter. So predictable.
He had missed her previous throw, so it was only when he saw her gauge the weapon's balance on her index and middle fingers that Oskar wondered if Anna might actually know what she was doing. Until her hand snapped out to the side and sent the knife whizzing across the yard.
It slammed into the board less than an inch from the bullseye.
Anna made a noise that was somehow a cross between a squeal and a groan. "So close!"
Oskar stared incredulously at the quivering hilt. "Did you throw that with no spin?"
"Hm? I dunno; the dartboard in my office is so flimsy it falls off the wall if I get the distance wrong and hit it with the handle—which was all the time. So now I just throw it straight."
"You 'just' throw it straight," Oskar repeated. "Do you know how much practice it takes to throw a knife like that? Who are you?"
"The queen of productive procrastination. Duh." Both Anna's humour and tone dipped. "And you? Who are you, Oskar? Where did a twelve-year-old learn to fight like that?"
Don't tell her. She'll never find out.
Avoiding Anna's searching gaze, he stepped forward to retrieve her knife. It was stuck fast in the wood, thrown with a force and accuracy that could not have been a fluke. It seemed he was forever underestimating this woman and overestimating himself.
Maybe it was time to stop overthinking.
Returning to Anna's side, Oskar abruptly pivoted and threw one of the blades.
Thud. Straight through the boundary of the inner ring.
"Did you—did you even look?" Anna sputtered. "That's practically a bullseye! You're amazing. Seriously, I'll never believe you're only… oh, you want me to have another go?"
Holding out the second knife, Oskar emptied his mind of second thoughts. If she beat him, he would tell her the truth. Simple. Fair.
Yet, when Anna's hand closed around the knife's hilt, his own grip tightened on the blade. Unable to let it go.
"Whoa, careful there. You're going to do an Elsa and cut open your hand."
"Anna."
Don't tell her.
"Yeah?" she asked distractedly.
She'll never find out.
"I'm not Prince Gregory's son."
OoOoO
"How much longer?"
The captain's hat immediately fell over his eyes as he turned towards Kristoff. It was quite a ridiculous hat, more feathers than practical coverage, and looked like it should have taken literal flight in the sea breeze long ago. And yet the hat was far from the ship's most bizarre feature.
"If the wind holds up, we should reach Arendelle by midday, sir." The captain nervously straightened his hat. "They are expecting us, yes?"
"Should be. The Duke said he sent his fastest rider to deliver my letter. What, are you afraid Elsa will drop an iceberg on a Weselton ship without asking questions?" Kristoff chuckled. Then he saw the man's moustache quiver. "You're kidding, right? Because I am. Elsa would never do that."
"O-Of course, sir."
"You don't believe me, do you?"
When the other man merely gulped, Kristoff sighed and ran a hand over his stubble. He really needed to shave. "Alright, look—I know the Duke's painted her out to be some kind of witch, and I'm not saying that her magic isn't what it is. But Elsa isn't just your enemy's enemy. If our two nations are expected to get along during and after this war, you need to realise she's human like you and me. Got it?"
"Yes, sir."
Kristoff nodded self-consciously and turned to go. Then he paused. "I've been wondering: is that hat really part of your uniform?"
The man's grimace said it all.
Kristoff solemnly clapped him on the back. "Thank you for your service, mate."
When the Duke had said their goods were loaded onto a "ship", Kristoff had expected a cargo vessel; perhaps the least seaworthy one in the fleet. He and Erling had even speculated that the Duke might conveniently neglect to provide a crew—they certainly wouldn't put it past him. What they hadn't expected was for Prince Fredrik to regain enough strength to offer up his 'personal vessel'.
The ship was named the Flamingo, and she was more than a little pink.
Kristoff shielded his eyes as he crossed the deck, peering up at the fuchsia sails. He tried not to think of the extravagant sum that must have been spent on the colourful dye alone. That didn't include the rose-shaped handles on cabin doors, the taffrails adorned with an intricate pattern of feathers, the ship's figurehead—dear Flemmingrad, the figurehead. Then there was the fact that he still couldn't believe they had done it—that they were sailing back to Arendelle with crates of weapons and armour stowed below deck. In a ship that would no doubt put tears of laughter in Anna's eyes.
God, he couldn't wait to see her.
"You seem to get along well with soldiers."
Kristoff nearly slipped; his damned sea legs consistently disappeared as soon as he tried to remember them. "Erling! What are you doing down there?"
"Burning." Despite the jacket draped over his head, the councillor's round face was sweaty and pink. He sat at the foot of the mainmast, perusing a book he must have plucked from the well-stocked shelf in Fredrik's study.
