AN: Biiig update this time. Yes, it's been too long—it always feels that way to me. So many projects on the go, and not enough time for all of them. Anyway I hope everyone enjoys this, and know that no matter how long it takes, there's more on the way, and the story will be finished one day.
Just not this day.
"You're up early, Erikson." Völund walked into the guard tower as Hank finished pulling on his shirt. "I'd have thought you'd be staying in the castle proper, what with being the queen's favourite."
"Protector, in case you forgot." Hank, pulled up his undershirt to reveal the scar. "She says I'm her houscarl, which is something between bodyguard and advisor. At least that's what she has me doing. What's your excuse this morning?"
"Wednesday, so, sword drills." Völund gave him a genuine smile. "Have to keep the men in practice. Speaking of practice, are you still teaching the princess how to fight?"
"You know her, she insists. She just forgot last week—if you recall the incident with the library." Hank's fingers automatically did up the buttons on his shirt as he spoke. "As to staying in the castle, sometimes I find it helpful to remember where I'm from."
"Wouldn't that put you in the barracks with Marshal Gerhardt then?"
Hank shook his head, letting out a quiet huff of frustration. "As far as I can reasonably go, and still be close enough to her majesty."
"Aye, that's fair." Völund clapped him on the back, then pointed out the window. "It's nearly dawn, I'd say you'd best be going now."
"I will be," Hank pulled on his fusilier's jacket and strapped on his sword belt. "You've heard about the trolls?"
"I've not heard of much stranger than that, but yes, word has been passed around. It's concerning—especially the idea they broke free of the dungeons somehow."
"Five hundred years of history we know nothing about…" Hank offered Völund a quick salute as he left. The chief lieutenant of the guards returned it smartly.
Idly, Hank wondered if Völund would be elevated to captain soon—there was a vacancy, after all, and Völund was a good man, if somewhat gruff at times.
As he walked across the grounds in the pre-dawn light, Hank's mind began to wander as he recalled the wording of Elsa's request, and other suggestions she had intimated. More than just asking for his help to prepare for the day. She was asking him to spend more time close to her. He'd said, once, that he needed to be more to her. Wanted to be more. She had almost begged him to act on those desires. Now Elsa was creating opportunities for the two of them to spend that time together. Secret—or not so secret—dalliances they could pursue. She had made a point about them both being victims of circumstance—and further, that if they could both accept it, why not use it to move forward?
Distant clouds scudded across the horizon as a chill breeze drifted through the courtyard. Glancing over his shoulder, Hank could just make out the first rays of sunlight, bouncing off the clouds. He kept his pace steady. No need to rush.
At the entrance to the castle Hank knocked twice, saluting the guard there before being allowed to enter via the smaller side door. Since the threat of the trolls had been discussed, security around the castle seemed to have improved. Or perhaps it was just the threat of the trolls that put the other guards on edge. There was an unspoken tension there. Yet, worried as he was—as everyone was—Elsa still seemed able to function with perfect normality. At least, as far as she was allowed to be normal, and would allow herself to show. There were a lot of things she would show only to certain people. He remembered the way she had smiled when admitting that she, too, felt somewhat rushed into this new relationship. A special smile, just for him. Something much more pleasant to dwell upon. His mind turned to the duties he would need to do for her.
Helping Elsa prepare for the day would mean a lot of physical closeness. Skin to skin. Intimate, without being… more. Even if they both wanted more. There seemed an unspoken agreement of how far they might go. Of what boundaries might be pressed. And of the kisses that might be stolen—probably by her. Touches that might last just a little too long—with some teasing commentary afterwards. He smiled softly, recalling how Elsa played with the shaving foam before lathering his chin the other day. She had actually done remarkably well—almost suspiciously—until he recalled the perfectionism in almost everything she attempted. She was rarely content with 'good enough'—and that was a value they both shared.
They shared a lot of values, in fact. She could be stern, and stubborn, driven to do what was right. He'd seen it enough from a distance, or on the council. She was loyal, and cared deeply for others. Her sister, the council, Arendelle. Even him—something she admitted might even be love. She was smart, too. Shrewd, and thoughtful, considering so many angles to the the problems they all faced. She could also admit making mistakes—he recalled her stories of her first encounters with Marshal Gerhardt—and apologising. Then there was the playful side, of just being a young a woman, experiencing the world. Her inquisitive drive to discover so much more about her magic after being possessed by Thyrí. Some things reserved only for him. To see her so shy—bashful, almost—but coy and coquettish. Teasing him, and leading him into exquisite traps of wordplay and almost scandalous intent. He smiled, remembering the last time, and wondering how she might tease him again.
As he walked through the halls of the castle, Hank pondered what he meant to her. What he already knew, and how she might see him in the future. She had said he was her shield against the dark. Her Protector. At first, that was all it had been. All she had needed. Now there was so much more. Houscarl. Friend. Confidante. Maybe even her royal consort—even if it might not yet be official. In the future, lover, and husband. And if it went that far, would he then be King consort? He frowned. Or would it be Prince consort? Somehow that sounded better. Less presumptuous.
