Late on the morning of Yule, Kristoff woke to find that Anna, despite having stayed up late in the night, was already bustling about their room, busy and determined. Groggy still from sleep, he scrubbed his hand across his face and asked in a humored tone, "What are you doing, Feisty-pants?"
Bad idea.
Anna stopped, and in her hands were rags. Her copper hair had been piled on top of her head haphazardly. But the thing that let Kristoff really know he shouldn't have asked that question was the look in her blue eyes; they were half-crazed, stranger's eyes in his wife's face, bright but wild with a strange gleam. "Cleaning," was the short reply.
In true Anna fashion, the explanation was much longer and more convoluted. It started, "I woke up this morning and I just had this feeling… I remember my mother having a lot of maids, not because she needed them to attend to her, but because she had a habit of making messes—," and ended several minutes later with: "… And all the dust, Kristoff! This place was closed off for almost fifteen years! I started with the furniture—which, just let me tell you is filthy —and I sent the drapes off to be cleaned except for the ones in our room, and I just keep thinking that the walls—the walls , Kristoff—they haven't been cleaned— ever ! So, we have to clean them, wash them. Please, get out of bed and help me wash the walls."
Kristoff had never, ever been so happy to be summoned for a service in the chapel as he was an hour later. Anna seemed hell-bent on scrubbing every nook and cranny in their room, which would take much longer than they had been allowed to get dressed and presentable for the service. A couple of maids worked on Anna's hair, though she was entirely focused on how the walls would have to be finished when the service was over—"Really? Can't we skip this one? I know it's Yule, but… this can't wait,"—while they did their job and dressed her to look normal. It took coaxing to get her out of the room and away from the mess—truthfully, the walls were pretty dirty—and down to the chapel, yet somehow, Kristoff and Anna were in the front pew on time just as the service started.
His wife in no mood to be much company, Kristoff took stock of who else was around him. Elsa was on the other side of Anna, wearing real cloth clothes—the kind that people made with thread and needle, not fashioned for themselves from ice—which was astounding in itself, but paid no attention to his play to capture hers. He didn't even bother looking at Kai and Gerda, who made up the rest of their pew, and saw many familiar faces from the castle amongst the people he assumed were their families. He turned his head as far as his neck allowed and tried to find anyone else. Egon and Linnéa were in the next pew behind them, seemingly cuddled, her head on his shoulder. At first, Kristoff assumed that Hans was beside them, just further out of view, but after turning and looking from the other side, he saw no sign of the prince. Really? Hans got out of the service? What did he do, and could Kristoff do it too?
Facing the front again, Kristoff tried not to look as bored as he felt. The Trolls weren't exactly Christian—one of the reasons that he hadn't had a real Yule until last year—and so most of the stuff that the man in the robes said went in one ear and out of the other. He had participated in the marriage ceremony, but it had seemed so generic that the Fjordsman thought nothing of it besides what he vowed to do for Anna. He didn't have much of an opinion on the whole religion-thing, aside from what did it matter for him right now? He'd figure it out when he was old and about to die.
When the whole thing was over, Kristoff quickly told Anna that he was going to see Sven and that he'd be back up to clean later. He didn't stick around to find out what her response was to that. In his haste to be the first out the door he ran into Hans. At least he knew that the Prince hadn't escaped the torture either. A quick glance at his still thin face, and the memory of the lack of fingernails, and Kristoff left before he could think anything else that would make him feel bad for the man.
Obvious agitation is hard to ignore, except when worrying over threats of war. Queen Elsa hadn't paid attention to Anna until after Kristoff had left, when her sister poked a boney finger into her upper arm, pushing with just enough pressure to feel like the finger pushed muscle in between the bones. "Ouch," the Queen said, grabbing her arm and looking at Anna in injured indignance.
"If you'd have listened to me, I wouldn't have had to do that," Anna said, crossing her arms over the bump in her stomach, "I said: 'I like your clothes,' and then I said, 'Are you listening to me?' and when you hadn't heard either one, I asked if the sky was a pretty shade of green today, or if the moon was getting close to noon or not."
"Oh," Elsa said, rubbing her arm, "Sorry. I have something on my mind."
"So do I, but you don't see me spacing out when somebody talks to me," Anna said with a smile—Elsa was starting to realize that her sister was acting weird—and plowed on into how the walls in the entire castle needed to be scrubbed before she gave birth—actually, they better do it now, because even though the midwife said she was still three months away from having the baby, she just couldn't imagine her stomach getting much bigger, and that seemed like something that was wrong, but to get back to her point, she just really thought that the walls were too dirty and dusty and filthy to have a baby live encased in, and she should know—she had spent all the time Elsa had been in her room roaming the castle—she had been through every door there was to the place, which brought her to the doors and how some of them closed too roughly and some of them didn't close at all and that some of them had better be sanded down, and…, and…
Elsa couldn't handle it. She got up, telling Anna that maybe she'd better talk to Kai and Gerda—both of whom had hoped to escape notice—about the cleaning, and that she had more pressing matters to attend to. Anna called after her, "More pressing than the general filthiness of the castle, in which we all wallow like pigs?"
Just as soon as that baby was born, Elsa was hoping that Anna would go back to being normal. Or that this too would pass. Soon.
Elsa didn't want to go back to the letters, so instead of that, she went for a walk to inspect all the "filthiness" of the castle. She didn't see what Anna saw, but she imagined that Anna saw everything, and to her eye, everything was wrong. Invariably, she was driven to thinking about how, if she did as the letters bid and chose a husband, she would perhaps be pregnant, too, and maybe just as crazy as her sister. But then again, if she chose a husband, there was no telling if he would survive the first kiss, much less conception. Kissing had all the appeal of putting her lips to a viper's fangs. She didn't think anyone would survive it—a true kiss of death, and then where would she be? Then again, maybe she should just agree to marry someone, and when they died of frostbite or something else ice-related, maybe then all of the letters would stop. Who would want to send their sons off to die?
Maybe it was filthy in the castle, because suddenly, Elsa couldn't breathe inside; the air was too stuffy and raked her throat and nose as she took the stale air into her lungs and pushed it back out. She found the first door with a balcony and nearly froze the door trying to get it open. That was one of those reasons why she didn't think a physical relationship was possible with a man and her. Just a little thing like not being able to breathe and she'd freeze important parts of him, like his heart, or lungs. Overcome with the fear of hurting someone and the helplessness she'd always felt in conjunction with fear, and the general aggravation of being threatened for not wanting to get married, Elsa put her hands on the railing of the balcony and froze the entirety of the platform on which she was standing. It was a sharp, clear freeze, like the ice she had accidentally barricaded herself behind when Anna had taken her glove on the night of her coronation. It grew up the side of the castle and made a little prison for her to stand in, the spikes joining at the ninety-degree where they met in startlingly regular patterns. For just a minute, she couldn't think about the lack of control she had on her powers but reveled in their release, which she so often checked with her willpower.
It felt good—felt as good as building the castle had felt; felt as good as wearing her signature dress—so much better than wearing stuffy cloth clothes. It felt like catching the light in a crystal—like she was the crystal and she was throwing the light. It didn't tingle with heat but with energy, and she let it out of her body and onto surfaces where it grew its own crystals and threw its own light.
In her brief revelry, Elsa didn't give pause to look around and make sure no one saw her lapse. Had she looked into the door, she might have seen the figure that obtusely lurked in the shadows and would have been prepared for the startling arrival of the owner of the shadow.
"Oh, Elsa!" Olaf cooed, his snowy feet rubbing across the wooden floor of the balcony, "It's so beautiful. Like a really bright room made out of windows! We could bring some chairs out here and sit and just relax, because it's so cool, but also in the sun. I like it." Elsa had put a hand to her breast, so surprised she was, and only then caught up to what the snowman was saying.
"I didn't mean to do this," she said, not apologizing, but as though she didn't understand why he thought it was something special. "I just wanted fresh air," the Queen tried to explain, but not wanting to own up to losing control. Olaf took it to mean something different. "Some fresh air in a nice cool area; I understand. I like it. Hey! I have an idea! Why don't you make rooms to live in out of ice for the summer? You could have a little castle attached to this one, just like the one on the mountain?"
