Chapter One: The Stage Is Set

Elsa, the Snow Queen of Arendelle, strode peacefully through the corridors of her home; most of her day was spent enduring an endless storm of petitions, proposals, complaints, notices, and laws from a score of different officials. In the rare times she could be alone during the day, she liked to enjoy it.

Elsa walked past the doorway of the ballroom and paused, a faint sound at the edge of her consciousness. After a moment, she realized it was laughter. Anna's laughter. Elsa peeked into the ballroom and smiled at what she saw. Anna and Kristoff were dancing, clumsily, around the ballroom, giggling to each other.

It had been two years since Elsa's coronation and, as Anna had once called it, the Eternal Winter that had followed. Anna and Kristoff had been married for six months now, and never since her own parents had Elsa seen two people more in love. Not that she had much to compare to, honestly, having been shut in the castle most of her life.

Elsa smiled again and left the couple to their fun. She made it to a small audience chamber before she felt something clench at her heart, a sensation that had become more and more familiar of late. Elsa sat on her throne and closed her eyes, brushing aside the background thoughts of taxes and levies and trade. She examined herself, a skill she had mastered during the thirteen years of isolation, and tried to put a name to this feeling. It only took a moment to figure it out. She was lonely. The realization struck her like a thunderclap.

Elsa sighed as she tried to come to terms with this revelation. Her musings, however, were broken by a familiar, ever-cheerful voice.

"Hi, Elsa!" Olaf shouted across the room, followed by his personal flurry. "Anna and Kristoff are busy, so I thought I'd come find you!"

Elsa smiled at the little snowman, her mood lifted for the most part. "Hello, Olaf," she said simply. Olaf seemed to sense something off.

"Are you okay?" he asked with child-like sincerity. Elsa chuckled.

"I'm alright now, Olaf." She stood and led the way out of the chamber. "Would you like to walk with me through the garden?" she asked. Olaf's answer was a joyous laugh as he waddled after the queen.

While Elsa did feel better, a small part of her, deep in the back of her mind, couldn't help but brood inside over what she had realized. She didn't begrudge Anna or Kristoff their happiness, far from it - she was more than happy for it - but she was still human; she longed for personal companionship, even if she didn't show it. Frost began to gather on the queen's palms.

Elsa shook her hands to rid them of the ice and her head to dispel her negative thoughts. She may not find someone she could be with, but she had her sister. She had a brother-in-law and Olaf. And perhaps, in the future, some nieces or nephews. Those thoughts brought a smile to her lips as she walked the gardens with her little snowman.

But still, no matter what she did, a question remained buried in the recesses of her mind. Could a man really come to love me?

Far from the city of Arendelle, at the edge of the nation's lands, a young man sat in a small camp by the sea. A blue cloak hung over his shoulders, the hood shading his eyes. His mouth rested on his clasped hands, he stared into the flames of the campfire, thinking about everything and about nothing.

He considered the sea serpent he had spent the day baiting and then killing, ointment shining on his arms from where its steaming blood had touched him. He considered how much he had learned in the fifteen years since he had taken that drink from the Well. He wondered briefly about the whereabouts of the men who had helped him after and then left without warning. And he tried more than anything to avoid thinking about what had happened sixteen years ago.

As he was thinking, a pair wolves, probably mates, wandered into his camp. They sniffed at the remains of his dinner and looked at him as if for permission. The young man, Alphonse, flicked his fingers up, a sign of assent. The wolves quickly devoured the roasted rabbit from its spit and loped back into the woods.

Solitude settled onto Alphonse's shoulders like an unwanted cloak. As much as he hated to say it, he wouldn't even have minded if his so-called "mentors" had shown up to lecture him. He looked down at the ugly scar that marred the back of his hand, a mirror to the one on his palm. Fifteen years - fifteen years since he had paid his toll and all that it implied. But he would bear that burden for as long as he could, for it was the price of the path he had chosen.