He paused for a moment, standing outside her door. Then he knocked, just once.
"Come in," he closed the door behind him, noting that Elsa was still in bed, and hadn't even propped herself up this time. "I just need a moment more to wake up." Then she turned to look at him in the dim light coming through the curtains. "Rather formal today, Captain Erikson. My Curtains?"
Hank stepped forward, then moved across the room, opening the curtains to let in the sunlight. He saw Elsa's smile as she levered herself upright, then adjusted her nightgown. Then she yawned, rather spoiling the put-together image she was trying to present.
"First, I just want to be sure you're actually okay with helping me with everything—or close to everything—this morning?" Her tone was light, but the question was serious.
"Helping you wake, dressing you, setting your hair—though I'm not too confident in my abilities with the latter."
"I'll wear it simply today, if I have to," her smile was genuine, and appreciative. "Or even down, with just a little ribbon if that's all you can manage."
Hank laughed. "I think I can do better than that, your majesty."
"I believe you can as well," a much more mischievous smile followed. "In fact, I believe there are a great number of things you can do 'better than that' than you let on."
Hank smiled, moving back towards the bed. "I suspect you may know too much of that, your majesty."
He saw the smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Know? How can I know what you won't show?" She paused for effect. "But suspect—oh, I suspect a great many things. Or perhaps surmise is a kinder word."
Before he could reply, he saw her drop the facade, brushing stray hairs behind her ears and letting out a heavy breath. He let the concern into his voice. "Elsa?"
"I'm worried, Hank," she looked up at him, suddenly unsure, worries writ large across her face. "And it's wearing on me. Everyone's at risk, from something I did. Even now—even knowing the story Thyrí told me—I'm still not sure it was right. The harm this could cause, how do we—how does Arendelle—deal with that? Then there's me. What if they target me. What if they take my memories of Anna. Or you. Or the council."
He knew there was more. The imploring look in her eyes and the almost defeated set of her shoulders.
"Hank, what if they take how I learned to control my magic."
Hank placed a hand against each of her shoulders, squaring her up. She looked up at him, a silent plea. "It's a real possibility, isn't it?"
She just nodded.
"You'll learn again."
She looked at him, disbelieving. He gave her a reassuring smile, then leaned down so their foreheads touched.
"You can learn it all again," he kissed her forehead, brushing aside her hair. "You've already done it once. And I suspect you're keeping notes, after your sister suggested everyone keep journals…"
Elsa's eyes went wide with shock. Then she forced herself a little more upright, enough to steal kiss. He caught her then, as she almost fell out of her bed, reaching for the drawer of her nightstand.
"You weren't keeping notes?" Hank was shocked. "All the practice with Anna, and you haven't written anything down?" He handed her the diary and the pen from within the drawer of the nightstand.
"Feelings, what we did, snippets of conversation," Elsa gave him a wry smile as he helped her sit up again. "But fundamentals of what, and why, and how—" Elsa tapped her temple with her left hand. "—it's all been up here, and I've been an idiot. Because if I write it down, we will have a book about my magic, and together we might see something we've missed before. There are so many possibilities."
Magic swirled between them for a moment, and Elsa's customary chair formed beside the bed. Hank raised an eyebrow.
"Thinking of possibilities, and knowing you can't possibly be ready to help me in the bathroom—" Elsa gave him a somewhat chagrined smile. "—could you help me into my chair so I can—oh, Thank you."
Hank waited patiently until Elsa returned, then opened her wardrobe. "If you're asking for my help to dress, I must assume you'll select one of these?"
Elsa stifled a laugh as he gave a half-bow and gestured to the clothes with his left hand.
"Honestly, I don't know how to select a proper dress for you, Elsa."
"You're learning," and he wasn't quite sure if that was commentary on using her name instead of her title, or something else, given the sly little smile he saw. "So, what do you know about my dresses so far?"
"You have some really fancy ones, plain ones, rosemaling on some as well. Most of them have long skirts. I guess half of them have long sleeves too," He studied the contents of the wardrobe carefully. "Some of them look like they'd be indecent to wear in public, so guess they have to combine with a blouse. And, uh… the colours are significant. Black is for mourning. Arendelle green is for formal occasions. Blue is… well, you like blue. There's also white, which is… okay, I don't know. The last time I saw a pure white dress it was at a wedding, but this isn't a wedding dress."
He turned back to Elsa.
"How am I doing?"
"Surprisingly well for someone that claims he doesn't know how to select a proper dress for me." He could see her smile, almost teasing. "Say if I was feeling more relaxed today, and had no royal duties to attend to, what would you pick for me?"
"I think…" Hank spoke slowly as he carefully moved the dresses from side to side. "Something blue. Pale. Shorter sleeves—but you could still wear gloves if necessary—and a plain skirt, maybe this one, with the flower pattern around the hem?"
"I do like that one," Elsa's smile was genuine. "Now what if I had a meeting with a foreign noble?"
"Arendelle green; gold trim; full sleeves, tight bodice… pleated skirt?"
