Author's Note: As I go back and edit this, I realize that the Overlands in my story have it really tough. But this was the impression I got from Jack's memories in ROTG. I first came up with the idea when I asked myself, "What would it have been like if Elsa lived when Jack was human?" and from there, the postcolonial AU was born. For everyone reading so far, you can tell that this story is not going in a happy direction. This chapter is a little bit heavy so please check the warnings before continuing.

Warnings: Mentions of blasphemy, Helsa. It is technically an arranged marriage so there is a lack of mutual consent. Also, people with eating disorders or experiences with starvation may be a bit bothered by some of the descriptions used.

Chapter 4: The Proposal

Darkness had fallen when Jack emerged from the woods. The cold air nipped at his skin but he trudged on in forlorn silence, his head replaying the last words they had spoken.

This can't be…

His boots crunched loudly into the hard earth.

I've already been promised to someone else.

The stacked wood, neatly organized against the shed. Even that had its imprint of her.

Hans Westergaard.

With an angry cry, Jack picked up the ax and flung it hard against the pile of wood. It toppled over noisily but with it went every trace of her. He wanted to erase her from memory, end this cruel game they had started months before. But like a drowning fool, he kept trying to swim against the tide until he was too exhausted to make it back to shore.

Collapsing to his knees, his entire body shook. He wasn't sure if it was the cold that his ragged cloak failed to protect against. Maybe it was the pain of losing her before he's had her, the rage at the injustice of it all. Westergaard may be the youngest in line to a fortune but even the scraps he'd receive would be more than Jack could ever hope to make. Hans had undoubtedly made an offer Liabråten couldn't refuse.

Inhaling deeply, Jack went back to work. His trembling hands piecing together, rebuilding the pile until it was satisfactory. It was sloppy but it was his, not their, work. And that was how he had always lived: when even the crops fail, a farmer puts on his hat and gets back out in the field to till once more.

He was silent in the days to follow. Thanksgiving came and went and while he forced a smile, said his prayers, and pretended to be thankful, he secretly cursed his Maker for the extra chair at their table that was empty these last three years.

Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. (1)

He was starting to believe the Bible was full of shit, meant to make the many whose hands labored from dawn until dusk carry false hope in this doomed life.

Once the first snow had fallen, the work on the farm was nearly put to a halt. There was still wood chopping and animal rearing to attend to (dear old Seymour became quite ornery when not fed before first light), but Jack was finally able to have a moment's peace. This was the time of year he often looked forward to: adventures out in the woods, skating on the creek, building snowmen with…

But now, he wished he had the distraction of the harvest. She was all he could think about.

"Jaaaaaaaaaack! Earth to Jack!"

Emily jumped up and down, waving her hands, but Jack kicked dejectedly at the snow. It made him think of Elsa's skin, pale and delicate like a fresh snowfall. On the surface, it was cold but Jack had seen her layers melt, knew now what was in her heart.

SMACK!

Jack stumbled a few steps, rubbing at the back of his head. He shivered as some of the snow melted and slipped beneath the collar of his cloak. "What the hell, Emily?!"

"Mom says not to curse, Jack! It's not ladylike!"

Emily bounced around him in the snow, kicking up powder.

"That's what she tells YOU," Jack mumbled, glaring at his sister. "Why don't you go play with Anna? Or do something useful like help Mom with lunch?"

"Anna has tutoring in the mornings. And I wanna play with youuuuu," Emily whined.

"I'm not in the mood, Em."

She stopped in front of him and folded her arms defiantly over her chest. Although Jack still had two feet on her, she could be quite imposing when she wanted to be. "You are never in the mood! All you ever do is mope!"

"I'm not moping!"

"Are too!"

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

Jack sighed. There was no way he was going to outlast an 11 year old in this cycle of banter.

"Can you please lay off, Em? This is one of those things you'll understand when you're older."