She started to wave the idea off, an old knee-jerk reaction, born from the mantra "Conceal, don't feel, don't let it show," that her father had instilled in her, but as she opened her mouth to dismiss it, she thought it through. If she did raise her own castle in the bay, adjacent and connected to her family castle, she would, perhaps, finally have an outlet for her powers. She would have to work on it every day—the coming heat would certainly melt a few layers off of the ice, and if she put support for it in the water, the water would melt it almost as fast—so she could consider it dangerous for anyone to enter besides herself and warn others accordingly. It would provide a place for her to be alone with her thoughts, maybe a place to hide from Anna's new intensity. She paused, mouth open and index finger raised, and then rerouted: "I think I would like that, Olaf."
"Well, it was your idea, so I'm glad," Olaf said, giggling, then looking at the ice on the balcony one more time before taking his personal flurry and himself back inside. He looked out at Elsa and said, "You look nice today, but I like your dresses better." His snowy little feet shuffled off down the hall, no doubt on his way to see Sven. Elsa stayed on the balcony until she had calmed down as much as she could, squared her shoulders, and left it to convene a council to decide what to do about the suitors.
Arendelle, as a modern nation, could not boast of a large military. Their navy was only of the average size, and only capable of above average maritime offence. They had the royal guard, and a small army, but overall, a wartime nation they were not. The public found it more lucrative to be in the trade game, sailors making more on a cargo ship than they would in the service of the crown, and of-age men making a greater living as shop owners or farmers or scholars. These things were glaringly obvious to everyone in Arendelle when it leaked from the castle that the Queen was to choose a husband or face war.
The public had two minds about that. One, more than half, expected their Queen to start looking for a husband among those sent by their own nations, and assumed that within the year, they would have a king. Two, less than half, assumed that Queen Elsa could refuse the suitors altogether and simply fight a war all on her own. Arendelle would be safe from all assaults with a monarch able to harness the harshness of winter, having lived through her unintentional summertime blizzard almost two years before.
Egon was part of those that thought Elsa would fight—and win—all on her own. That was, until she made her decision, five days after Yule. Linnéa had been cleaning non-stop at the behest of Anna, as had the rest of the staff since the holiday, and had only just dropped down beside him on their bed before being disturbed by another maid passing by. That maid had knocked and proclaimed through the door, "The Queen's made her decision! She's going to announce it in the throne room!"
The veteran looked at his wife, who made a face like a child against the mattress, fists curling tightly. He rubbed at her back for a moment before getting off the bed and waiting for her. Still pouting, she rolled to her feet again and let him tuck her under his arm, no words needed. They left the room, steadily making their way up to where a crowd had already gathered. Egon led them through the throng to stand beside Kristoff and Anna in the front. He looked around out of habit for Hans, didn't see him, and picked up on the conversation already going on between Kristoff and Linnéa: "—do you think she'll actually go with suitors?"
"Maybe," Kristoff said, and to Egon's ears it sounded like he thought it would be more likely for the moon to turn face—turn face to an actual face—and laugh at them, "She doesn't have to accept threats. I've lived through one of her storms, just barely. No way that anyone could survive one if she meant to attack them." Egon blinked, staying quiet and keeping his thoughts to himself—Kristoff may have trusted his sister-in-law implicitly, but the veteran couldn't help the chill that stole over him at the thought that there was no guarantee that the Queen wouldn't snap and attack Arendelle. Kristoff said it himself: no survivors.
Linnéa twisted her lips saying, "Could she just put up a big wall out in the ocean? A blockade would keep them out indefinitely, and maybe if they saw it, they'd be so afraid of her powers that no one would want a war against her." Kristoff paused to give it some thought, and Egon took the opportunity to jump in. "A blockade would keep them out, aye. But it would also keep Arendelle in. Arendelle may have food and resources to stay alive for years, but its economy would die, its people would be out of work, and most importantly, those conditions would drive its people to unrest. A blockade would be a temporary answer to a problem that is more long-standing."
Kristoff, Anna, and Linnéa all looked to the veteran like his response was a surprise. Gruff and slightly affronted by their surprise, Egon asked, "I used to be a soldier, or had you forgotten? Any nincompoop could guess the same, anyway, once they thought it through. I doubt the Queen will choose a blockade, is all I was meaning." They slowly looked away, Anna beginning to whisper something to Kristoff, who took on a look of a man wishing he were somewhere else. Linnéa held onto Egon's arm like it was the only thing supporting her, her head resting on his shoulder. He thought more about blockades, storms, and ice-powers while he stood still, waiting for the Queen to make her announcement.
Upon hearing the rumors of war, the anxiety and paranoia plaguing Hans doubled and tripled. He locked the door of his room and refused to come out for anything short of needing to relieve himself. He lost his appetite, sat on his bed in his room with his lamp burning, and was generally unmotivated to leave his room at all. It only lasted a few days, but it had been a few days of immobile torment.
His logic? His reasoning that took him down the intrusive rabbit hole? Queen Elsa would choose war over having to take suitors, thereby making him exponentially more likely to be kidnapped by his brothers. War made for chaos, at least where there was no blockade and little security at the docks. It would be easy for one of his brother's men to waylay him, disguise him—even a poor disguise would do—, and stuff him on a ship back to the Southern Isles. He would be stolen back before the first shots of war were ever fired. If he granted no one entry to his room and only made trips out to the privy, Hans could cut down on the number of people with access to his person to just his person.
The maid, announcing that Queen Elsa would declare her decision in the throne room, loudly speaking through Egon and Linnéa's door, was the end of Hans' hiding in his room. He was out of his door before Egon and Linnéa had made it off of their bed, and speeding along the halls with only one purpose: talk to the Queen. He jumped over a bunch in the carpet, rather than trip on it, and wove past another maid, and another, until he was skidding into the throne room, eyes scanning for the Queen, not finding her, and continuing, having not disturbed even one of the arriving audience. He didn't have to think about where he was going. Taking the stairs two at a time, he arrived in the hall that branched off into the way to the Queen's apartments. From there, he couldn't seem to get to the double doors at end fast enough, barely noticing that there were guards standing on either side. When he showed no signs of slowing down, they crossed their spears before the door, both commanding him to stop. Hans slammed into the spears, his momentum knocking them into the doors, which opened, and knocked them apart, depositing him to the ground inside of Elsa's office. It also knocked the breath from his lungs, and he lay panting on the floor while the guards rushed in, bent on removing him.
The Queen stopped them, Hans looking up in time to see her quit her bedroom. She was confused, but it barely registered in his panicked mind. He jerked at the guards' hold on his arms, surprising them into release with his vigor. Still desperate, Hans circled around the furniture to reach out for Elsa. She drew back too quickly, and it took a full second for him to understand why—were he to seize her, he needn't fear the guards; Elsa could freeze him if she was not in control of herself. Without someone to cling to, however, whatever force had driven him to the Queen's rooms put him on his knees. A day or so without food, plus the run, made him light-headed. It was hard to start speaking for a moment, but once he did begin, it was hard to stop.
"Queen Elsa, please," Hans gulped, "Please, do not go to war—,"
She waved the guards to turn around and go stand outside, which took them a moment to comply with, all the while Hans still speaking in frenzied, halting tones. "Do not go to war. Please. My brothers. They will use it. They'd use any excuse. But war: they'll have me before the first body goes cold. I'll be back on a ship. They'll have me in prison again. Please, please, please don't go to war—," He would have continued, but when the doors were closed, the Queen, to his surprise, put a hand on his shoulder and gripped it hard. That contact only lasted a second, making him flinch, and stop speaking.
Her blue eyes were on him, fair, feathery brows pulling down with emotion that Hans couldn't name in that moment. She put a hand out to him, to lift him from the floor, which he took, and another offering him a chair, which he also took. His heart kept hammering in his chest, and words died unsaid at the back of his throat. The Queen sat across from him, composing herself calmly and regally. His mouth opened and closed, breath trying to move as it should and getting caught somewhere between his nose and windpipe.
"I have no plans to go to war, Prince Hans," she said, calmly. He blinked, surprised, and then he was overcome with relief so pure and potent that the heat in his face leaked out as tears. It was shameful to be weeping so completely, in anyone's company, but doubly so in front of the Queen, so his hands found their way to his face, fisted knuckles pressed to his forehead, and palms pressed against his eyes. He bent at his middle, feeling like a child, but continued his sobs uninterrupted for a moment longer, or a few moments longer. He wasn't sure when she put her hand on his knee, but when he realized it was there, Hans leaned back, weeping stopping for a full moment while he took stock of Elsa's state. She was exactly as she had been, her expression the same as it had been, except that her hand was on his knee. The Queen took his cessation of weeping as an opportunity to continue.