"It would suit, at least for some," Elsa nodded at the dress his hand hovered next to. "For now, the blue one you selected earlier—actually, that one next to it, right there—and a blouse to go under it. White."
Hank carefully extricated the chosen dress from the wardrobe, laying it out on the foot of Elsa's bed. The blouse came from a drawer in the bottom of the wardrobe. Elsa pointed to the drawer beside it. That drawer was filled with underwear and brassieres, and a pair of simple nightgowns. He turned back to Elsa with a questioning look.
"I'll need a brassiere for under the blouse. They are… most uncomfortable to sleep in." That mischievous smile again. "You get to put it on."
He had no answer for that.
"You've seen them before, after all," she gave him a much softer smile. "And there was the other time you helped me dress. There might come a time when you need to help me bathe. You should know my body, at least a little, before we get there."
"Your majesty, you have a manner of finding the very edge of my comfort and knocking it out of shape with alarming regularity." He retrieved a white brassiere from the drawer and laid it on the bed as well.
"Hank, honestly, if you're not comfortable with that, I can put the brassiere on myself—I just thought you might like the opportunity to… well…" He could see the blush in her cheeks. She was only subtle with her words.
Hank smiled ruefully, watching as Elsa pulled up the hem of her nightgown. Her confidence with her body could at times be shocking, and this was certainly one of them. Especially her request to help remove the gown when she'd managed to already get it half over her head, and expose the entirety of her stomach and chest. He sighed, pulling the gown back down a little, and helping her get the section she'd been sitting on out from under her and up past her back.
Putting a brassiere on someone else was a new experience—though he also mentioned he'd had more experience removing them. Elsa laughed at that, then suggested he could use that experience and put it on again. Several times, if he wanted. He kissed her on the cheek. Once was enough. Then he let his touch linger and trail down Elsa's arm. Unprofessional, but… well, she certainly wasn't complaining. Maybe pouting a little, however. He beckoned for her to raise her arms, and then he was helping her pull on the blouse.
As he fastened the buttons up the front, his fingers brushed more than accidentally against Elsa's breasts. He saw the hint of smile and the faint blush on her cheeks.
"And you say I can be a terrible tease," her voice was full of laughter. "You either know exactly what you're doing, or absolutely nothing about what you're doing—and it's infuriating that I can't tell which it is."
"I'm helping you get dressed," Hank made sure his smile was little too wide. "I know how to do that. Perhaps I should learn about setting your hair properly next. I'm learning quite a lot this morning, I think."
"You're also avoiding certain topics very well."
"Because I need time to think." He pulled the skirt down over Elsa's chest, then helped her adjust the straps over her shoulders. "Lean forward—I've got you." He pulled the skirt out under her, then set her back and smoothed it out front and back. "Because I really, really want this—" and he placed a hand very deliberately over her breast and next to her heart. "—and that. I want to deserve everything you're offering. I don't just want to take. I don't want it to be just for me helping you. I need to give back, and I need to figure out what that means to me. More than just—more than being intimate together."
Elsa pulled him down for a gentle kiss. "You can have all the time you need to really figure it out, but I'd really like your help to figure out the same things for me. I feel like it's something we should discover together."
Hank furrowed his brows and gave her a questioning look. "You want me to figure it out for you?"
"Sorry," Elsa sighed, clearly gathering her thoughts. "I meant…I'm still figuring out all of this, about love, and romance, and lust, and you're the first man—the first person—I've really gotten this close to. But I'm scared too, because… well—" and here Elsa gestured toward her legs. "—my injuries might make certain things difficult. Or impossible. The idea of that scares me. You want to move slowly, be patient with me, and it's amazing. But then, I keep thinking sometimes, about what comes next. After kissing, and touching, and… playing… there's making love."
There was a long pause, and he wasn't about to interrupt. He heard a sharp intake of breath, saw the way she balled her hands into fists. Her lips were set in a firm line, almost grim.
"I don't even know if I can. I don't know what it means if I can't. Or if it's only sort of… and then how would you feel? How should I feel?" She looked up imploringly at him. "Do you understand what I mean?"
"Even more than you might think, with everything else going on," Hank offered her a wry smile. "I can't tell you what you should feel, but I think I can tell you how I would feel—or rather, that my feelings for you wouldn't change. And it would be remarkably shallow of me if they did. I confess I might find myself disappointed, but it would not be hate, and I certainly wouldn't turn away from you. I will still love you. Even if we can't make love like others do, I will still love you. It would just be one more challenge to face together."
He stumbled as Elsa pulled him down for another kiss, this time with passion so deep he felt he could drown. "I love you for your honesty. I wish I could be so sure of my own feelings."
"You've only had feelings for a few weeks," Hank gave her a devilish wink. "They take a lifetime to understand."
