The man straightens his collar again as he waits in the Palace's hallway. His faded uniform looks out-of-place amongst the portraits of generals and statesmen, with starched suits weighed down by rows of medals. Along the man's chest, a row of empty pinholes lie, hollow vestiges of his former days. Now, there's nothing but wrinkles streaking across his forehead and grey hair balding from his head to remind him of everything which went wrong. He tips the muddy, broken-in boots to his gaze and wonders how on earth the guards let him through with such a shoddy appearance. Truth be told, this was the best uniform he could come up with on such a short notice.
The doors swing open, and he snaps to attention as Kai emerges from the office.
"The Queen will see you now," Kai announces, "I trust you haven't forgotten your courtesies."
He nods and slips into Elsa's office, treading softly on the woolen carpet as though it was woven from glass. His eyes widen at the Queen seated behind her desk dressed in farmer's clothes, and a woody, earthy scent saturates his senses. Elsa's slim figure barely fills the throne built for the imposing frame of her father's shoulders – but the dignified poise of her posture and the terrifying aura exuded by her hands saturates the room with a regal presence. Her crown braid had been undone and replaced by a pair of pigtails, unadorned by jewellery of any sort. Despite her homely dressing, she looks at ease amongst the implements representing her Monarchical power.
The man tips his gaze to the coronation portrait on the wall, and salutes her – before changing his mind and bowing. Elsa doesn't look up from the folder opened before her; she keeps her finger fixed on a document while writing a letter.
"Superintendent Peter Kristian," Elsa announces.
The look in his eyes betrays the surprise written on his face; it's been a long time since anyone has attached a rank to his name.
"Your Majesty," he says, bowing deeply, "I apologize sincerely for my shoddy appearance. To what do-"
"You were tasked with investigating a suspected crime of embezzlement from the Kingdom Treasury four months following my Father's untimely death at sea," Elsa says without looking up, "during the course of your investigation, you were dismissed from the Arendelle Police Service. Are these facts correct?"
"Yes, your Majesty."
Elsa finally looks up and stares straight into his eyes.
"What was the cause for your dismissal?"
He looks down and shifts his weight on his other boot. A lump forms in his throat and he swallows, stammering, "It was for reasons unrelated to the investigation."
"I don't think so," Elsa replies curtly, "there's nothing in your file so suggest it."
"If I may be so bold, your Majesty - a lot of truths are lost in the paperwork."
"You're right," Elsa says, shutting the file and signing her letter, "I'm reinstating you as Superintendent in the Arendelle Police Service."
The man drops to a knee and declares, "Your Majesty, I do not...I do not deserve such an act of kindness."
"Get up," Elsa orders, "this isn't an act of kindness. You are to move back into your former quarters and resume investigation into the case."
"But...there's someone else there."
"You mean the officer who took your job and ceased the embezzlement investigation?" Elsa says, slotting the letter into an envelope and sealing it with great deliberation, "I had a discussion with him about his future here in Arendelle. If he took my words seriously, he should be in France by now."
"Your Majesty, I promise you that I will not fail-"
Elsa waves a hand at him, "Please, no promises; or I'll have to exile you too if you break them."
With a flick of her wrist, the man's letter of appointment – and a new lease on his life – slides across the red leather of her mahogany desk and comes to a halt before his bewildered eyes. His fingers tremble on the envelope, before he accepts it with both hands and a bow. The clock strikes six and Elsa doesn't wait for the man to leave; she brushes past him on her way into the corridor, where Gerda awaits her.
"Your traveling clothes are ready, your Majesty," she says, handing over a bag patched together from scraps of tweed and cotton.
The smell of lemon soap from neatly folded dresses and underclothes greets her when she opens the bag. Tucked beneath layers of fabric, the glint of a crown catches Elsa's eye, and she smiles.
"Woh, Elsa!" Anna chimes upon seeing her sister saunter into the Palace courtyard, "you look…different! I mean, you pull off the country look pretty well!"
"So do you, Anna," Elsa smiles, taking her sister's hands in hers, "I wouldn't have recognized you in Barnmeadow if your hair wasn't peeping out from under the shawl."
Beneath the orange glow illuminating her face, Elsa fails to detect a tinge of red blossoming across Anna's face. The younger sister inhales deeply. "Your dress smells like grass," Anna whispers, "like the smell of grass after the rain."
"Well, it's part of the disguise. I don't intend on waltzing into Finnmark as the Queen. Are you ready to go?"
"Of course! I was born ready!" Anna exclaims, hopping up and down, "I mean, I've never traveled this far before! The North Mountain doesn't count!"
"Well, just make sure you-"
"Aren't we running a little late? I saw the ships setting sail for Finnmark last Friday, and um…where's the royal carriage?" Anna buzzes.
A smirk forms on Elsa's lips, "who says we're sailing there?"
"We're riding to Finnmark? Cool! Wow, it sure is going to take a long time traveling overland."
Elsa's gaze travels towards the North Mountain as Anna buzzes in her ear about the different routes she's looked up on maps. With the softest of Elsa's whispers lost in the gleeful chatter of Anna's voice, the Queen holds her breath, and waits. A minute passes, and she nudges Anna behind her.