"You should know that it wasn't your pleading with me that keeps Arendelle from war. I would try to keep you safe, as per my agreement with Prince Dorian, but I would not make decisions about my country just to keep you from your other brothers." Hans swallowed hard, and wiped the remaining tears from his eyes, nodding at her words. They were understandable, but they didn't give him as much relief as her first few did. The Queen continued, "I am going to accept suitors. They come from all over, and my letters to them have already been sent out. I did receive a letter from one of your brothers, Dagny, but I forwarded it to Dorian with my own letter that I would not take a suitor from the Southern Isles under any circumstances."
Dagny. His ninth brother, chronologically. Thoughts of him were unremittingly associated to cramped places, hot without respite, maddeningly unable to sit or lay down. Hans almost missed the Queen's question: "Do you want something to drink?" It was his surprise, he thought, or a lingering sense of it, that muddled his brain to the point of asking, "What?"
"You sound like you haven't had anything to drink for hours. You look like you haven't bathed—you smell like it as well—for days. You look horrible," the last bit was asked with a twinge of humor, and he tried straightening himself subtly, unaware of her slight goading, "I'm sure my guards couldn't recognize you, so out of sorts… Honestly, Prince Hans, tell me: is all of this because you were worried that I would choose war over an uncomfortable marriage?" He didn't have an answer, and Elsa sighed, shaking her head, "You could have asked me when you heard. Anyone could have asked me. Instead, I have to go and tell my people that, yes, I will try to marry, and, no, I wouldn't send their husbands, fathers, and sons to die rather than the other… It would have saved you some grief, I imagine. You should take care of yourself, Hans. It's a way to beat your brothers."
The Queen stood, the place where her hand had been on his knee oddly cold—unlike what he would expect from someone else's hand—and made her way over to her doors. She paused, looked back at him, her blue dress catching some of the strengthening winter sun rays, glittering brilliantly, and said, "I'll leave those guards outside if you'd like to use my washroom. I can send Linnéa to help and a meal up if you'd like. Oh, and there's a pitcher of water on the desk." He didn't realize that she was really waiting for an answer until she had stood at the door for more than a minute. "Yes," he replied, voice still rusty, "Please, Your Grace."
She nodded, and then she was gone.
Linnéa, by virtue of having had multiple sexual partners in her thirty-odd years, knew the difference between a big prick and a little one. The first of the year was well on its way of becoming the end of January, and several of Queen Elsa's suitors had arrived in Arendelle as early as the fifteenth of the month. The staff of the castle had never been so busy, even with Anna and Kristoff's wedding, and even with Anna's newfound love of a sterile environment. Sometimes, she hid in any closet she could find, just for a quarter-hour alone, resting. Having to clean after, feed, launder clothes, and run messages of four princes, two dukes, and a rather large foreign dignitary was like cleaning after nine pompous pigs.
So, she made up her own little game about them, letting in two other maids, who let in two more, until the whole staff was in on the joke. She'd wager the size of their… bits. Half of it was attitude—every prince, duke, dignitary, and man, in general, seemed to have an attitude that corresponded to their manliness—and the other half was intense staring. Her game had made for quite the betting pool among maids and butlers. The fun only ended when they reached the end of the suitors. But another had arrived over the weekend, and the betting had reached a ridiculousness that surprised even Linnéa.
He, Sokollu, was a fine young man, older than the Queen by five years, well in his prime. He came from the east, over the mountains, from a place where dark tales were told and the history was as meshed with legend as it was —Linnéa couldn't make out the rest, but she was sure it was "interesting." He was not a prince, but a governor from Bosnia, expected to become a Grand Vizier sometime in the future—this was all well and good, but Linnéa barely understood any of it—and sent on behalf of the Ottoman Empire. They had high hopes for Sokollu, she assumed, and little hopes for themselves, she gathered by the whispers of the other gentiles. Oh, and was he handsome! Queen Elsa couldn't find a better man, so far, in terms of looks. He had dark brown hair thick and glossy that fell smartly on his ears in loose waves; he wore no beard, just a thin, trimmed mustache. His voice was deep, with an accented cadence that sounded musical. Sokollu's most attractive feature, she had noticed, were his eyes, hazel with thick, dark eyelashes, set well in an open face. He wore strange clothes, their drawback being either a skirt of a coat or loose pants. She couldn't make a good bet on how big his goods were, based on that alone.
So, Linnéa had to take other factors into consideration. The governor was not as tall as Hans, and not as wide across the shoulders as Kristoff, and not as barrel-chested as her husband. He had hands that were proportionate, and feet that were respectably big. His demeanor was subdued, but he seemed charismatic enough when the time called for it. He wasn't as flirtatious with the maids as some of the other suitors. Then again, even being handsome, some of the maids thumbed their figurative noses at him on grounds that he wasn't Christian. Linnéa had no such disillusions, and she didn't particularly care for those maids either. At any rate, the last point didn't really affect the size of his privates.
Coming to a conclusion, at last, she spread it around that the governor Sokollu was an average man, not too big, not too small. The betting began immediately, and every attempt was made to "chance" upon what it really was. The largest bet was an entire week's pay that Linnéa was under-guessing by a couple of inches. Her own bet was on that she was right, right down to the size. And if she wasn't right, it wasn't the biggest bet ever made. On the governor's third day there, one of the involved butlers passed it along that Egon's wife was right on all accounts. She gave part of the week's pay back to the gambler, feeling bad that they'd lost so much. Other than that, Linnéa was quite happy with her game.
It distracted them all from the guests they housed.
She had been so busy that she hardly looked for Hans, hardly had any energy at night except to crawl into bed with Egon, and hardly saw the Queen or the Princess or Kristoff. Elsa had her own issues keeping her busy, and Anna had enough issues to keep everyone busy. Egon stayed busy keeping an eye on the suitors, and, he told her, Elsa had asked him to keep a close but invisible watch on Prince Hans.
The day the Queen had sent Linnéa up to her rooms to help Hans bathe in her washroom was the last day she had had any sort of conversation with him. She had no idea what to expect when the Queen sent her up, aside from that Hans would be up there.
He stood beside the large cast-iron tub when she peeked her head into the washroom. It was hard to tell the expression on his face, where his back was to the window. She greeted him quietly, and he responded on the same level, turning away from her completely. She'd drawn the water and heated it, then helped him undress—he wasn't exactly steady on his feet and smelt terrible—all without another exchange of words. Using Elsa's soaps and oils, she cleaned Hans' hair, which had grown further down his back in the six months in Arendelle. Linnéa offered to trim it and pleat it, but the Prince declined both.
It had been in her mind to respect his privacy, so she tried very hard not to look at him while he washed, or when he stepped out, draining the tub of water. Once in a dressing gown, he let her shave his stubbly cheeks, reminding her rather painfully of the trip to Arendelle on the ship and the time when she felt comfortable weeping for him. Now, they barely had five words for each other. So, when the need hit her to ask what was on her mind, it slipped out unfettered.
"Can't it be like it was before, Hans?"
He was surprised, slightly, by the question, taking a moment before asking, "'Like it was before' when, Linnéa?"
"'Before' I opened my mouth that one time. We don't have to be family. I'd settle for a regular conversation. I… I don't want you to be alone. It wears on you," Linnéa answered. He didn't look at her while she was speaking, and she thought he might have shut her out entirely, but he finally spoke, just as she had thought to get up and finish straightening up the room. "Thank you…" he said, in a calm, quiet voice, "For caring."
From him, it had seemed like a yes, but, as the weeks wore on, Linnéa realized they were no closer than before the bath.
Who knew that foreign dignitaries and governors and princes could bring so much filth with them? The castle was in a constant state of cleaning, and there always seemed to be more dirt, in places high and low. Everywhere. On everything. She'd lay awake at night, and Kristoff would be sleeping like his troll family—rocks, all of them—and she'd be thinking about the baby yet to be born, and how the baby couldn't live in the toxicity that those suitors were leaving everywhere, and about the blankets that could smother it or keep it warm, and the tiny little draft she felt coming through a window in their room, and how her husband would probably sleep through everything from a crying baby to a giant whale swallowing the whole of the kingdom.