"You… I…" Elsa sputtered, seemingly torn between mirth and fury, but her smile said it all. "How dare you…"
Hank offered a little laugh as he knelt beside her. "Trust me, sometimes we just can't understand our feelings so deeply. But when I look at you, when I think of us, I just know. I have no inkling why I have such surety about this, but I do. I've learned a lot about myself from being with others, too. It took Ingvarr to tell me I was being too much of a perfectionist about my kit in the Fusiliers. I wouldn't listen to my father about needing to shave, but when a friend told my bead looked terrible I took it rather more seriously. Even Anna saying I'm the right teacher for her because I'm patient, but don't hold back too much—I've seen myself as a mentor but not in the same way. I wouldn't have learned these things without other people."
"I really am an idiot sometimes," Elsa laughed, hiding her face with her hands. "And it's been right in front of me, too."
"You don't have to do everything alone." Hank took her wrists and gently lowered her hands so he could look into her eyes. "I know sometimes it's hard for you to ask, but that is all you need to do. Just ask."
"I really did pick the smart one," he saw Elsa's rueful smile. "But you haven't really answered the question."
"About how we should feel?"
Elsa shook her head. "About whether you understand why I'm trying to move forward, faster than you are generally comfortable with."
"Oh," Hank held up his hand, turning away for a moment to gather his thoughts. "I think… I think it's because you can't stand uncertainty, in anything. It seems all these things, about Thyrí, the trolls, the magic tomes, finding a new guildsman—all of it's eating away at you little by little. You want to know, and be sure of that knowledge. Half measures aren't enough. I wonder if it might be because you were alone for so long. You can only trust in what's true, and real, and what you can see and feel yourself. It's also something I'm not sure I know how to help you with—I'll certainly try, but I give no promises about my effectiveness."
"That's all I could ask of you, Hank," Elsa gave him a smile. "It's all Anna does as well. She might not always succeed, but she does always try."
"I believe it to be her most endearing and worthy trait."
"I'm glad you think so," Elsa agreed, smiling softly. "And I think, perhaps, we can talk of lighter things while you attempt to set my hair. In front of that mirror, please."
Hank wheeled her over, then combed out her hair with his fingers. She wordlessly handed him a brush, then began to sketch something on the mirror with her ice. A diagram of how to make a french braid.
"After you've brushed out the tangles you need to take quite a large section of my hair in your hand, and then make two more." Elsa's hands moved as she spoke, mimicking the actions required. "You start with a few crosses of a normal braid. Like that, yes. Then, every time you cross again, you take a few more hairs into the braid. Eventually you'll have all my hair in there—ow—not too tight, and then I have a clip to complete it. That one there, on the vanity."
Silence fell between them for a while, quiet and companionable as he devoted his concentration to getting the braid correct. It wasn't very even—almost lop-sided in places—and he worked back, undoing a few crosses until he could get it right. He frowned. Mostly even, then. In the mirror he could see that soft smile Elsa kept only for him. He had to return it. The closeness, like this, helping, touching, but just something so common. That felt right. Understated, perhaps. Just a quiet moment shared together. As he finished the braid, placing the clip she had pointed to earlier, he kissed the crown of her head.
She turned, feeling the braid, then draping it over her shoulder. She played with the loose hairs at the end for a moment before looking at the pair of them in the mirror. He took a moment to properly appreciate the scene. Him, in dress uniform, dark navy jacket and trousers, ivory inlaid scabbard at his side. His hair loose but tidy. Poised for action, but caught in a relaxed moment. She sat, in a chair of her own making. A simple dress of light blue, with a white blouse beneath, braid over her shoulder, a few stray hairs framing her face. She sat regal and poised, the very picture of courtly grace—but the little smile that quirked the corner of her mouth said that she, too, had been caught in special moment.
She turned her chair to extend a hand to him.
"If you would care to join me, Captain Erikson?"
"Certainly, your majesty." He gave her the smallest wink.
She laughed.
Elsa sat in the conservatory, nibbling on a slice of toast with marmalade. Hank was at her side, a cup of spiced tea in hand. She turned away for a moment, thinking over the correspondence of the morning. A pair of books that Gudbrand and Kristoffersen had sourced, but not yet acquired. Gerhardt's proposal for border guards, or at least a standing patrol—supported by Kristoffersen, and, surprisingly, Per Johanssen. Speaking with people about the upcoming medal ceremony, and the organisation—and security—required for that. It had been a busy morning, and this was a welcome break. But she could feel a slight tension in Hank. A tension she suspected was her own fault.
"I hope I didn't overly scandalise you earlier," she kept her voice light. "I find it easier to talk about certain things just after waking, when I might be less guarded. I suppose you must have realised by now."
"Not overly scandalised," Hank admitted, taking a sip of his tea. "Hmm, interesting flavours—you should try it. Still, it's still a lot to take in, and I feel like you're trying to move far too fast. Don't these courtships take years?"
"You've read too many silly romances," she chided him, laughing softly. "What of your other companions; did you woo them for years?"
"No, not years," he smiled, taking another sip of the tea. "But certainly longer than a few weeks."
"Might I ask how long would be 'right' for us?"
"You might," Hank give her a pained smile. "But I honestly don't know. I'm not just your friend, or future consort. I'm your houscarl, carer, and confidante. I need to be all these things for you, and I feel as if some of them might overlap in dangerous ways. I feel like I'm in uncharted waters."