The Flamingo rode over another swell, and Kristoff reached out to steady himself. "Maybe going below deck instead of sticking around to eavesdrop would help with the sunburn. You sure make it your business to know everything about everyone, don't you?"
"Grossly incorrect. I was downwind and your voices merely carried. I do not know everything—only the most important things about people worth knowing about."
"Wow, you really said that aloud. And you wonder why people don't like you." Too late, Kristoff remembered that he wasn't goofing around with Ronny or Herman. "Wait, I didn't mean that."
Erling turned a page without looking up. "I don't need to wonder. Nor do I care."
They could go on forever like this, Kristoff realised. So he took in a breath and, on the exhale, blurted, "I'm sorry."
"Did I not just say it does not bother me?"
"I meant… I'm sorry for doubting you the moment things went south. That wasn't fair."
"Nothing ever is. Distrusting me was the wisest thing you have done since the wedding, and you would do well to preserve that suspicion. Our queen is gullible enough on her own."
Kristoff's brow twitched. "Why do you have to throw yourself on the blade every time I start to—"
"Understand me?" Erling's book shut with a snap. "With all due respect, sir, I owe no one the obligation of laying bare my thoughts so they might be at ease in my presence."
"Fair, but you do owe Anna an explanation. I don't know what happened between you two, but don't you reckon it's time you let her back in? That's what friends do."
"We are not friends."
"Anna would disagree."
"She befriends everyone."
"Nope. She likes everyone."
"I fail to see the difference."
"Come on, man; do you even know what friendship is?" Another jest—except there was no response.
Kristoff blinked and turned to see Erling silently wiping his glasses. "You've never had friends before?"
"I had two. It does not mean I must entertain their daughters."
It took a moment to sink in. "Hold up—you knew Anna and Elsa's parents? The king and queen?"
"No." The lenses already looked clear as water, but Erling continued to vigorously clean his glasses. "I never knew them at all."
"What do you—"
A shout across the deck cut through Kristoff's question. "Boat on starboard! They're signalling for help."
OoOoO
"What do you mean, silly?" Anna knelt in front of Oskar. He was still holding the knife. She wrapped her hands over his white knuckles. "Just because Gregory's… well… missing, doesn't mean he stops being your father."
"He never was." Oskar's toneless voice reminded Anna of their first meeting. The icy water, his frightening serenity and vacant gaze. "I've wished for it all my life. But that's not who he was to me."
"You said—"
"I lied."
Anna blinked. "You what?"
"I lied."
"No, you didn't."
"Damn it, Anna—I know what I did." Oskar ripped his hands free of hers and backed away. "I lied to you! I'm not Prince Gregory's son. I'm not a prince. I'm not a bloody Westergaard."
To you. Of Oskar's outburst, those were the only words that found purchase in Anna's muddled mind.
'What's your name?' she had asked him, so long ago.
"But… why would you do that?"
"God, how thick can you get? Why do you think?" Oskar's eyes were a pair of braziers, flashing with flames of frustration. "A bunch of half-drowned refugees wash up on your shores. You feed and clothe them out of the goodness of your heart. Then you discover half of them are fugitives, running from the same mad king who blackmailed every kingdom around you. Suddenly these freeloaders are more trouble than their worth in good karma. Would you have continued sheltering them without some sort of collateral?"
"I…" Anna recalled her sinking stomach in the Great Hall, faced with the generosity she could no longer afford as queen. The precautions she had forgotten to take in order to protect Arendelle from anyone and anything. She'd vowed to do better. And yet. "I told you that night, didn't I? I said I wouldn't ever regret saving you. I meant it."
"Bullshit."
"Oskar—"
"Don't comfort me!"
Anna didn't notice that she had reached instinctively for him. Swallowing, she drew her hands to her chest.
'Were you planning to lock me up if I lied?' he'd snapped at her and Elsa when they had questioned him.
Lips dry, Anna tried again. "By 'collateral'… don't tell me you made yourself a hostage on purpose."
Silence.
Her stomach plummeted. "Oh, Oskar. I'm not... you did what you thought you had to do. I can't be angry with that."
"Really?" Oskar said sarcastically. "Who's lying now?"
He was right. Except Anna wasn't lying to anyone but herself. She was good at that. Telling herself that Elsa still loved her; that their parents did what was best; that the sun always set on something beautiful, day after day.
Anna threw up her hands. "Okay, fine—I am angry! Is that what you want me to say? It's fine that you didn't trust me in the beginning—but didn't you feel safe yesterday? What about the day before that, and last week? I've never doubted you, so why did it take you so long to trust me with the truth?"