It was maddening inside of her brain. On the one hand, she'd never been so aware of how much she talked, or how much she asked of people, or that she was so big now, and on the other hand, she'd never been more happy, more connected with people, or more ready for the next part of her life. Her hands would rove over her stomach, particularly when the occupant inside was moving around, and she would envision holding the child. What would it be? A little boy? Her father would have loved a grandson. She knew that he had loved his daughters, but there was a part of her that always recognized that he wished Elsa were a boy. Or that she was. What about a little girl? Would Kristoff even know what to do with a little girl? Of course. He'd probably take her mountain climbing and put her on Sven and parade her around like the princess of the Trolls—she'd be their Queen, Anna just knew it—and she'd love ice just as much as her father. Either would be okay. Anna thought she'd love it even if it had two heads and a body like Olaf. Well, maybe she'd wonder who she'd mortally offended to have a child born like that. If it was healthy, that was the best thing she could ask for.
She rose from the bed at the crack of dawn and was dressed while the sun was still lazily climbing the horizon. The baby was awake, moving around. What must it be like, living in water? Growing, hearing—she assumed that the baby could hear—and not having to take a breath. She sat in a chair in the view of the bay and the rising sun and wished that her mother were still alive. Was it any different to carry Elsa than Anna? Had her mother been abnormally cold? When had Elsa's powers first appeared? Was she a little baby, freezing her toys and rattles or did it start when she could walk? How did they keep her powers from the nannies? Or the maids? Anyone who was around when Elsa's powers manifested when she was a child?
Anna put her hand to her chest, and the other to her stomach. Would being frozen—and it was on her mind from the start—affect the child growing within her? Would they be like Elsa? Their mother hadn't—to either of their knowledge—been frozen, before or after Elsa was born. Perhaps it was time to go to Pabbie, because perhaps now the old troll would know whether or not the baby was destined to have that magic that had been born to her sister.
Kristoff, dressed in his nightshirt, set a warm hand on her shoulder. He could tell that she was pensive, thinking things over, things other than cleaning.
"We're going somewhere today, aren't we?" he asked.
She nodded, the hand on her chest rising up to lay on his. "I want to go see your family. I want to know if they know anything."
Hours later, after the sun had risen into a blue sky, Kristoff and Anna left the castle, both in the sled she had given to Kristoff after his was broken. The snow on their path had yet to melt completely, so as Sven pulled the couple along at a decent pace, there was still a sense of winter clinging to the trees and ground. Kristoff kept the reins in one hand, the other arm keeping his wife close to him. Having a blue sky against the melting snow made the pines stand out sharply, and the moving air made her nose start to run. Just one sniffle caught Kristoff's attention, and he acted like she had caught the plague. "I'm fine," she assured him but took the scarf he insisted on offering, covering the lower half of her face.
Around noon, Kristoff stopped the sled and unharnessed Sven, and the three of them walked the last rocky path to the troll's village within the valley. As usual, Kristoff's adopted family was over the moon to see him and Anna and Sven. Bulda immediately asked Anna all sorts of questions about her pregnancy, to the point that Kristoff had to remind his adoptive mother that there were others present. Pabbie, after his family nearly broke into another musical number, got down to business.
"What brought you to us today?" They had all sat down, the humans and reindeer surrounded by the trolls. Pabbie had both of Anna's hands in his, soft despite being made of stone. He was always perceptive.
"We want to know about the baby," Anna responded, followed by Kristoff, who added, "If it's going to be like Elsa. Because of Anna being frozen."
Pabbie drew a deep breath, his features drawing together over his large nose. "The child is not yet born… their life is too tied to Anna's to tell." He said it hesitantly, and it seemed to be enough explanation for her husband, but Anna felt like Pabbie was holding back.
"Then look at my future. Will I be dealing with a baby that has ice powers? If we're that linked, it must be obvious what will happen when I have the baby. Please, Pabbie. I want—no, I need to know."
He was quiet for a long moment, and Anna could feel the questions piling up at the back of her throat, held in by sheer willpower alone. Because the baby could be like Elsa, and while that might be kind of exciting to have a baby who was like her sister, she could see herself having just as many problems as her parents did with her sister—though her sister would know how to reach the child and teach it, unlike her parents, who had no earthly idea and no one to ask—and Kristoff being both in awe of their child's abilities and maybe too careless with them which could spell disaster and—
"This child will not be like Elsa," Pabbie said, and Anna heard Kristoff breathe a sigh of relief, though the shaman troll continued, "But you have the potential to have one like her, Anna. Just like Elsa has the potential to have perfectly normal children. The possibility is there, but it is not overwhelmingly likely."
There was little else to be said on the matter, though both Anna and Kristoff asked if the child would be healthy. With a confirmation and some more family time, they left on the sled and returned to the castle before the sun was fully set.
Naturally, the sled had to be cleaned to perfection and they had to change clothes in the first hallway in the castle and then that whole hallway had to be changed and Kristoff had to bathe because really there was no way she was getting into bed with him if he didn't since he was in the stables talking to Sven for what felt like an hour and all that time she was just up in their room on their and she hoped that he didn't do that when the baby was here because it needed its father just as much as its mother and … and…
The best defense is a good offense.
Though it was not combat that she was undertaking, Queen Elsa felt as though she were living under that adage on the daily. She dined, chatted, and maneuvered that way. It was what she had expected when she decided to accept the suitors to her court. And she had perfectly good reason; she had to determine, quickly, if there were any suitors not solely interested in conquering Arendelle with a political marriage. Arendelle had to remain its own sovereign nation.
Some suitors were so annoyingly transparent that they left after only a brief audience with the Queen of Arendelle. Weeding those out had been easy, but then she was left with the more dubiously natured men, who all knew just enough to seem like the affairs of Arendelle were more than pointless trivialities to them. Of those less transparent suitors, Elsa found that she could separate them between those who treated her with polite courtesy and those who treated her like someone with a brain between her ears. Those suitors in the second group were infinitely more welcome than the first, but at the same time, those second groupers were frustratingly less easy to read. Elsa kept the first group in Arendelle for an extra week, feeling like they were the last barrier between her and a nest of vipers.
As the last of the second group of suitors were packed away on their ships, distance making them small dots that had rounded the harbor and were disappearing off into the horizon, Elsa was preparing a dinner with her few remaining suitors. In the early afternoon, she was beset in her office with letters that had been delivered to her from her people, all seemingly with opinions on who they thought she should choose. Of course, the servants would have spoken to their families on their opinions of her suitors. The first few letters that the Queen opened were a surprise to read over; her subjects had opinions on men they had never met before? The castle was overrun with opinions, it seemed. As humorous as the letters appeared at times, the more she read them, the more she felt a sort of strangling pressure build in her chest. This was absolutely inescapable. One of these suitors would be her husband, and gain a hand in all the matters of Arendelle as a state. A dark cloud at the back of her mind cast a shadow on them all—not one of the suitors cared anything for her beautiful country, or her kind-hearted people, or least of all her. They saw Arendelle as a venue for economics, a military foothold, or a land of natural resources they could exploit.
Elsa tossed the letters on her desk, unwilling to read another line from anyone on who she should marry. The room was cold; she could see her breath in the air. Would she ever get a handle on her powers and emotions and the connection between the two? Love will thaw, she reminded herself, and tried to concentrate on the love in her life, but even that was tainted in some anxiety with the coming delivery of her sister's child. The Queen decided a walk might better serve her, and left her rooms in a rustling of gauze-like blue skirts.
Sometime later, as she looked over the gardens from a balcony, the Queen was startled out of an absent-minded silence by a tap against the glass of the open door behind her. She looked over her shoulder to see one of her suitors.
"Governor Sokollu," Elsa greeted him, turning back to face the gardens and to hide her expression. She could have guessed that with the herd thinning, the suitors would become bolder, but when she had set out for her walk, she hadn't considered that she would run into one of them.