"Then why not chart them together?" She offered him a genuine smile. "You know I would tell you if I was uncomfortable, or if I thought something wasn't proper—or rather, wasn't proper while we weren't teasing each other like that. But together. We can just talk. We can make compromises. Whisper sweet nothings to each other if that's all you might be comfortable with. And I may I mention something rather risqué?"
She saw Hank look around, to check if they would be unobserved, and unheard. "I feel like I'm about to be properly scandalised, but you may continue."
"I really like the way you touched my hair. The way your fingers brushed my neck, and back. When I didn't talk, it was because I was imagining you touching all of my body. Skin against skin. But just touching, exploring, nothing more. Do you think that's strange?"
"I was right about being scandalised," Hank laughed softly, but warmly. "It's not strange. You might want to move forward so very quickly, but you discovered something new about yourself, and your desires. Of course you'd want to explore it. I've seen the way you seek knowledge—even more obsessively than your sister. You put that knowledge to use, too."
A soft chirrup made them both turn.
Elsa stared.
Rask was standing there, eyes bright, body stiff, almost as if he was pointing. He was dusty, and had spots of something covering his snowy fur. Elsa beckoned him to her lap. He hesitated for a moment, then scurried up the side of her chair. It only took a few moments to brush him down and remove the cobwebs, but he was restless throughout all of it.
"Shouldn't you be with Anna right now?"
Rask butted his head against her hand, then leapt back to the floor, body pointing to a narrow section of wall.
"Hank?"
Elsa sat back as Hank approached the wall, pressing against one side then the other. Eventually there was a click, and the wall seemed to fold inwards. Another of the old passages through the castle. She had the feeling they might have used this one before—the conservatory entrance was known for the servants, after all—but there was something about the insistence of the little snow ferret now rushing towards the opening. She still hadn't moved.
"We need to tell Kai where we're going. And Rask, you wait here, okay?"
Kai wasn't far—he had a manner of being unobtrusively present while maintaining a professional distance, but he had seemed surprised about Elsa's intent, commenting that it was normally Anna that went on such adventures. She had agreed with him, but noted that it was Rask that had found her—a creature of magic—and therefore this particular adventure might have something to do with her magic itself. Then she returned to find Rask waiting patiently, Hank standing nearby.
"Shall we?" She offered Hank her hand.
"What are we going to do for light?"
"There has to be a lantern nearby."
There was, and a few minutes later they were making their way into the secret passages that wove through the castle, following the tiny snow ferret as he darted forwards, then sniffed this way and that when he found an intersection. As Rask continued onwards, Elsa found herself wondering about how she had given him life. Wondering about that great, pure, transcendental force she had felt flowing through her. And then contrasting that with a Divine that seemed coldly distant, never answering the most earnest of her prayers. A Divine that seemed aloof, almost uncaring, in spite of Gudbrand's words.
Whatever the other force had been, it certainly was not the Divine. It felt older somehow. Linked to the world in ways the Divine could never be. It was real—she had felt it. Seen its effects. Then, in her turmoil after touching the breath of life, it had reached out again, almost as if trying to reassure her. It was alive. Alive in the same way as her magic. Only here, in this world of cramped walls and flickering shadows, did she contrast the two. Because if she needed to call for help, which would answer?
The passages wound around through the walls of the castle until Rask suddenly dived down a staircase. Elsa frowned. A large spiral staircase, almost a ramp, that seemed to go down for several levels. Which meant this staircase would come out below the castle. Possibly below the waterline of the fjord. Then Rask was bounding back up the stairs, circling impatiently.
"Stairs can be a problem," she chided the little snow ferret. "Give me time."
Rask jumped down a few steps, then curled up, nose over his tail, watching lazily.
With a simple gesture Elsa created a short ramp of ice down the outside of the stairs. She could hear Hank following behind her, footsteps quiet but still enough to echo off the walls. Without looking she could tell he was tense. It seemed worse as they descended, but at the same time she felt herself feeling oddly at ease. She wondered if perhaps she was able to sense or feel something that Hank wasn't able to. Maybe the same thing drawing Rask downwards, deeper into the gloom ahead of them.
"I think it's magic," Elsa spoke softly, creating a glittering burst of snow. Snow that fell too slowly, drifting forward without any wind or will from her. "It has to be."
"It doesn't feel right," Hank's voice was tense, barely above a whisper. "Can't you tell?"
"No," Elsa shook her head. "It almost seems calming to me."
"Could it be a trap?"
"Then how did Rask get back?"
"Bait?"
Elsa shivered. Because it was entirely possible that Hank was right about this. It wasn't something she would do with her magic, but what about Thyrí, or past seidr? What about the trolls? This time the distant hint of magic set her on edge too. From the books, and her own experience, she knew just how dangerous magic could be. But she couldn't stop either, drawn on by a sense of welcome, and following the trail of a little ferret she had created. Then Rask stopped at an opening, looked both ways, and darted back to her, racing up her leg to sit in her lap.