She seemed offended at the way he so easily brushed her off. "I'm not dumb, Jack. Everyone knows you kjærlighet (2) Elsa."

Jack raised a brow.

"Love!" Emily said in frustration.

"I know what that means, Em."

"Anna teaches me words too, you know," Emily said. "And what you need to do is tell Elsa, 'jeg elsker deg.'" (3)

Jack's face colored. "I'm not saying that to her."

"Why not?"

"Because she's getting married!"

"So?" Emily shrugged her shoulders. "That doesn't mean you can't say words to her, Jack."

"She's promised. She can't be seen with a man who is not her intended," Jack argued.

Emily looked at Jack as if he was an idiot. "…then why don't YOU marry her?"

"Don't you think I want to!"

He said it on impulse. It wasn't something he had thought about, never considered getting married if he was honest with himself. The most thought he ever gave it was a task he would have to complete once he had a few more years on his back and even then, there was no face to the person he would call 'wife'.

But hearing it said out loud, something clicked.

"I want to," Jack said. "I really do. But her father won't allow it."

"Have you even tried?"

Jack laughed bitterly. "It's not that simple. We're not rich. What am I supposed to offer him?"

"So you're just gonna give up?" Emily said. She seemed as frustrated with him as Jack was with the situation. "Overlands don't quit. Dad—" Her voice cracked. With a shaky breath, she continued. "He wouldn't let you quit. He would have found a way."

Their father, his skin darkened from years in the fields and hands rough like the untilled soil, would have sold his left arm if it was worth anything to help his family. As roughened as his body was over the years of toil, his smile had always been the hope in the Overlands' darkest days. There were times like this when Jack could have used his wisdom.

"Em…"

He leaned down and hugged her tightly. She shook in his arms. Their father was almost a taboo subject in their household, though his absence a constant reminder.

"I don't want you to be sad anymore," Emily whispered.

"I'll try not to be."

He stood up and smiled, ruffling her dark hair. "Thanks, little goose."

"You promised you would stop calling me that!" she laughed, hitting him playfully.

Jack gasped dramatically, gripping his chest. He collapsed into the snow, faking an injury. When Emily loomed over him, actually concerned she may have hit him too hard, he grappled her and pinned her so he was sitting on her, crowing victoriously.

"Not fair!" she complained, flailing.

"Vengeance is sweet," Jack laughed, sticking his tongue out at her.

He may have missed his father but there was no denying Emily inherited some of his wisdom. Her words stayed with Jack, feeding the fire he had been resolved to let die. Over the next few days, he mulled over the various scenarios. He could let the scene play out, become a passive observer and accept that he never had a chance. Or he could throw his own offer on the table. It may not rival all that Hans could give Elsa but if Agnarr knew his daughter's heart, and how genuine Jack was, maybe he could appeal to a father's desire to see his daughter happy.

It was a risk with little chance of success. But Jack knew he had to take it.

"Contracts like that are not broken easily," his mother warned. Her tired eyes regarded her son with worry, nimble fingers adjusting his collar. "People will talk."

Jack adjusted his over-sized shirt, stuffing as much of it as he could into his trousers. The cuffs were frayed, the shirt an off-white color from years of wear. It had been a hand-me down of his father's, what Jack would often wear to Sunday service. It was the only clothing he owned not marked by the days spent in the fields.

Freshly groomed, Jack sighed nervously as he strode to where he had placed his notes. The worn parchment had his messy scrawl. His offer. His fingers touched the old Bible beside it. If he could work some miracle tonight, maybe he would be more of a believer.

"Hans doesn't know Elsa like I do. She doesn't want this," Jack said. He picked up his cloak and retrieved his walking stick.

"We often don't," his mother said, quietly.

They exchanged a short, meaningful look. Then his mother placed the parchment in a basket and handed it to Jack. "There's a rhubarb pie in there. Agnarr's favorite. Maybe lead with that."