With that thought, it was time to get some Insight into that path. Alphonse shook himself and rummaged through his leather satchel, removing a small stone bottle carved with strange glyphs. He flicked open the lid and tilted it, allowing a single drop to fall on his tongue. Alphonse coughed as the bitter, burning taste coated his tongue and seared down his throat. Fifteen years and he still hated that part. Only through suffering may wisdom be achieved, the voice had said all those years ago. It didn't mean he had to like it.

Alphonse wrapped himself in his cloak and settled his back against the stone he had been sitting on, his hood drawn up. The fire, burning strong, flickered and died like a candle flame. Darkness settled upon the camp and Alphonse closed his eyes.

He hated the potion, but he hated the next part even more.

Alphonse stood on the side of a great mountain, snowflakes dancing in the wind and his cloak billowing around him. Everything was distorted and indistinct, as if he was looking through a flowing river. That was the way it always was in these dreams.

Alphonse began to walk forward until he heard something he would never have expected - he heard someone singing. The young man searched the horizon, finally settling on a young woman. If he had been awake, and this had been reality, Alphonse would have turned crimson. This woman was beautiful!

She strode confidently, gliding over the snow that his boots sank through, singing with a voice that would shame angels and a smile more lovely than the snow around them. She ran forward and through him, passing through him like a ghost. She pushed her arms forward and the beginnings of a staircase formed on a cliff. A staircase made of ice!

The woman, the crown and fine clothing implied royalty, stepped onto the stairs and ran forward, the staircase growing before her into a piece of art. Alphonse ran up the stairs to the woman's side.

She slammed her foot into the snow, a dazzling snowflake design springing into existence, singing all the while. In no time at all, the foundation had grown into a full-fledged castle. The woman continued singing, her words distorted by the dreamscape, and freed her bun from its bindings, allowing it to fall into a platinum-blonde braid. Her clothing changed, spun from frost and ice, into an elegant, sparkling dress. She strode forward, as confident as could be, and belted her soul out over the balcony she had created. She turned and slammed the doors with a smirk on her face. He caught a glimpse of gorgeous blue eyes before the dream changed.

Alphonse stood in the hall of a different castle. It looked like one of the Northern countries, stone walls hung with tapestries. Moonlight shone through the windows. The dreamscape was tinted red, a sign of things to come. A possibility for the future.

A door creaked open and out came a young woman. She resembled the other one - a sibling perhaps? - with strawberry hair. The girl rubbed the sleep from her eyes and ambled forward. Alphonse moved forward to get another look at her when a breathy groaning filled the air. Had he been awake, Alphonse's blood would have frozen. He knew that sound and it was anything but good.

A shambling figure appeared at the end of the hall. Everything sped up - the creature tearing the girl apart as she screamed, the platinum blonde and a large man finding her, the older woman shrieking in grief.

Images flashed across his mind's eye: a crocus flower - a full moon spattered with blood - a raging blizzard consuming a large town by the sea. Pain - sorrow - death! And a presence that felt familiar and unwelcome, dripping with malicious glee.

Alphonse lurched upward, sweat coating his shivering body and energy burning inside. He grabbed his satchel and an ashwood staff, then bolted into the forest. He ran over a large rock and leapt off - he didn't come back down.

Out of the trees on the night before the moon was full, flew a raven. Flew a raven into the night toward Arendelle.

The vision had seeped from a time to come, but the future was not set in stone. What he had seen, the horrors that had happened and would follow, could be changed by someone who knew. Someone like him. And Alphonse refused to let those atrocities come to pass. Especially if the person he thought was involved, was involved.

In the north, in the mountains surrounding Arendelle and its fjord, a stone wobbled in its cave. The stone unfolded to reveal a small creature with grey skin and a mane of grass-like hair, clad in clothes stitched from moss and strings of yellow crystals. The small, ancient creature looked to the sky, to the sparkling stars that did little to calm his nerves.

Something was coming. No, more than one thing. And he couldn't, for the long life of him, determine the good or the bad.

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