"I think we're here."
With a gesture, Elsa conjured a mirror of ice next to the entrance. She heard Hank gasp behind her.
It was only a small cave. Smaller than her office, or the conservatory. But not so small she could touch both walls. Not even if she linked hands with Hank. But in the centre of the cave, carved of solid rock, stood an unmistakeable formation. A trio of bautasten. And carved into the walls, runes. So, so many runes. A few, at first glance, even looked like troll runes.
"What is this place?" Hank's voice was still a whisper, but full of curiosity now.
"I don't know," Elsa answered. "But it's clearly not part of the castle. We have to be underneath it, somewhere—but we took so many twists and turns I'm not sure exactly where. The magic is obvious now—do you still feel tense?"
"And… unwanted?" She turned in time to see his confused look. He lifted a hand and waved uncertainly. "Not by you, I mean… this place. You said magic, and you feel calm. I feel tense, and highly strung, like this is all some kind of trap. Do you think it's safe?"
"It feels that way," Elsa blinked, unsure why she'd said it that way. Hank had asked what she thought. "But I don't know if it's safe or not."
"Your magic is drawn from emotion—could this be the reverse?"
"Possibly, but why is it only affecting you?"
"To keep me out. Think, a sense of tension, foreboding, being unwelcome—would anyone feeling those actively seek out such a place?"
"That—" Elsa had been about to refute him, because Anna might have, but… Anna wasn't most people. "That makes far too much sense."
Elsa took a deep breath, then reached for Hank's hand.
"I'm going in there."
As she wheeled herself past the threshold, she felt the feeling of calm diminish. It wasn't replaced by anything, it was just lessened. She felt Hank relax as he stepped across that same threshold. The riskiest part was still to come, reaching out physically and magically towards the bautasten. She felt rough stone beneath her fingertips. Runes carved in somewhat crude forms. But no flashes of insight. No surge of magic. Not even some subtle glow. There might be magic within this cave, but the bautasten were almost disappointingly mundane.
Until she actually actually read them. It was a poem, about a seidr of jordmakt. A great woman who had raised the promontory on which the castle now stood. Her village had retreated across the bridge of rock, and then she had collapsed it. The attackers dared not follow after seeing such a display of power. Deep in the earth these bautasten had been raised, to honour the one who had given her life to save her people, gone to the halls of Valhalla.
Then her people had moved to the north, past the land of trolls. There the story ended.
Elsa huffed in frustration. Then she shivered with revelation and more than a little fear. Because the story said that seidr had died after raising the promontory and collapsing the rocky bridge. The effort of using that much magic—memories of her ice palace came flooding back; freezing the fjord; assaulting the Løkarnan fort; the destruction of her office, the library. Re-freezing the harbour. Elsa frowned again. She was missing something here. The magic of the seidr was powerful, but Thyrí had said nothing about such costs. There were no books from which to learn these limits. No one living that could help.
At least, no one human.
Which only made Anna and Kristoff's trip as emissaries to the trolls all the more important. She had no idea how to approach the other trolls—or even whether she should. Their acts might have been hostile, but they were also shaped by five hundred years of imprisonment. Gerhardt would probably hate her for the idea, but peace might be possible, if common ground could be found. Or even some kind of compact of mutual avoidance. Retrieving her journal from the side of her chair, she dutifully jotted down these thoughts, and the discovery itself, including a quick sketch of the bautasten.
As she made the sketch, she looked down at the base of each of the bautasten, and saw very crude, shallow carvings there. Names, in runic script. Most of them were meaningless. Except one.
Idunn.
"Mom?" Elsa whispered to the darkness.
"Elsa?" Hank's hand against her shoulder made her start.
"There," she pointed to the carving. "That's my mother's name."
"Could she have found this place?"
"She never mentioned it, but it's possible." Elsa leaned over awkwardly, fingers brushing at the rough runes there. "Idunn isn't a common name, after all. But why wouldn't she tell me?"
"Maybe it was special to her?"
"More than my powers?"
"Elsa, were they—were you—trying to control those powers, or suppress them?"
Elsa let out a defeated sigh. It made too much sense. This room spoke of magic, and powers, not unlike her own. But there was something dark in there. That ancient seidr had died after using so much power. If she'd found this cave in the past? She shivered, because she knew all too well that she might have tried. Her mind tried to drag her down that path, to make her see what it would have been like—
"No." Elsa's voice was firm. "That's not who I want to be."
"Elsa?" Hank's voice was soft. "Bad memories?"
"Yes. I know there's something here, I just don't think I'm in the right state of mind to see it."
"What about feeling it?"
"That was what led us here." Elsa felt a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "It hasn't changed."
"Then I suppose we should move on."
"We should." Elsa suited action to words, wheeling herself out of the cave, and back towards the spiral stairs. And as she did so, a traitorous thought asked if she would be able to find this place again, much later…
Søren looked overhead, trying to gauge the position of the sun through the leaves above. It was hard—from mid-morning to mid-afternoon the light seemed much the same, just the direction changing slightly. He knew he'd been travelling for hours. His left leg reminded him every other step. He'd cleaned the wound the madman's dagger had left, and bound it, but it still hurt. And it was slowing him down. It might slow him by as much as a day—and he'd already spent an extra day in the fort, burying the bodies of the Weseltonian soldiers.