"May I join you, your Majesty?" asked the governor, accent making the words seem more musical than she was used to. She stayed silent for a moment before turning to face him, bare hands coming to rest together behind her back, fingers interlaced and alternatively squeezing the other fingers nervously. Eying the governor's clothes—thick for the still-cold air—the Queen responded, "If you don't mind, I would prefer to walk. I stood still for a moment too long, I think."
He acquiesced with a nod of his head, allowing her space to pass him in the doorway and falling into step with her as she went. "I was under the impression that your Majesty was immune to the cold. I see I shouldn't have assumed anyone was immune to this climate," Sokollu said, deep voice soft to keep from echoing in the halls. The cold, he thought, was why she wanted to move? It almost made her laugh, but she managed to smile demurely and preserve her aloofness. Appearances and counter-movements; this was politics as an unmarried queen could play them.
Elsa parried his move, "I was under the impression that Bosnia was similarly cold; I would have thought you were used to this weather."
"Your Majesty is not wrong," he said, a slow, gentle smile revealing even white teeth and lightening his eyes, "However, most of us in Bosnia would not brave the cold without a thick coat."
She followed the brief flickering of his eyes to her person and felt the need to follow. While not having taken to wearing anything risqué, Elsa wasn't truly dressed for the lingering winter. She had taken inspiration from the shirts sailors wore—high, wide, and plain-necked—and let the rest fall in crisscrossing gossamer shifts. She had no sleeves. "I've never been bothered by the cold," the Queen replied, chin held up. So he wanted to know about her powers? Was that why he sought her out?
"I had wondered how that would work, considering the rumors of your ice castle in the mountains," the governor said, somehow not losing the gentle look in his eyes, "Ice is dangerous, but you were unharmed when you were returned here. One had to wonder."
"Is this what you wanted to talk to me about, Governor?"
"In a way, it is, your Majesty. I realize being courted by many men with obvious political agendas could be a stress to you. I will not say that politics did not bring me here or that it does not carry weight in how I conduct myself," Sokollu responded, stopping their walk by overtaking her pace and standing before her, gentle eyes projecting only trustworthiness, "But I will say that since my arrival, I've become enamored with your kingdom, of which the only rival it has in beauty is its monarch."
Elsa's pale eyebrows lifted marginally. The flattery seemed genuine. Was it a cheap ploy to warm her to the governor? Was he attempting to be transparent in the hopes of gaining her trust? Whatever his angle, Sokollu was the hardest to read amongst her remaining suitors; he played the most subtle game.
Some part of her wanted to believe in him. He was handsome in a way that might creep into her fractionally remembered dreams. The idea of a small version of a mix between them both was not without its charms: a blonde son with hazel eyes, a daughter with dark curls and blue eyes, or any variation therein between. But there came again the dark cloud, warning her not to imagine anything with a man that had been sent by an empire, swallowing up the images of children in its darkness.
The governor went on, "I hope that you allow me to stay longer, if not to learn who you are and what makes this kingdom great under your guidance, to perhaps observe the bountiful beauty a while more."
The dark cloud halted its advance for a moment, and Elsa felt a small ember of hope flare within her. Learn who she was? Could he care about Arendelle and its people? The cloud advanced, but where shadow covered the little—minuscule, really—flame, it's light did not die. "May I?" he asked, bowing and extending his hand for hers. She had laid her chilly hand in the warm palm of his before she had time to think about the consequences, and he lowered his lips so close to her skin that she could feel the heat of his breath. They hovered there, never connecting before he pulled away and released her hand. He turned to leave, slowly, fanning the flame with a gentle gaze.
"Until dinner, your Majesty," Sokollu murmured in the hall, deep voice only for her ears. He left her standing where she was, fingers tensing and feet unmoving, and she watched his broad back disappear around a corner before she could breathe again. Moments passed and she remained until she had finally realized that she was holding her hand up and examining it as though the almost kiss on her skin should have left a mark.
Elsa shivered, the tight feeling creeping back in. Even if Sokollu was in earnest, and even if they had a fairytale romance and everything was well and good and right, there was still the very real possibility that she could kill him. The thought made the little flame waver, and sputter, but as Elsa finally resumed her walking, it did not blink out.
A wet, melting snow fell from the skies in a dusting manner, just heavy enough to make the world seem muted in gray tones. As Kristoff drove his sled across the lingering snow, he was increasingly agitated to have been sent out into the weather to show some of Arendelle's finer points to the governor from Bosnia. Anna had listened to too much gossip concerning the dignitary and her sister. A week ago, someone spread a rumor that they had been kissing in a hallway, and while Anna had asked if it was true and gotten a negative answer, she seemed to be very interested in having her sister pick the suitor who was now seated beside him.
So this trip was Anna's idea, a way of having Kristoff get a feel for who the man was.
"How'd a guy your age get to be a governor?" asked the tactless driver. He didn't know what else Anna had expected. At least the passenger seemed to take his bluntness in stride; he wore a small smile as he looked out at the passing scenery. "There was no one else who was able to; they were all too old or too moronic," he answered, smile taking on a slight edge, "Men who were concerned with filling their coffers were disqualified, as were those whose agendas conflicted with the Empire. Of those left, I was simply the best candidate."
Kristoff supposed he could respect that answer, but he'd really only asked to see if the governor would reply, or, to hear if the man had obtained rank nefariously. He was surprised when the governor had a question of his own to ask, and by the question itself, "And you? How did you come to be the Prince of Arendelle? How did you woo Princess Anna?"
Generally, romance was a little less dire than how he and Anna had gotten together. "Uh," Kristoff started uncertainly, "I met her almost two years ago… When the Queen had her coronation and then Anna accidently agitated her into revealing her ice powers, Anna rode after… Anyhow, she needed a guide up the North Mountain, and I was losing money to the blizzard in summer, so we went to see if Anna couldn't talk Elsa into coming home." He stopped, uncertain as to whether or not any of this would make sense to the man next to him. And also because remembering just how his life had changed in only a day and a half made his tongue feel heavy in his mouth. For a moment, Kristoff let his thoughts subside in favor of watching how Sven was doing, pulling the sled. The reindeer didn't get nearly enough exercise anymore. Kristoff tried to keep Sven busy, but… Anna was so close to having the baby and they still had a few suitors running around, and… When had he started rambling when he thought? Anna was rubbing off on him.
The governor cleared his throat, reminding Kristoff that he had been talking, "Oh, right. Well, after the Queen thawed out Arendelle, Anna and I got to know each other better. We were married last summer."
Apparently, it was a lackluster story to the governor, who lapsed into silence. For an hour and a half, the pair rode through Arendelle, Kristoff pointing at things and explaining their importance and the dignitary nodding and asking sparse questions. When they approached the gate of the castle, the governor spoke again.
"I understand that the Queen and her sister are very close," the man said, and Kristoff was shaken a little at the intensity of his gaze, "Please give your wife a glowing recommendation, and let her know that I only have praise for her kingdom."
Kristoff blinked, stuttering a bit to say, "W-what do you mean? Anna d-didn't—,"
"She did. I know this wasn't your idea; I can tell you're not the type to plot and scheme. I'm under the impression that you don't remember my name," the governor said; he was right. Kristoff thought it was something like Skull, but he couldn't recall. The man continued, "Honest men like you do not fall into situations like these often, but it's all the better that you are Prince of Arendelle. A lesser would scheme to take the throne while the Queen's line is not secure. Trust me, Prince Kristoff. I have seen enough political intrigue in my time as governor to know when the game is afoot. Protect your family. I will watch the men still scheming for her Majesty's hand."
They passed through the gates before Kristoff could do more than sit in uncomfortable silence. Kristoff numbly pulled on the reins to halt their movement and the governor climbed out, turned back to say, "Cao, and good luck," before marching back towards the castle.
Taking to unharnessing Sven, Kristoff tried to work through his thoughts as he had, giving voice to his oldest friend. " So he's evil, right? " Kristoff asked, seeing the worry on Sven's face.
"I don't know. I can't tell. He was right, though. Hans did just what the governor said someone else would have done, and maybe he heard about it, already. There are an awful lot of gossips in the castle."
" If he's not like the other guys, does that mean he's a good guy? "
"Not necessarily. He may just be better at hiding his intentions than they are. And they're all very good at it. Elsa isn't going to have an easy time with any of this. I don't envy her. There's no way I'd stick my nose in this."