He knew she didn't agree with what he was doing. Still, she trusted him enough to make his own decisions and for that, Jack was grateful. "Thank you. For doing this."

She leaned up and kissed his cheek, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "Good luck, sweetie."

The walk to the Liabråten's farm was easy, even in winter. Jack took one of the lanterns from the tool shed and secured it to his walking stick. Although he could easily find his way there in the dark, even he wasn't foolhardy enough to test Mother Nature. He used his staff to avoid any hidden patches of ice and deep snow drifts, occasionally whistling to himself to calm his nerves. He didn't enjoy interacting with Mr. Liabråten on a regular day so each step felt like he was walking into his grave.

When finally he caught sight of their house, illuminated by the few lanterns that hung from the walls, Jack took a deep breath and crossed the field. It was a beautiful night this evening, with little wind and numerous stars blanketing the night sky. Without the cover of the trees, he could appreciate the marvels of God's creation, if only he could calm the panic that bubbled beneath his stoic expression.

Rapping on the door, Jack inhaled deeply once more.

"God kveld,"(4) a woman said. The stocky, kind-faced maid (Ingrid?) looked over Jack curiously. "H-hallo?"

"Jackson Overland. From the Overland farm," Jack said.

Her confusion was quickly replaced with recognition. "Ah, Jack! How big!"

She gestured to mean his height. Jack hadn't seen Ingrid since last year, just before he had hit a growth spurt in the fall, so he couldn't blame her for not recognizing him.

"It's good to see you, Ingrid," Jack said, smiling. He hoped he got her name right. He didn't need the maid turning him away before he had a chance to see Agnarr. "I know I didn't send a formal invitation but I wanted to see Herr Liabråten."

"Herr Liabråten?" At the mention of the head of the household, Ingrid frowned. "He…busy. Family."

"Please, Ingrid. It's important," Jack said. Pulling the parchment from the basket, he kept it in hand and gave the basket to Ingrid. "For Herr Liabråten."

Nodding in understanding, Ingrid gestured for Jack to come inside. Jack wouldn't let her take his cloak, but he did set his staff down by the entrance.

Following her into the small study, he took a seat by the fire as Ingrid left to find Mr. Liabråten. It had literally been years since Jack had been allowed inside the Liabråten home, though he knew that Emily still came often enough. He could see the little changes that had been added over the years, the extra bookshelf with its novels and parchments. The bearskin rug placed decoratively by his feet. It seemed that the more the Overland farm struggled, the better the Liabråten's succeeded.

"Good evening, Jackson."

Jack abruptly stood to his feet, bowing his head. "Mr. Liabråten. Thank you for seeing me so late."

"I wouldn't have, under normal circumstances," Mr. Liabråten admitted, "but I cannot say 'no' to your mother's rhubarb pie. Please, sit."

Out of respect, Jack waited until Agnarr was comfortably seated across from him. He straightened his posture and clasped his hands together to keep them from trembling. When the fire crackled noisily, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

"How is your mother's health?" Mr. Liabråten asked.

"She's had better days. But she gets on well enough. Not even a flu will keep her off her feet when there's work to be done."

"She must take advantage of the weather and rest. You may let her know that Iduna and I insist on it."

"Thank you for your concern," Jack said, "I will pass on the message. And your wife?"

"In good health, though a bit of a nightmare now that there is a wedding to plan," Agnarr said, with a wry smile. The mention of the wedding made Jack's stomach drop. "I cannot wait for this business to be over with, though it pains me to see my eldest leave. A son's marriage is always cause for celebration yet a daughter's almost feels like a funeral."

He paused for a moment, regarding Jack carefully. He seemed to be gauging Jack's reaction, who flinched under the man's scrutiny.

"But I doubt you came to hear the ramblings of an old man," Mr. Liabråten continued. "What brings you here this evening, Jackson?"