"Because."
"Because what? Haven't I earned your trust by now?"
"Because I was scared!" It was almost a lion's roar. It would have been, if Oskar's young voice hadn't cracked. "Because it was too good to be true, alright? You are too good to be true. And I…" The flames in his eyes became glistening pools. "I didn't want you to hate me."
He might as well have plunged the knife into her chest.
Anna's vision blurred as she gazed incomprehensibly at the small boy standing before her. Twelve years old. A boy who could hit targets without looking and fearlessly take on adversaries three times his size with nothing but a dagger. A boy who was, apparently, not at all the boy she thought she knew.
Wasn't he, though?
"Oskar," Anna whispered. "Look at me."
"Go away."
"I'm sorry I yelled. Come on. Please?"
He glanced up like a wounded animal peeking from its besieged den. It was all she needed.
Anna opened her arms and watched him flinch. She waited.
"I'm not a dog," Oskar muttered. But he took one tentative step forward. Then another.
When he came within reach, Anna tugged the knife out of his grip, and exhaled. "No; you're only a kid. I know you hate hearing it, but that's just a fact. A lot of bad things happened to you, and it doesn't make you a bad person. Okay? Sometimes we're forced to make choices when we're mad or scared or stressed. And when it gets too much, it's fine to let yourself—"
The force of said child launching himself into her arms nearly sent her tumbling onto her back. Oskar clung to her, just like he had in the water. Except this time, he wasn't shaking from the cold.
"… cry." A lump rose in Anna's throat. She wrapped her arms around him. Gosh, he was tiny. Strong, yes; but so, so small. "I don't hate you, dummy. How could you even think that?"
"Stop it," he hiccupped.
"I'm not lying."
"Stop being nice."
Hadn't he told her that once before? Anna laughed thickly. "Just admit you like me."
"No."
"It was worth a try." She paused. Asked anyway. "Oskar? Caleb didn't send you to spy on me, did he?"
Oskar's head snapped up and collided with her chin. "What the hell, Anna?"
"Ow. What? It's an honest question!"
"It's a stupid question!"
"Well, then call me an idiot for trying to think smarter!"
"You're an idiot! You—stop laughing."
Her breath hitched with a watery chuckle. "I'm not laughing."
Oskar's scowl softened. "Don't do that either, you crybaby. Ugh, don't wipe your face on my shirt!"
"That's my line, you little hypocrite. This is my favourite blouse."
Oskar swatted away Anna's hands. Then he lifted the bottom of his shirt and roughly dried her cheeks himself. She let him, vaguely remembering the last time he had mopped blood off her face.
Oskar mumbled something.
"Sorry?"
"Sorry."
"Yes, that's what I asked."
"That's what I said, you moron."
"Oh! Wait. Aww." Smiling, Anna sat down and considered the cloudless sky above them. "It all makes sense now. You are way too ill-mannered to be royalty. Zero etiquette."
"Oh, shut up."
"See? Exhibit A."
Oskar sat down crosslegged beside her and picked at the grass. "I thought if I could pretend to be someone important, you would just send me back to the Isles as a bargaining chip for Arendelle's safety. Then everyone else could stay. And I'd get a chance to slit Caleb's throat."
The way he said it—cold, hard, determined—sent Anna back to the woods, huddled together behind a tree as she tried to convince him to hand over the knife. Back to 'You've never killed anyone before.'
Her gaze fell on the target board and the knife stuck into it, almost dead centre. "Sounds like you've done it before… kill, I mean."
"… More than you have, that's for sure."
Anna winced. "Well, now that difference is one body less."
"He deserved it. Trust me."
Anna wasn't so sure. Who were they to decide who deserved to live? But who was she to judge this boy?
Giving Oskar's skinny frame an assuring squeeze, Anna sighed, "At least we're safe now."
"For now," Oskar amended irritably. "Next time, you run when I tell you to. Got it?"
"Excuse me? You're talking to the queen here, kid. I gave you an order, so you should have stayed away like I told you to."
"That's exactly why you should have put your own safety first, dimwit. You're the queen. I'm just a nobody. Expendable. No, listen, Anna—that's who I am. What I am." Oskar's words rushed together as if vying to release a restless dove from its cage. "I'm just an orphan Prince Gregory took in as a newborn. He's only ever asked for one thing from me, so I've spent my life making sure I could do that one thing right. I practiced walking silently. I learned how to disarm opponents larger than me. I taught myself to use every weapon in the armoury, and how to become one myself if nothing else was in reach. All I wanted was to make him proud—it's useless to thank him for raising me until he sees it was worth it, right?"
