The last of the mending was complete. The young woman stared that the pile, loath to tear her eyes away. If she looked away, she would see her child's things: the crib her husband had labored over, the blanket she had carefully stitched. All in preparation for their first and long-awaited child. The one that had come too soon.

Tears misted over her eyes. Standing abruptly she walked out of the house. The place seemed set on smothering her. Outside the air was sharp and biting, but it cleared her head. She needed to prepare the house for winter. Her sorrows would be there still, but the food would not store itself.

The bite in the air whispered to Jack Frost, newly arrived in the small village, of the sad young woman. Usually, people were not of much interest to him, but he had recently found himself in need of some very particular assistance. He made note of the small house and continued. He would come back once he had established himself in town. No need to rush.

Well into the night, the young woman sat up abruptly. Her husband was already out of bed. Something was wrong. What, she didn't know, but something was wrong.

"The fire," her husband breathed. He was right, it was too dark. She could still feel the heat from it, so it must have been burning strong, as it should have been. There was a small noise from the corner, her husband stepped in front of her and quietly moved to where the noise had been.

It sounded again, a quiet movement. Almost like the rustling of blankets. Her husband let out a breath and grabbed her hand.

"Mary, look." Her husband had tears and wonder in his voice. Mary peered around her husband. Time stopped for a moment. She watched her husband move forward, dropping her hand and reaching out in the darkness.

When he stepped back toward her again, he had a small bundle in his arms. Mary reached out and caressed the small, cold face among the blankets. They stood transfixed for a moment. The couple found each other's eyes in the darkness.

"She's a….she has to be…" Mary whispered.

"A miracle," Samuel answered gently, but firmly. A ghost of a smile played across her face.

"A miracle, of course. The angels must have answered our prayers."

"Our beautiful little miracle." In truth, the child wasn't beautiful. She was ashen pale, her eyes were set deep, and her hair was an awful gray color. In the eyes of the grieving couple, nothing had ever been more beautiful.

Carefully, the newly complete family rebuilt the fire and headed back to bed.

"Samuel, look at her blanket," Mary whispered across the sleeping infant. Mary was running a finger along the sleeping child's swaddling. It was a very fine blanket: silvery blue, but Mary was tracing the blanket around her child's face. All around her face little patterns were sweeping away from her face. "They're ferns. They look…like they are made of ice." The couple was astonished to find they were even cold to the touch. Samuel gave them an odd look. "They are beautiful. Is that your name, little one? Fern."

Samuel smiled at his wife and the little girl, "We should be sleeping. We will be wanting the rest, I think." Placing a gentle kiss on the foreheads of both of his girls, he laid back down and settled into bed.

Hello!

This story began as a discussion among roommates, which turned into a challenge. Being very competitive, I agreed. Elsa's powers are left ambiguous in origin and I've found at least one critique/review that suggests even her family doesn't know that she has these powers. So I began to do some research. At first, I thought she might be half-fay, but this seems a little far-fetched. Her parents should know where her powers came from. So I started looking into changelings, which feature in mythology all across the European (and many other cultures as well) block, which is where Arendelle is generally agreed to be located. Friends, you would not believe the amount of folklore, court cases, and general mythology I read about Changelings. While generally Changelings were considered troublesome, occasionally a family would raise one with love, despite the Fay origins of the child. In such cases one of two things happened: The Changeling returned home and the stolen child did the same, or the Changeling grew up with a human family. In the case of the second option, the Changeling would usually remember who they were and return to their people at a certain age (Fay children are more like tiny adults). Now and again, however, Changelings would forget their origins and live a normal human life. Furthermore, it was considered desirable for Fae children to grow up in a human home (many reasons are supposed for this).

Additionally, Jack Frost is a Fae character that is presented in a variety of ways. His two preferred descriptions include a troublesome or mischievous boy with no real ill intent and an elderly man to leaves trails of frost ferns (the spiral frost patterns on windows) in his wake. This Jack bridges the two. Where in his youth, he might have been a carefree and mischievous boy, he has met tragedy and is becoming a more solemn man. In addition to being something of an ice elemental, I read several descriptions about him being a particular friend to the goblins and trolls (possibly because of his boyhood antics). Thus we find small elements of Jack Frost in both Jarreth and Elsa.

Have a wonderful day!