"I…it's—it's about…"

Even sitting, Jack felt as if Agnarr towered over him. Getting to his feet, Jack walked a pace towards the fireplace and took a deep, sobering breath. When he finally felt his voice wouldn't give, he turned back to face the man who would be able to either dash his hopes or see them fulfilled.

"Elsa," Jack said. Mr. Liabråten's expression grew grim. "I came to speak with you about Elsa."

"It's hardly appropriate to come calling after a woman who's promised," Agnarr began.

"No, that's not what I meant," Jack interrupted. With a shaky breath, he said, "I want to ask for her hand."

Agnarr wouldn't respond immediately. Each second that went by made Jack lose more and more of whatever bravado he had mustered to suggest his proposal.

"She is already intended," Agnarr said, a little patronizingly. "By contract."

"I understand that," Jack said. He pulled the parchment from his cloak. "But if you're just hear my off—"

"No."

The sharpness in Agnarr's tone made Jack stop. He lowered the proffered hand to his side, the parchment threatening to be crushed by his vice-like grip.

You're gonna give up? Just like that? He mentally chastised himself.

"Please, sir," he said quietly. "Please give me a chance."

This was the point at which he expected to be thrown out and banished for having tested Mr. Liabråten's patience. To his surprise, Agnarr reached forward and took the parchment from him. Jack held his breath as Agnarr unrolled the parchment and began silently reading it.

"…there's an 'i' in 'yield'," he said, squinting in the dim lighting. "What word is this?"

Jack blushed. "Wheat. I, uh, was only schooled until I was 10."

"I see."

Agnarr became silent once more.

After a few, agonizingly long minutes, he rolled up the parchment. "This 'wedding gift' you're offering. It's…"

"About 20% of next year's yield," Jack said. Hastily, he added, "I know it's a bit of a mess, the way I broke it down. But I promise you it will be no less than 20."

"It's…generous," Agnarr said. His brows furrowed with concern. "Are you certain you can get by on such an offer?"

Jack wanted to give a confident affirmation. But even he knew that this would be enough to starve his family, if the weather proved at all unpredictable next year. His offer could only be met in the most favorable of harvests.

His hesitation did not go unnoticed by Agnarr.

"I will put in more hours every day to ensure these yields are met," Jack promised.

Agnarr did not look swayed. "A wager on the weather is one every man will lose. As a farmer, you should know this, Jackson."

"I wouldn't let my mother or Emily starve. I won't let the same happen to Elsa. I'll work twice as hard if I need—"

"And how exactly will you keep her from starving if you're giving away a good portion of your yields?" Agnarr argued, frustration in his voice. "You're one man working a handful of acres."

"Because I love her!" Jack said. "You know I do since you've always been so hell bent on letting her know how much of a failure you think I am!"

"I am not sure where you get this notion of the importance of 'love', Mr. Overland," Agnarr said. There was a frosty edge to his voice. "But love doesn't feed a family."

Rising to his feet, Mr. Liabråten took three paces towards the fireplace. Jack's body was shaking from his outburst, both rage and embarrassment pushing him to want to lash out at the one man who has always come between him and Elsa.

But as he watched Agnarr, who always walked with the air of someone so accomplished, he saw the older man's shoulders sag.

"I know that only too well," Agnarr said, quietly.

The tension melted away in the room. Instead, it was replaced with the bitter sting of grief.

"You must think I hate you, Jackson."

The thought's certainly never crossed my mind, he wanted to retort.

"On the contrary, you remind me of someone else who was young and foolhardy: myself."

This took Jack by surprise.

"Did you know I had a son?" Agnarr said. He regarded Jack with a sad smile before staring back into the fire. "His name was Fredrik."

The pain in the older man's eyes brought back memories of the summer from 3 years before. Jack was familiar with that pain and dreaded the day he would once again experience it.

"Elsa's told me about him," Jack answered.