"Stand back," Elsa insists, "she'll be here soon."
"She?" Anna asks, "Who's she?"
With a thunderous flap of its wings filling the courtyard with sleet, Elsa's snow-dragon unleashes a deafening roar as it lands squarely in front of Elsa, sending Anna stumbling backwards.
"Oh my God!" Anna screams, scurrying behind Elsa's knee, "it looks more like a he! This one's even bigger than Marshmallow!"
"Relax Anna," Elsa says and brushes the thick layer of snow flung on Anna's hair, "she's helping to get us there."
"So we're going to fly there?" Anna gasps, shuddering at the sight of the enormous flying beast snorting icy fog in her face, "I've never flown before. In fact, I don't think anyone ever has."
"Actually, you have," Elsa says, "I used her when you got attacked in the woods."
"So that was how I got home!" Anna exclaims. Despite her earlier apprehension, Anna gleefully mounts the dragon as though it were any Palace horse, and Elsa takes her position behind Anna. The feeling of her body nestling within the comfort of Elsa's embrace fills her with a rush of warmth; she relaxes momentarily before the dragon leaps from the earth and she grabs hold of the reins for dear life. A piercing shriek escapes her lips and slices through the air as the beast soars into the sky, followed by a pair of voices dotting the silence of the night sky with the sounds of cheery giggling.
Slouched against a boulder, Anna's steady breathing bubbles from her lips in a throaty snore.
"Wake up, Anna," Elsa whispers against her sister's hair.
Anna stirs from her sleep, "Are we there yet?"
"Yes," Elsa answers, draping her cloak over Anna's shoulders, "you started sleeping like a rock halfway through the journey."
"That's because…well…it just feels so good being in your arms."
"…and you look so cute when you're sleeping," Elsa says, helping Anna to her feet. They stand at the edge of a dirt trail overlooking the only village in Finnmark, its streetlamps illuminating the dark, sprawling plains with a speckling of lights, mirroring the star-strewn skies above.
"Finnmark huh?" Anna whispers to the night-breeze, "it's less cold than I imagined."
"It'll get colder tomorrow morning, unless you keep up that cute smile of yours."
Anna sticks her fingers into the corners of her mouth and pulls out the biggest grin her face can muster. Although it's nothing more than a faint row of teeth glowing beneath the pale moonlight, the temperature warms by a notch as the sisters stroll down the dirt path to the village.
As they approach the edge of Finnmark, Elsa slips her fingers from Anna's and puts on a pair of gloves. The sound of singing and dancing greets them as they stroll along the streets arm-in-arm posing as a pair of peasant girls.
Despite the town's isolation from the rest of Arendelle, an electric energy buzzes through the village square as the townsfolk celebrates its autumn harvest. Large tents had been set up with everything from roasted boar to barrels of foamy ale. Anna's eyes brighten at the sight and sound of dancing peasants in the centre of the square. It's like nothing she's ever seen before – neither the straitlaced ballroom dances at Palace parties nor the stuffy folk dances in the Capital's spring carnival could compare to the raw, unabated energy abound in the village.
A red-faced man dragging a lute behind him stumbles between Elsa and Anna, separating their linked arms.
"Go on then," Elsa raises her voice over the sound of chortling from a table of farmers and gestures towards the milkmaidens dancing to the sound of fiddles, "you've always loved dancing."
Anna plants a kiss on her sister's cheek and skips off to join the crowd, leaving her to wander the circumference of the festivities at play. Elsa smiles at the elaborate sculpture of her queenly figure perched over a fountain; garlands of lilies grace its stone neck and wreaths of crocus petals adorn her iron crown. The cheer and smile on the faces of Finnmark's humble woodcutters and farmers reassures her that even if they weren't here as Queen and Princess, the town still welcomed them as if they were.
With nothing else left to do, Elsa keeps an eye on her sister's dancing as she saunters over to a tent to sample the town's ale. She fills herself a mug full of frothy ale, but the memory of Barnmeadow's foul drainwater turns her mouth dry, and she hesitates her lips on the edge of the mug. To her surprise, the richness of malted barley floods her mouth with a smooth velvety texture, and by the time she bears to pull the mug away from herself – half of it has disappeared down her throat. At least this town doesn't have a water problem.
The burn of alcohol blurs her mind momentarily; Elsa takes a step forward, and she stumbles into another person.
"Woah, easy there, hun," A woman's voice drawls in her ear, "a bit early to be havin' much Ale eh?"
A pair of strong arms grip her shoulders and pull her upright. Elsa tips her head up at the stranger's porcelain-pale features topped off with silky-smooth golden hair. She stands up straight and comes level with her striking green eyes. It's been a long time since the Queen had met a woman who was as tall as her; even Anna couldn't match her height in heels. The woman's humble clothes stained with mud and bits of grass suggest that she, like everyone else – had come in from a hard day's work in the fields to unwind. Elsa travels her gaze down her arm and along her impressively long fingers wrapped around a bottle of clear liquid.
"Is that…water?" Elsa says, setting her mug on the table.