" But what if she picks that guy and he's bad? What if it's not safe for Anna and the baby? "
"What if he's fine and everyone lives happily ever after?" Kristoff asked, feeling deluded even as the words came out of his mouth. Sven schooled his features into a doubtful reproach. "Fine. I'll keep an eye out for any shenanigans. Happy?"
" No. "
"Why not?"
" There's usually a carrot at the end of one of these discussions, remember? "
When Kristoff produced a bundle of carrots from the sleigh, he couldn't help but laugh at Sven's enthusiasm. Turning towards the castle himself, Kristoff tried and failed to decide on what his appraisal of the governor to his wife was going to be. Eventually, he knew he'd have to tell her all of it.
There was an art to avoiding the prying eyes of the Queen's guests. It had a lot to do with blending into the staff when necessary and staying in places the suitors were unlikely to go. The first group to leave made it easier to hide, but the second group to leave left Hans very open to scrutiny. More than once, he pulled a hat on his head and snuck to the stables to see Sitron for the entirety of the daylight hours.
There was a man amongst the final group that made Hans the wariest above the others. At a distance, more than once, Hans caught the man looking at him. He was in the stables the morning that Hans ran into him. Worse than that, the man was interested only in Sitron, it seemed. That was until he spoke to Hans without turning to face him, "Horses here are strange to me. I have several in my stable in Bosnia, but none such as this… or that have such strangely colored manes. What breed is this?"
The man did not touch Hans' horse, and Sitron wasn't shying away from the man, but Hans was so uneasy that his voice broke when he answered, "He's… a Fjord horse."
"Ah. I have an Arabian—a gift from one of the emissaries from the Empire. Very tall, handsome; he's a spirited stallion and sires a foal every year. It's a good life for a horse, isn't it?" The man turned to face Hans, and the light touched his face enough to see a pair of hazel eyes that seemed to bore into him. A thought that maybe the man wasn't talking about horses, not really, occurred to the prince.
"F-for a horse, yes…?"
"What is your purpose here, Prince Hans Westergaard of the Southern Isles?"
A sound like a dull pounding filled the stable suddenly—or filled his ears, either way, he couldn't tell the difference. Hans swallowed what tasted like bile back down. In the space of a few heartbeats, the man moved three steps forward, until he was much too close for Hans' comfort. Sitron watched from his stall attentively. "You… you know who I am?"
"I know who you are. I know what your brothers had done to you up to the point of your 'death,'" the man said, moving a pace closer, and Hans could no more back away than he could blink; the man continued, "I know that was unlikely to be the worst you suffered. What I do not know is why you were allowed sanctuary in the country whose monarch you tried to kill and whose throne you tried to steal."
The man advanced again, and although Hans was the taller of the two, the suitor seemed to loom over him. Why did it feel like if Hans ran, this man would catch him? His expression suggested Hans had better start explaining.
"I'm under political asylum," Hans answered, voice gravelly, "My older brothers—well, at least ten of them—would like nothing more than to capture me… and resume what they were doing to me—,"
The man interrupted, "I gathered as much, Prince Hans. Skip to the part where you start living in Arendelle's castle."
"In the summer of last year, a man freed me from my prison, and h-he and his wife smuggled me here. The Princess wasn't pleased to see me, but the Queen… took mercy on me. She hadn't sent me to my brothers to be treated the way I had been, she said, to paraphrase. So I was allocated a room, and her Majesty sent word to my eldest brother that I was alive and here. Bounty-hunters had been sent after me. One made it all the way to my room, and had the Queen not intervened, he would have taken me back to my other brothers. After that, she made sure that I was safe until my eldest brother, Prince Dorian, arrived. He and the Queen made some sort of deal; she would give me shelter for a time and Dorian would compensate her, and when he deemed it safe, I would leave. But my brothers snuck a man into Arendelle, who made it very clear that the only place they wouldn't be able to get to me is here. The Queen has allowed me to remain here."
"That explains how you came to be here. I'll ask again, and be a touch more pointed. What is your purpose here? Are you and the Queen in some sort of tryst?"
Despite being thoroughly threatened by this man, a small pocket of laughter dislodged within him, and although he tried to hold it back, it burst forth. It was very obviously a surprise to the Queen's suitor, who blinked like he had been pinched on the arm, or had his ears boxed. Hans covered his mouth with his bare, cold hand. The sensation seemed to ground him long enough to say past his fingers, "You mean, you don't know?"
"'Don't know,' what?" the man asked, clearly somewhat confused. Hans tried not to sound like he had any humor in him when he dodged, "I would have thought, since you're so clearly observant, that you would have noticed…" He couldn't quite finish explaining. It wasn't funny, but for some reason, Hans thought that his interrogator missing this key factor was somehow… silly.
"I don't understand," the man said, an edge of irritation creeping in, "What should I have noticed?"
So, uncomfortably, Hans made it clear that he was no stallion, and just saying it out loud was somewhere between embarrassing and humiliating. He wouldn't have chosen to tell anyone, had that been possible. In their analogy, he was a gelding, but rather than being put to pasture, he had been stabled with a whole group of stallions after one mare. The look on the stallion's—the man's—face after Hans had told him was somewhere between pity and disgust.
"I owe you an apology, Prince Hans," he said. Hans shook his head, saying, "I don't want one. If you could just avoid spreading it around, I would appreciate it. It's one thing to live with it privately. It's another to be saddled with this stigma publically for the rest of my life."
The man nodded, and then decided to extend a gloved hand. "Governor Sokollu," he said, an introduction, "I'm glad to know that the Queen is as virtuous as I perceived her to be. You perhaps can see my dilemma: an unmarried man of high rank living in the castle of an unmarried queen for many months with no explanation."
"Well, your worry was unfounded," Hans said, self-deprecatingly adding, "Aside from Queen Elsa being immensely dutiful, I was never any competition."
The governor nodded his head and they made small talk for a short time after. Finally, Sokollu made and excuse and then made his exit. Hans went to Sitron immediately, needing to stroke the horse's muzzle to bring himself back to any level of calm. Avoiding the governor seemed more pertinent now than ever. Either the man was the world's most calculating and manipulative liar, or he was genuinely interested in Queen Elsa. Some part of him hoped it would be the former, because if the man's manner was all pretense, that opened up the possibility of the man leaving. And it seemed important that a man like him not stay indefinitely.
The palace was unusually quiet. The staff had been let out of their duties for the day, and most had decided to go home rather than stay in what was effectively a mausoleum in the face of what had happened.
It had been two days ago.
It started in the dining hall. There were loud, angry shouts that reached out into the hall, and the sound of breaking porcelain. Egon had been placed on detail for the last fifteen minutes of a meal that until then had been quiet. Linnéa was inside, likely waiting to take plates as their diners finished with them, and so her husband didn't hesitate to burst into the hall. He saw that his wife wasn't cowering in a corner taking cover but wasn't close enough to be hit by any of the shattering tableware. The two combatants were the Bosnian governor and a lord from somewhere south of Corona.
"Take back those words, you lecherous rat," Sokollu demanded, irate but not the one throwing plates. The lord sneered, trying to fake bravado, obviously unnerved by the anger of the other suitor. "Why? Does the truth hurt your precious ears, or are you just defending your slut?"
Linnéa seemed to be a shade of red that promised violence. The other suitors had taken the side of the lord, their collective hissing blending together into insults to the governor. Egon watched Sokollu dive for the lord, and the pair fell to the floor in a heap of thrown fists and scrambling limbs. The veteran had enough at that point. He ran over and pulled the governor off the lord, not gentle in breaking up the fight. Forgetting himself for a moment, he was transported back to his days in the army, and the first words out of his mouth were words he would have said to dueling young soldiers. Their vulgarity happened to be something he wished he could forget. Still, he had the men's attention.
"What?" Egon asked, still having to hold the Bosnian man back. His wife answered, having been witness to the whole thing, apparently, "That rat bastard—" there was an interrupting hiss from said bastard and his cohorts, "—he started in about the Queen. He was saying some awful things. All of them were lies, and the governor had enough—"
She was cut off by Sokollu this time; "Vile scum," he said, before spitting at the lord, which almost caused the start of another fight. Egon kept the men from each other, just barely.
"I suggest you all go back to your rooms, gentlemen," came a voice from the door, which every person in the hall looked at the source of, Princess Anna, heavily pregnant and radiating anger that brokered no argument. "Out," she commanded.