He'd packed enough food for two days. Three, now that he was trying to take smaller portions. But that still meant he'd be going hungry for at least a day before he made it into Løkarna proper. He recognised enough to know he was inside the border of the smaller kingdom, but exactly where was harder to say. Water, at least, wouldn't be a problem, not with rain threatening overhead, and a stream ran near the road, so he could always refill his canteen from there. But he had nothing to hunt with, and although he knew some wild fruits and berries, he wasn't sure of his chances in finding any nearby.
All that was moot when he saw the hut, around a slight bend in the path. A number of trees had been cleared nearby, their stumps weatherbeaten, and the branches from surrounding trees once again growing overhead. It looked like a forester's hut, but when he called out, there was no answer. A few animals near the road went quiet, and a bird took off, but there were no human sounds. As he drew closer, he could easily figure out why. The door hung slightly askew, one of the hinges rusted through almost completely. A number of shingles were missing from the roof, and plenty of others were cracked. The glass in the windows had a spiderweb crack down one side.
The door was stiff, and he cursed as he felt something pull in his right arm as he wrenched the door open. Inside the hut was a small cot, and a tiny stove. Above the cot was a shelf with a handful of dusty books, none of any particular interest to him. There was also a small bench, and whetstone. Beside the bench—carefully stored—was a woodsman's axe, the edge honed, but the handle and head covered in a thick layer of dust. Søren felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. There were disasters more potent than those of mother nature. He blinked. The timing was all wrong, of course. The great fall and the great thaw had happened just short of midsummer. All this neglect and abandonment suggested months, or even years since the last time it had seen human hands.
With a dark frown upon his brow, Søren sat on the edge of the cot. He could only rule out Elsa's magic having caused this—not magic in general. The question then became what else did he know of that could use magic. Trolls? Priests of yore? Fantastical creatures? None of that seemed right. There was every chance it wasn't even magic in the first place—just something his wandering mind had leapt to. A plague, or exodus of some kind? Infighting with the guilds—though normally there would still be workers, they just wouldn't help other guilds.
He looked around again, slowly chewing on some dried fruit. Light shone through the missing shingles. As long as it didn't rain, it would serve as a place to sleep for the night. The latch on the door worked, at least. But that would mean slowing his pace again—even if his injured leg welcomed the rest. Maybe he would have to start foraging. Or perhaps it would be better to simply move on, and sleep rough around a campfire. Undecided, he made a quick search outside the hut, and found a small pile of shingles behind the hut, protected by an awning. Another thing to repair—but maybe not right now. He took out his ledger and jotted down a few notes, next to those he'd made about the fort. Closing up the hut, Søren smiled as he continued along the road, feeling a new sense of purpose. What he couldn't do for Arendelle, he might be able to do for Løkarna.
Perhaps that was why Kronprinz Einar had singled him out, knowing his dedication to his work. More than that. It had become quite clear that some nature of calamity had befallen Løkarna. A mixture of duty and curiosity drove him on. No longer was he simply in craven flight from his mistakes. He had been presented with a mystery, and an opportunity, and he dearly wanted answers to both. And waiting around in an old forester's hut he wasn't going to find either of them.
He closed the door behind him, and started down the path to Løkarna once more. He had purpose again. His skills would be valued above his blackened reputation. It was a new beginning, or perhaps the start of a new chapter in his life. But there were things he still couldn't forget. Things he wished he'd done differently. Regrets he might carry forever. He ran a hand down his face, through his beard. Vanja. Could he ever face her again?
Would she even want to see him?
He could only hope. Limping slightly, one foot in front of the other, he made his way towards Løkarna, and the future, both sanguine and melancholy. He smiled, just a little. That hope was enough.
"Ow!" Anna lay on her side a moment longer, rubbing her hip. And thigh. And back.
"Too much?" Hank stepped forward to offer her his hand.
"Maybe," Anna admitted, brushing his hand aside. "I said 'don't hold back', and you didn't." She stood slowly, still rubbing her left side. "I kinda regret that now."
"At least it's not a real swordfight—you wouldn't have any second chances there."
"You think I don't know that?" Anna gave him a very skeptical look. "That's why I'm practising in the first place. If people are going to try and kidnap me or attack me—especially if they're doing it to hurt Elsa—then I need to be able to defend myself. And yes, there's the royal guards, or I could just not go out—but that's a different problem—and I want to work this out my way!"
"I'm not stopping you." Anna watched Hank take up a ready stance, a few steps away.
She held her own blade in a high guard, left arm forward, point down. She stepped in close, circling her blade around Hank's, trying to make a quick strike. Their blades locked, and she jumped back. Low this time, ducking and rising for an upward stab. Hank stepped wide, forcing her blade out, and she had to roll to avoid the follow-up strike. She came up in a crouch, but let her blade hang loose, flexing her wrist slightly. Hank feinted in with a lunge, then turned it into a descending strike. Anna stepped right, rising inside his guard, and slammed her shoulder into his chest.