"Vodka!" the woman chirps, taking a swig and exhaling the intoxicating scent of alcohol onto Elsa's face.
"Christ, that's strong!" Elsa exclaims.
The woman puts on a thick faux-Russian accent, "none for you though, you've certainly had enough for tonight."
"Of course not," Elsa says, gripping the edges of the table and trying to position herself on the bench, "do you happen to be Russian?"
"My father is. He brings the village crates of vodka every time the ship comes back," she says, sitting next to Elsa, "would you fancy having a drink with this half-Russian girl?"
Elsa looks over her shoulders and barely makes out Anna's reddish braids twirling in the air as she skips to the tune of a folk song.
"Of course," Elsa says, "perhaps you'll help me stay sober."
"I wouldn't want any old sleaze taking advantage of a beautiful lady like yourself," she says, tucking a disheveled fringe behind Elsa's ear. Her face blushes scarlet at the touch of the stranger's fingers to her ears, and a smirk forms on the lady's lips.
"I'm Anna-" she starts, and a chill forms on Elsa's breath – before the woman continues, "Anastasia."
"Pretty name," Elsa answers, taking another sip of her Ale and trying to contain the tremble in her fingers, "I'm El-, Elise."
"Sounds French," Anastasia says and cocks her head to the side "you're not from around here are you? I would've noticed such a pretty girl showing up in this part of the woods."
"Half-French," Elsa mutters, trying to keep a smile from bubbling up from the recesses of her heart, "I'm from Belgium."
"Well, you're here just in time for the festivities Belgian girl. Tomorrow, Queen Elsa's paying a visit to the least important of her provinces."
"I don't think her Majesty thinks of Finnmark that lowly-"
"Doesn't she? The ports are frozen half the year, even though we bring in so much for the Kingdom and everyone knows she's fully capable of fixing this."
Elsa's widen at the revelation, and she hides her surprise behind another long glug of Ale.
"Finnmark depends on the port for survival?" Elsa asks, coaxing more information out of her new friend.
"More than survival – we could very well bring in profits if our trade revenue wasn't being taxed so highly. At least there'd be some sort of incentive for the mercantile class to grow, but there isn't," Anastasia says, gesturing at the crowd, "instead there's all farmers and loggers here."
"Is that so?" Elsa asks.
"This could be Russia's gateway to Scandinavia if the Fjords weren't frozen all the time. My father says the ships are overladen from demand during the non-winter months."
"That's interesting," Elsa says. Her eyes wander down the lady's arms and she sucks in a gasp at the sight of Anastasia's hand perched on her knee. A warmth travels up Elsa's thigh, and her breath comes out in a foggy sputter. Once more, Elsa looks over her shoulder for Anna. She finds her in the crowd making a poor attempt at juggling a trio of fruits for a group of cackling children.
"You're a good sister," Anastasia observes, "looking out for her."
"She's n-not my sister," Elsa stammers, placing a gloved hand on Anastasia's and avoiding her gaze, "A-alice is my c-cousin."
A smirk forms on Anastasia's lips, and she nods.
"You s-saw us c-coming in together?" Elsa asks.
"It'd be hard to miss a beautiful blonde such as yourself," Anastasia whispers and runs her fingers along Elsa's cheek. They graze along her neck and Elsa's skin prickles from the touch, her breath alternating between warmth and frost.
"I s-should go," Elsa stammers as she rises from the bench, "thanks for keeping me company, I enjoyed it."
Her attempts to leave are cut off by a pair of calloused hands clutched around her elbows.
"I enjoyed myself too," Anastasia says, locking her gaze to Elsa's and dropping her voice to a whisper, "if you ever want anything else, anything at all – I live at the Kranzt farm east of the village."
The lady pulls Elsa close to her body; she touches a hand to her chest and bites her lip at the thump of Elsa's heart against her fingers.
"I'm not going to lie, it's been a long time since anyone as beautiful as yourself showed up here. You're just so delicate, so fair, so…" Anastasia lingers on her words, trailing her fingers along Elsa's arms and slipping them into the crook of her gloves. Elsa's clenches her teeth before gasping as the cold leaves her hands and streaks up along Anastasia's wrist.
"So cold," she whispers into Elsa's ears.
Elsa stumbles backwards, but she's stopped by the ferocious grip of Anastasia's arm around her waist. A smirk graces the woman's lips, and the spark of desire dances in her emerald eyes. The glinting in her eyes cease, and before Elsa's mind can register anything else, electricity crackles across her lips and warmth floods across her entire body as Anastasia presses her lips to Elsa's. Despite the woman's mild inebriation, her lips taste of vanilla, and the smell of nectar floods Elsa's senses, rendering her knees weak. The tips of her fingers come alight with fire and they curl up into fists around Anastasia's dress, before pushing her away.
Anastasia touches her frost-coated lips; she chuckles at the sheen of ice melting on her fingertips and curtseys.
"Sincerest apologies for my untoward behaviour, your Majesty," she says with a wink, before fleeing into the next tent.
Whirling around on her heels, Elsa barely makes out the sight of Anna running from the crowd.