'Prince Gregory and I. We don't have that kind of relationship.'
"But it wasn't worth it," Oskar bit out, his voice wavering. "I wasn't worth it. Because I was meant to be her shadow. If I'd done that properly, she would still be here. Not me."
"'She'?" Anna questioned. Yet her mind was already flashing back to the frozen fjord—to the memory of a teenage girl lying on the ice, her face obscured by thick tresses.
'We weren't real siblings, anyway. She just decided to… care.'
Auburn hair. Like Runo's beard, and Niklas's curls. Like Hans.
"Oh," Anna breathed. "Oh."
"I was supposed to protect her." Oskar's whisper came out small and broken. "I promised him."
OoOoO
A small boat pulled up beside the Flamingo. Hakon's eye caught on the dark stains he saw spattered across the light-coloured wood.
The Flamingo's captain held onto his ridiculous hat as he leaned over the taffrail. "What is your business?"
"We need medical attention!" came a woman's shouted response, echoing across the water.
"We do not have a medic onboard."
"Please! He will die if you refuse to help!"
Sucking on his teeth, the captain looked to Kristoff. "Prince Fredrik placed us under your command until we reach Arendelle, sir."
The answer was obvious; it had been cemented as soon as the woman said 'if you refuse to help'.
Kristoff had already unbuttoned his sleeves and singlehandedly hoisted up a thick coil of rope onto his shoulder. "Throw down the ladder. He doesn't look like he can climb; I'll go down and—"
"Allow me, sir," Herman cut in. He stepped forward to take the rope from Kristoff, underestimating its weight as he stumbled. "I'll make sure he's secure so we can pull him up."
"Oh. Right." Dropping his hands, Kristoff looked both perplexed and exasperated. "I'll stay put, then. Up here. To pull."
"Herman, don't go alone. Take Ronny." Petra's narrowed gaze hadn't left the boat. "Keep your wits about you."
"You think they're suspicious?"
"I don't believe in coincidences."
Hakon didn't, either, but he said nothing. Something had triggered a sense of unease. Something familiar. If he could only prune parts of his perfect memory, he'd be able to retrieve the useful details more efficiently. If that were possible, his childhood would be the first to be unloaded.
Watching sailors scurry across the deck at Kristoff's orders, Hakon became aware that he wasn't the only one staying out of the commotion's way. Petra stood further along the taffrail, watching Herman and Ronny descend the rope ladder.
"I share your misgivings," he said. "Be ready."
Petra's head turned slightly, but they both continued eyeing the boat below them. "Finally talking to me, Councillor? I wasn't aware you had taken notice of my existence this past week."
"You are His Highness's sword and shield. I am his analyst and advisor. The only meaningful conversation we might share would merely indicate a failure of our duties. In any case, I wasn't aware you cared for my acknowledgement."
"That's because I don't."
Hakon chortled. "If you must know, I think of you as the most sensible among our party. You possess a rare quality known as common sense."
"I hope you're not expecting a 'thank you'."
"Of course not. It was an observation, not a compliment."
"Good to know," Petra replied dryly. "For the record, I've survived in the Enchanted Forest for as long as you've been alive. I'm always ready."
It was clear that Petra had no interest in entertaining him, and it didn't bother Hakon in the slightest. Body language was a book he had read cover to cover thousands of times before. After all, miscalculating his mother's mood had only resulted in another welt that needed to be hidden beneath suffocating sweaters. So he learned to observe and remember, and never quite learned how to switch off that vigilance around everyone else.
Seeing through lies, noticing nervous ticks, planting the right ideas—it was all a matter of studying the tapestry and plucking the correct thread to unravel it all. When one grew up tiptoeing around the most unpredictable of minds, the rest was laughably easy to figure out. Which meant that it was also easy for him to see why children and adults alike gave him a wide berth.
Only one foolish person hadn't been intimidated by him.
"You are impossible, you know that? You're so good at understanding others, you could make a lot of friends if you only put in the effort. And smiled like a normal person."
"You're already enough of a nuisance. Why would any sane person want more of you?"
"Good question; you'll have to ask Agnarr. Oh, that's why I came—join us for dinner."
"No, thank you. This is precisely why friends are unnecessary; they grow up and make your life complicated by marrying the king."
"It's your fault for hanging around this pregnant lady instead of befriending kids your age. You're thirteen, Hakon! Watching you waste your youth like this is making me age faster."
"That's your problem, seeing as you are the one who won't leave me alone. Also, don't blame your fossilisation on… where are you dragging me?"