Hank staggered back, winded but not down. Anna flourished her blade, wishing it was more than just a shortsword, then lunged, pulling the strike at the last second.
"Well played," Hank smiled, stepping back. "Use everything you can. Every trick. If Weselton come back, we both know they won't fight fair."
"I don't think they will," Anna grinned savagely. "Not with what Elsa did to that fort, and Hans's brothers did to their fleet." Her smile faded. "But I guess they're not the only threat out there. There were people in Arendelle trying to get to Elsa too. I'm afraid of what might happen if they try again."
"Justicar Kristoffersen and Marshal Gerhardt wouldn't let that happen again. It was also probably planned by Weselton, given how it happened just after your kidnapping. I haven't seen the accounts, but I would place good money on it." She watched as Hank took a breath, then stepped back once more, adopting a different guard this time. "Ready?"
Anna stepped back herself, taking a low guard this time, looking for an opening. It came when he lunged—she realised too late it was a trap. His blade bound around hers, then with quick sweep he toppled her over, leaving her flat on her back, staring up at the point of his blade.
"Ow." She shifted slightly to rub her back. "Again—that was a new trick. Can you teach me?"
"Probably," Hank smiled. "But it doesn't work too often if your opponent is being defensive, or knows what to look for."
"It's still a good trick to know." This time she let him help her up.
"Absolutely," he agreed. "Now follow the steps I show you—with your guard high, here—good. Then, as you lunge, bring your sword down and in, blocking mine. Bind around it if you can, or try and knock it out of line—now, you need to get a half-step forward, the back of your knee should be just about in line with mine. Then you follow up that bind or deflection, and push so that you trip over your leg. Alright, now try it with some speed."
They both wound up on the floor, Anna laughing softly. "Its gonna take some work."
"It will."
"And speaking of making things work, what about you and Elsa?"
"What about us?" Hank seemed perfectly innocent.
"Well, I know you helped her dress this morning. And I know the both of you vanished sometime around morning tea, following Rask into the castle somewhere."
Hank smiled softly, turning aside to put the practice gear away. "I think that latter story is something Elsa should tell you. It's about magic, after all."
"You found something—in the castle?"
"Ask Elsa."
Her hand balled into a fist in frustration. "Fine. But what about helping her get dressed?"
"She asked me to."
"And…?" Anna left the question hanging there.
"I guess I learned how to do a French braid?"
"You're alone, helping her get dressed, and we both know she's practically begged you to do things in the past—please, please tell me you did something."
Hank turned away, speaking much more softly than usual. "There was a lot more kissing than there should have been."
Anna pounded her fist against the flagstone floor. "You're both idiots."
"Excuse me?"
"She can't ask for help directly, and you can't make a move without instructions. You can't keep expecting her to do all the work."
"I don't," there was a hint of anger in Hank's voice. "And I'd much rather keep those things between Elsa and myself, regardless of how much you like to pry."
"She deserves to be happy, and you just seem to be moving… well… slowly."
"There are reasons," Hank made a chopping motion with his hand. "Elsa and I have discussed them, at length. She understands why I wish to move slowly, and I understand why she so strongly wants me to move faster. But there are standards of conduct, and public behaviours that must be properly observed to prevent any kind of scandal. I won't be giving you any more detail than that. The rest should be obvious enough if you recall your etiquette lessons."
Anna made to say something, then realised what Hank was actually saying—what couldn't be said directly. And why he was right, and Elsa was understandably frustrated. Because it did make sense. And navigating that would be a nightmare if someone saw the wrong thing at the wrong time. She looked away, chagrined and embarrassed. They shouldn't have to hide things like that—even if it was something of an open secret by now. But he had to do it right, by following the steps everyone else would judge him for.
"It's not fair!" Anna burst out. "You both love each other, you're both adults, why should any of this other stuff even matter?"
Hank gave her a defeated sigh. "You know exactly why."
"I do," Anna matched his sigh with one of her own. "It just—it's not fair to you two. She's been through so much, and you're a good person, and a good friend. So why not—at least while you're alone?"
"Because the staff would certainly know, and you could figure it out with ease—or, Elsa might just tell you. Would you be able to keep it a secret for long?"
"I—" Anna raised her hand, then reconsidered her answer. "Probably not long enough."
"…and, with Elsa's injuries, she might not be able to have children. If people learn that, what happens?" She could only just meet his gaze as he asked the question.
"That… well, that makes it my problem, doesn't it?" Anna pressed her hand against her belly for a moment. "And I don't want to think about that. For a long time."
"And this is what prying gets you." He finished with a subtle wink.
She frowned. Was it all an elaborate trap? Her thoughts wandered. What else has Elsa been teaching him? Tonight she would have some words with her sister.
But for the moment, she would rest, and pretend she couldn't feel the new bruises she'd picked up during training.