The room was left empty, and the princess had disappeared after watching the men file out, gone likely to speak to the Queen. Egon stayed to help in cleaning up, Linnéa telling him exactly what was said under her breath, and at the end of her story, the veteran was a little sorry he hadn't let Sokollu whale on the lord longer.
Egon walked through the halls on the way to the Queen's rooms, having been part of the guard that stayed as if it were a normal day. His footsteps on the carpet made as little sound as possible, but he felt like he made as much noise as a herd of cattle would. Linnéa, he knew, was with the group with Arendelle's monarch inside her apartment. He stopped at the doors, turned, and began his watch.
They were in Elsa's bedroom, sitting on the floor alone, with several people in the next room. Anna was wrapped in a blanket and was closest to the lit fireplace, the blaze obviously a seldom occurrence. She would hold her sister's hand if she could, but Elsa was still too upset, still not in control.
The shouting and the sounds of breaking tableware had drawn her from her place in the portrait hall, where she had been reading to her baby—it was oddly calming for her—and into the doorway to watch the altercation therein. When she had spoken up, it was because she had seen enough, and also because there were enough broken things on the floor. She had been so mad at the moment that she couldn't quite catalog it in her brain that a rowdy group of strangers paid her enough attention to leave the room when she told them to. Maybe it was her current state of pregnancy, but not a one of them shot her a mean glance as they left.
Anna left a moment after the last one had filed out, aiming to go and let Elsa know what had happened. She found her sister in the library, pouring over some series of lists or reports with an advisor. The look on her was enough to have the Queen dismiss the man and listen to Anna's recounting of the incident. At the end, Elsa had a look on her face that was hard to read—it was somewhere between angry and touched—and finally told her sister, "We'll get to the bottom of it in the morning."
Anna had gone to bed worried and woken worried. Before breakfast was to be served, the Queen had called a meeting in the audience hall and had sent a servant to request Anna and Kristoff's presence.
The suitors loitered in the hall, and aside from Sokollu, seemed to generally be acting like they were about to be told to leave. Hans, standing off to one side with Egon, surprised Anna. She couldn't actually remember the last time she had seen him. Tugging on Kristoff's sleeve, they made a detour before stopping in front of the veteran and Prince.
She couldn't help herself when she asked, honestly confused, "What are you doing here? Did Elsa ask for you?"
The prince cut his eyes downward, and the veteran started to answer when the other man stayed quiet, "No. I told him what happened last night and he followed me down here."
Anna's silence eventually pulled the Hans' attention up to her. He would have to answer for himself. "I assume Elsa is going to dismiss the suitors except for the Bosnian governor," he said, and when that didn't satisfy Anna enough to break her concentration, Hans continued, "I don't…trust that man. He's too hard to read. I just wanted to know what was going to happen."
The Princess would have asked something more, but about the time she opened her mouth, Elsa was heralded into the room. The group of four moved away from the wall, watching the suitors gravitate slowly towards the dais and Queen.
Elsa started out by asking for an account of what happened, and Linnéa was produced to relate what she had seen. It was a colorful description that got quieter every time she had to use one of the insults that had been lobbed back and forth the night previous. When she was done, Sokollu had been painted as the one in the right.
The same lord who had the altercation with the man from Bosnia seemed elected to speak next. And speak he did. The windbag. Anna hadn't heard such pompous rhetoric since... well, it was pompous all the same. And it seemed he knew that he was losing the Queen, both in the subject and in being her possible suitor. When he realized, however, that the battle was lost, he seemed to take a change, rather like a cornered animal becoming more vicious.
"I can see I was a fool to ever go against this man, Your Majesty. He has you wrapped around his finger more perfectly than any of us could ever dream of. I imagine that you know about the little rumor? The one that says you're riding his cock?" Outraged gasps filled the room, but which the Queen quieted with a commanding hand. The lord went on, "I've worked it out; he started those rumors, Queen Elsa. This is all of his design. The crown will be his by default. You'll kick us all out except your benevolent white knight, and perhaps he will be a good husband, perhaps he will be a good king, but it will be all for the sake of adding Arendelle to his masters' Empire. You'll be saddled with bearing his children and playing entertainment for his sultans. But, by all rights, Queen Elsa, the choice is yours."
Although half of the people in attendance wanted nothing more than to drag the man out by his ears, he was permitted to leave of his own volition, once he had gathered his things. He left the audience hall with his nose so far in the air it was a wonder he could see where he was going. Still, the suitors' dismissals did not end there. Elsa sent each man packing individually, one after another. She said it was for the benefit of their respective countries.
Soon, the Queen was left with just two suitors, the Governor, and another.
"You," Elsa said to the suitor whose name Anna had never cared to learn, "May leave. Tell your kinsmen that of my suitors you were the one I disliked least." The man bowed his head in acceptance but marched out with the firm shoulders and straight back of a man who had been insulted. The crowd was down to so few. Anna, Kristoff, Linnéa, Egon, Hans, Sokollu, and the few royal guards and staff who had not been sent off with the suitors to watch that they hadn't taken anything or done the castle a disservice.
"Governor... may I speak to you privately?" Elsa asked. Anna shook her head, silently pleading that her sister would not go and be alone with the man. But Sokollu agreed, and they went to speak in the Queen's hall. Anna looked at her husband, who pulled her into a hug that she didn't realize she needed so much until she was in his arms. He said kind words just loud enough for her alone to hear. She didn't know how long she had stayed like that because she could live her life in the strong arms around her, but eventually, the voice of her sister screamed out "HELP!" from behind the door.
They entered the hallway, and Elsa was again affronted by how little emotion she could read from the man in front of her. But the suitor Sokollu fought with had already done his damage.
"You will be returning home," she told him blankly, unfeelingly. He recoiled slightly, the most telling of reactions so far. "But, your Majesty... I... I thought we were..."
"You thought wrong," Elsa stated, blunt, and continued, "You're either lying to me or you have a genuine interest in me, but I can't tell the difference. You're too hard for me to read."
"I have a genuine interest in you, Elsa," Sokollu replied, half a plea in his voice. He reached for one of her hands.
Already she was barely controlling her emotions, so she put her hand behind her back, out of his reach, afraid of his touch in the back of her mind. His face spasmed, not understanding, perhaps believing she wanted to deny him out of some sort of spite. "My Queen," he said, meeting her eyes with those gentle hazel orbs, beseeching her, "Please, what can I say to make you believe me?"
"Nothing," Elsa said, control slipping for a moment so that her voice broke, "That man's speech worked as intended. You were too hard to trust before, but I'll never know if you're here for me or here for your Empire. I can't imagine a life married to a man I can never give my full trust."
"But he was wrong," Sokollu said, hands raised as if to put them on her thin shoulders. Elsa took a step back, weary to be touched in a moment where she was fighting to keep her power in check. "He was wrong, I'm telling you," he took a step forward, catching her in his arms. In the next second, he was pressing his lips to hers.
She was surprised.
He was trying to convey so much with his embrace and with that kiss.
Fear would be her enemy, always.
Sokollu landed heavily against the door that led back to the audience hall, pushed away with a combination of concussive cold air and the heavy frost that radiated with Elsa and filled almost every part of the hall.
The governor looked fearful, covered in frost. Elsa stepped forward, wishing she could take it back. "Y-you shocked me," she said, feeling tears prick her eyes, "I was trying not to—"
Sokollu pulled his limbs closer to his body, fear turning into a sort of pain. Had she frozen him? Was he going to turn to ice like Anna? She couldn't let that happen. She didn't want that to happen.
"HELP!" she cried, not daring to get too near. It wasn't three seconds later that the door burst in as much as it could, Egon and other guards trying to force their way in.
"He's pressed against it," she warned them, and though they were more gentle, Sokollu was still in the way of opening the door.
Their gaze, each and every guard, went from the Queen to the suitor in the floor, taking in every inch of the frost-covered hall. Sokollu was lifted between two guards and taken away quickly, an attempt to help him to a fire at her behest. At the first opportunity, the Queen fled the hall for her apartments.
In the silence of her room, Elsa replayed the moments over and over, remembering the moment her power was no longer bottled up. Frustrated, she pulled her legs to her chest and set her chin on her knees. Anna watched her, bundled against the cold as if she were some sort of turtle, sympathy written in the pull of her brows.