The truth was he hadn't known Elsa had an older brother until after his father died. Those first few weeks after the Accident had been rough but Elsa had been there for him: she let him cry, rage, curse even the Lord in his despair. It was then she had opened up about Fredrik and spoke of what little she remembered of Norway.

"She was but a girl when it happened. You know, she used to be a lot like Anna," Agnarr mused. "Running around, causing her parents all sorts of grief.

"But life was hard in Noreg. (5) There were many disputes over land and fighting. Always everyone fighting. The soil grew worse and while we struggled and starved, we lived in fear that a foreign army would come and ravage our town.

"I thought if I worked hard, lived honestly, it would be enough. I could take care of my family. But then Fredrik—"

His voice shook as he said his dead son's name.

"Do you know what it is like to not have food for 3 days?" Agnarr whispered. There was trepidation in his voice, his eyes clouded with the horrors of memory. He looked to Jack, seeking understanding, but all Jack could do was numbly shake his head.

"Iduna and I know it, far more than we would like. And Elsa…she's known it, too."

The revelation made something in Jack shatter.

"A 3 year old girl should not know that feeling. It starts as an itch, like fingers crawling to get their way out. Then it turns to a long, hollow pang that makes one weary and weak.

"She cried by the end of the first day. She kept asking her Pappa for food," Agnarr said. His eyes watered and in shame, he could no longer meet Jack's gaze. "By the second day, her wailing became groans. Her and her brother stopped asking because they knew there was nothing. Our crops wouldn't make it to harvest and Iduna and I had to—"

He paused. "I won't say what we did for food. But we did it for our children.

"I thought that it was over: we made it through the worst. But it happened again. And again. And then we were eating so infrequently, Fredrik—"

Agnarr's voice cracked. "...I hope you never know what it is like to hold your dead son in your arms."

"I am sorry. I didn't know."

But even his apologies sounded weak to his ears. Jack knew loss all too well. Which words could ever convey the giant, empty hole left in the absence of someone taken too early?

"With all due respect, sir, I know you don't want your family to ever have to suffer like that again. And I will hold true to my offer, even if it takes time," Jack promised. "What if I still offered 20? 10 percent the first year, 10 in the second?"

Agnarr sighed. "I don't think you understand, Jackson. This isn't about how much you can give me. This is about how much you can give her.

"Can you guarantee me that you have enough resources to support her and your children? That she will never have to remember what it's like to not eat?"

Jack wanted to argue. But he knew any promise he made was as changeable as the weather. His family had already experienced a few close calls and they did not have the same resources and connections to fall back on in tough times.

"I…I can't," he admitted, quietly.

The admission dashed any hope he had of changing Agnarr's mind.

"I think you understand now why I can't let you marry my daughter. The offer from Hans is security. And you…you will bring her nothing but hardship."

Placing a hand gently on Jack's shoulder, Mr. Liabråten said, kindly but firmly, "I beg you, as her father, that if you love my daughter like you say you do, you will do what's best for her. Please, promise me you will stay away from her and forget this meeting ever happened."

He offered the parchment to Jack. Internally, Jack struggled with his options. He stubbornly wanted to fight on but even he knew that this was driven by his selfish desires.

He loved Elsa. He would do anything for her.

Even if that means forgetting about her.

Taking the parchment from Agnarr, Jack tossed it in the fireplace. As the flames licked away the last fragments of his offer, so too did the hope of ever holding Elsa in his arms again.

"I will, sir."

A loud clatter from the hallway disrupted the somber moment shared by the two men. Agnarr glanced towards the door with a tired sigh.

"I should see if Ingrid needs any help. Shall I have her show you the way out?"

"There's no need, sir. I can let myself out."

With the last of their pleasantries exchanged, Jack woodenly followed after Mr. Liabråten. Once outside, the chill of the night air bit at his skin but all Jack could feel was the hollow void that echoed in his chest.

.

1 James 1:2

2 love

3 I love you.

4 Good evening.

5 Norway.