"To play with Elsa. She'll teach you to stop speaking like a dictionary."
"I refuse. There is nothing wrong with my lexicon and you can't force me to spend another afternoon having a tea party with a two-year-old."
"Can't I? Someone keeps reminding me I'm the queen now..."
Inconvenient. Meddlesome. Like mother, like daughter.
"Went down there for nothing," Herman announced as he and Ronny climbed back up the ladder. "She barely let us touch the guy. Insisted on getting him up herself."
"He's in a bad way, though," Ronny added. "Lost an arm. I'm surprised she managed to keep him alive this long."
Petra clicked her tongue as she shot another look down the side of the ship. "What are they doing so far out at sea in a boat that looks like it'll capsize at a sneeze? We're days away from Weselton and they clearly didn't come from Arendelle. If she tries to tell us they were attacked by sharks, I will shove her overboard."
"You are quite ruthless, aren't you, Hakon?"
"Have I offended you, Your Majesty?"
"No, not at all. I have been thinking. Iduna and I have watched you grow up; you are extremely bright. More insightful than half my council."
"That sounds like a problem with the council more than it is a compliment to me."
"See? This is exactly what I mean. You could learn the foundations as my aide; build connections, understand the policies, develop your stance on them."
"I'm afraid I don't follow, sir."
"Oh, we both know you do. I promised Iduna I would not pressure you, and I don't intend to. But the truth is that Arendelle would benefit from a mind like yours. Tell me, Hakon: have you ever considered following your father's footsteps into politics?"
"Can I speak honestly? I never knew my father. My mother mistakes me for him frequently enough that I don't have the slightest interest in becoming him."
"Ah. Of course. I didn't mean to—"
"So don't ask me to follow him. Ask me to follow you and Iduna. And I'll say yes."
The injured man appeared over the rails. Ronny and Herman took up the rope's slack while Kristoff hurried forward. The man sank bonelessly into his arms and practically needed to be carried across the deck, letting out a hiss of pain when he was propped up against the same mast under which Hakon had sat earlier. His head drooped over his fluttering chest, face obscured by lank, shoulder-length hair the colour of grimy rust. Almost the same shade as the dried blood caking the left side of his torso.
"He's burning up," Kristoff remarked. "Damn; I gave all my healing crystals to Fredrik. We're still hours away from land. Can we—"
"Don't touch him!" The woman had reached the top of the ladder. Hakon caught only fleeting details—a vicious glare, mature features weathered by the elements, fair hair matted down in a Dutch braid—before she pulled herself up and over the railing with startling strength.
No one saw Petra draw her sword. The woman skidded to a halt, hazel eyes dropping to the blade pointed at her chest.
"Rather calm, aren't you?" Petra noted coolly. "I'll give you one chance to explain where you came from."
"Shipwreck."
"Elaborate."
"Is this how Arendellian soldiers treat those in need?"
"Of course not. This is how I treat suspicious outsiders who can instantly recognise a foreign soldier's uniform. You just blew your last chance to pass off as a civilian. Not that I would have believed you. Now…" Petra raised the sword towards the woman's neck. "The truth. Keep in mind that I can carve you up like a Christmas roast before you take three steps."
"Three steps?" The woman snorted. "I will break your skull before you can register the regret."
Petra's lips thinned into a chilling smile. "Is that a challenge?"
"Is that fear?"
The man let out a wet cough. "Josefine. I'll speak for myself."
It was the immediate change in the woman's demeanour; the way her stance slackened despite the sword at her neck, prioritising command over instincts. Hakon had seen it before. Then it finally clicked—he had seen her before. Two years ago, standing at attention in a chamber seated with representatives from each kingdom; same hair, face less haggard, impeccable uniform. Which meant her companion was—
The injured man lifted his head, revealing a familiar, sunburnt face and deep green eyes with a piercing gaze. "All we seek is passage to Arendelle, to find my daughter. I give my word that we will cause no trouble."
Despite having been surrounded by ghosts his entire life, it was the first time Hakon had ever locked eyes with one. "It is too late for that when your very survival already spells out trouble, Your Highness."
A/N: It's surreal to finally pen down the scenes I've pictured since chapter 2. It's been several long months of trying to make sure Oskar was consistent without slipping up. That kid is a much better liar than I am.
Thank you for following the story (and Oskar's journey) this far!
P.S. ink-quill-art on tumblr drew breathtaking art of Anna and Oskar's scene! I've linked it to the masterlist pinned at the top of my tumblr (themarshmallowattack). Please check it out and fawn over it like I did!