"Tell me what you're thinking," Anna pled.
Elsa tucked her chin to her chest, her lips against the ice fabric of her trousers. "I... I'm thinking about how I put him on a ship back to Bosnia because I couldn't undo what I had done. I'm thinking about how if he wasn't a Governor and I wasn't a Queen, and we had come across each other by chance, things might have been different... And I keep thinking about how pointless it is to think about any of it. I hurt him... it may not have been like how I hurt you, but it was bad enough. If the warm to the south doesn't help him; if he dies, I'll be... They'll label me a monster. Our people will fear me again..." Overcome by her thoughts, Elsa hid her face behind her knees and started to cry again. The frustration of the whole experience weighed heavily, and she couldn't help but voice, miserably, "And I couldn't pick a suitor. The countries may want to send more. They'll want to try again. I'll have to do it all over again and I just can't."
"You won't have to do anything you don't want to," Anna said, keeping her distance despite visibly looking like she wanted to touch her sister, "We can tell those countries to find some other queen to bother; you gave it a shot. It's not your fault they didn't work."
Elsa squeezed her legs tighter against her chest in place of hugging her sister, Anna's words only barely making her feel less frustrated. "It's a nice thought, but all I can think of is how I said we wouldn't go to war. And that may not be true once all the suitors return to their homes."
Anna didn't have words, it seemed. She knew that war would do to Arendelle what a fire does to wood. Their kingdom would be overrun quickly, and in the end, there would be nothing left of life before.
"Should we... Should the people come to court?" Anna asked. Elsa heaved a heavy sigh, better than sobbing, and nodded. "Yes," she bade, "If for nothing else than to explain what might happen."
Anna was slow to get to her feet, obviously struggling with her large belly. The Queen thought to offer her sister help, and the words died in her throat as she hesitated. Could she help without hurting Anna? She doubted herself, but in the same moment reached forward anyway, securing Anna's back as she stood and letting go once she was sure Anna had her balance. A smile spread Anna's lips, happy and proud, but Elsa couldn't return it with the same strength, her smile more of a grimace than a grin. Being able to help Anna up once was no more a breakthrough than being able to keep her from freezing in the cold of Elsa's room.
Out in the study, waiting was a rag-tag council who all turned their attentions to Elsa. Anna went to stand with Kristoff, Olaf waddling over to the expecting pair to take Anna's hand in between the branches of his. Egon and Linnéa, Hans, Gerda, and Kai completed the group, and Elsa wondered if they were all that were left inside of the castle.
"I... I don't know what to say," Elsa began, folding her hands together in front of her, eyes on her fingernails. Kai spoke first, "Your Grace, you needn't say anything. We all understand."
"Whatever happened behind that door, the Governor had a hand in it, we know," Linnéa tacked on. Her husband nodded resolutely beside her.
"...Thank you... all... but I...," Elsa trailed, thoughts tumbling over one another, like that she only felt guilty, and that she didn't feel like she deserved their understanding, that she had been too weak to maintain control. Rather than say anything more on that line of thought, she lifted her head and said, "We should prepare ourselves, and our people, for the possibility of war. I have no other ideas. If anyone else does, feel free to speak."
Everyone was quiet, each eyeballing the group collectively as though waiting for someone else to speak.
Olaf, out of the whole group, was the first to speak. "War? I've never been to war, but the way you said it, it sounds like something really bad."
"It is," Egon confirmed, the veteran resolute in his statement, "Men, gone before their time; their families bereft without them, the country that loses conquered or worse, and poor as dirt. War is not something one goes into lightly."
"Especially not against a greater force," Kristoff added, to which Olaf nodded. The snowman set his chin on one wooden fist, thinking. It seemed that the silence stretched on so long that the group had moved past explaining war to Olaf. Right about the time Elsa noticed Anna open her mouth, Olaf broke his silence again.
"War is bad, and we're too small to really win war, so we would need to be bigger, and Elsa isn't going to fight because her powers are really unstable and also because she doesn't want to. The other countries might call for war because Elsa didn't marry the people they sent to her, but all they sent were bad choices so it's really not her fault. But if Elsa has to do that again it might make her crazy."
The Queen couldn't tear her eyes away from Olaf, who had caught on to so much more than she had expected him to. It made her surprisingly emotional. He continued, again putting his branchy fist to his face, "How could you win war? If only... if only there was someone who owed you a lot and who had a way to get an army and who wouldn't expect anything from you and that wouldn't mind not being king and..."
Elsa and six other pairs of eyes turned to look at one person, who's sudden turn as the center of attention made visibly uncomfortable. Olaf was quiet and confused, "Wait, why are you all looking at Hans?"
The Queen had asked Hans to take a walk with her, perhaps noting his discomfort. They were several halls away from her apartment when he finally broke his silence, "Ask anything of me, your Majesty."
He caught her slight flinch, but other than that, couldn't discern what was on her mind. Her soft footfalls slowed and stopped, Hans turning to face her. "The thing that Olaf... if I... how... how," her voice was quiet, but not soft, and when she finally met his gaze, Hans was aware of the hardness in her crystalline eyes, "How can I ask the man who at one time would have murdered me and left my sister to die to marry me?"
It was deserved. Other than his first thought, Hans had no answer for the Queen, and so it tripped out of his mouth with halting speech and a wince, "That's a... a good question." Fair brows lowered over blue eyes, not softening their pointed, cold look. "That's not helpful, Prince Hans," Elsa stated.
"What would you have me say, Queen Elsa? I don't know what to say... I'm not the same as I was then," I'm not even a man anymore , Hans added internally. The Queen looked away after a long moment. She spoke quietly and Hans wasn't sure, but it sounded like her voice had softened, "You're not. I know. But would anyone else be able to look past it?" She shook her head, and the movement made her dress catch the light, but the gown was lackluster compared to others she had created.
"Dorian—Dorian is the heir, and... maybe he feels guilty that he didn't expect our brothers to be as... to do to me what they did..." Hans felt like he was grasping at the correct phrasing, mind passing over all the horrors he endured, "But if an alliance were made between Arendelle and the Southern Isles, Dorian would not leave Arendelle to its fate. Naysayers may look past it while my brother's army protected them."
"And you would be King of Arendelle?" Elsa asked, voice regaining an edge to it. Hans came back to the thought that had made his stomach turn since the room of people had looked at him with such intention. It made him almost physically sick, the thought that what he had schemed for, what he had been broken for wanting, was being offered to him.
"I couldn't be king of anything, Queen Elsa," Hans replied rather hoarsely, "I certainly know that I'm not worthy to be."
Elsa let out something like a scoff, and when their silence had lasted a moment, she started to walk.
"You're telling me no, then," she said, "I couldn't ask anything of you after all."
"Your Majesty, I—,"
Elsa spun on him, visibly irritated. "You come to my kingdom and try and steal it. I send you home to brothers who were only supposed to give you a fitting punishment, and someone drags you back a year later, tortured and castrated. And I feel sorry for you, and I let you live here, but it's been almost a year since and I haven't got a good reason for why you're still here. Protection, I know, but not one that benefits me. And the one thing that you could do to help me, you don't seem to be open to." Elsa had taken a step closer, fists clenched at her sides, looking up at him and somehow looming over him too.
He looked down at his feet, unable to withstand the scrutiny. He could imagine his brothers and their reactions to the news. Dorian would be pleased with the alliance, pleased Arendelle would be tied to the Southern Isles. Henrik,Vilppu, and Jerrik, the other three not a part of the events after his "hanging" would perhaps be indifferent, but all the rest—Aleksander, Adelbert, Iefan, Stanley, Dagny, Owain, Cynebald, and Gustav—they might would throw caution to the wind and come to Arendelle themselves.
"Your kingdom will need an heir," he said in a voice barely above a whisper.
"Anna's child or children," she replied with little hesitation. Hans looked up to see the Queen wearing a calm expression. He couldn't imagine what she must be thinking, wondering if marriage to him for an army would ever be worth as much as a child of her own. The Queen was willing to sacrifice that future for Arendelle. He owed so much to her, and if a political match for political reasons was the least she could ask of him, he couldn't refuse.
Hans lowered himself to one knee, less than graceful, and repeated, "Ask anything of me, your Majesty."