Chapter Six: A Formal Meeting
After watching Anna and Kristoff drive away and into town, eventually up the mountain and to the Valley of Living Rock, Elsa strode through the castle thinking over what to do with her day. Before leaving, Anna had made her promise to take the day off from her work, at least until she got back. Elsa couldn't bring herself to break a promise to her younger sister, and a break for the morning would do her good.
After some thinking, Elsa decided to go to the library and read something that did not involve taxes, treaties, or other business-related affairs. On her way to the library, thoughts of the mysterious stranger crossed her mind. She really hoped that Grand Pabbie knew something about him. It would be nice to know if he were an ally or enemy. Or if he was ambivalent and therefore able to be at least partially left alone.
As Elsa walked along the shelves, her fingers running over the leather spines, Elsa lazily read the titles hoping something would strike her interest. Her thoughts roamed to those things from last night, a flicker of recollection tickling the back of her mind. Hadn't she read about something like that? Or heard about … ? A thought struck her like a lightning bolt and she moved along the shelves with purpose.
Elsa eventually came across the book she had in mind and removed it from the shelf. Stories of Old: A Study in Northman Lore, it said. Her fingers traced over the author: Agdar of Arendelle. Ela smiled sadly at the book, an old friend she had nearly forgotten about.
Elsa and Anna's father had been an avid writer in his youth, before he was named king. He had collected stories from across the country, told by those old enough to remember the closest to the original versions, and had compiled them as a hobby during his teenage years, when the heir-apparent was encouraged to get out and experience the country they were meant to someday rule. Elsa felt tears prickling her eyes and brushed them away. That particular tradition had been broken with Elsa, but she resolved to preserve it with the next heir, whomever that would be.
Elsa moved to a chair in front of the fireplace and opened the book, familiar tales that her father had told them as children recorded in its pages. The old stories: The frost and fire and stone and mountain jotun who threatened humanity, the Aesir and Vanir who protected them while getting into more than enough mischief of their own, and the dreaded Ragnarok that ended it all.
While Elsa, like all of her people, was a devoted member of the Church, her father had read these stories to her, a comfort during the hard years when she had tried to learn to control her powers. During those dark times, these tales of deities and magic, good and bad, had lifted her spirits if ever-so-slightly.
Remembering the look of the man who saved her, Elsa flipped through the book, eventually settling on an illustration, one of many drawn by her father. It depicted the All-Father Odin, the chieftain of the Aesir in his "wanderer" disguise, the one he used to travel around Earth, or Midgard. The picture showed an older man with a strong face, dressed in a cloak and wide-brimmed hat, wearing and eye patch and a solemn expression. If you used your imagination, it almost looked like …
A knock on the door made Elsa jump, her heart pounding. "Enter," she called, grateful her voice didn't shake. The door opened to reveal Kai, her ever-faithful steward, answer her call. He clasped his hands behind his back and bowed before speaking. "Your Majesty, a young man has requested your presence with both exceptional persistence and patience. He claims to have information regarding the 'events' of last night." Elsa's eyes widened, then narrowed, and she nodded. Tucking the book under her arm to browse later, Elsa followed the portly butler to a small audience room.
On the way, Elsa's mind was far from quiet. If the guards had increased security, why had a single person been allowed an audience with only the promise of information. Why not just ask the man what he knew and send him off with a pouch of coins? And what kind of information would a man have that would have him wait out a meeting with the Crown itself? What was going on? After several minutes, Kai opened the door to the audience chamber. Elsa's eyes widened at the person sitting before her.
Sitting to the side facing the fireplace, flanked by guards and writing in a small notebook, was the same man from last night; the man who had saved her people from the hoard of corpses. A man who, like her, could use magic. That, of course, was the only explanation for what he had done last night.
The man noticed her and turned his chair to face her, bowing just low enough for courtesy as he did. He sat again and placed his notebook in the satchel hanging over his shoulder, his cloak spread over the back of his chair. He sat back, wove his fingers and leaned forward, elbows on knees, with his chin resting on his knuckles. He just looked at her, giving her the chance to study him in greater detail.
He was young, she noticed first, perhaps a year old than herself. His hair was as black as midnight, darker than hers was light, and hung loose to his shoulders to frame a lean, pale face with prominent cheekbones. He looked like he would be tall, if standing, and was wiry, yet seemed rather muscular. His staff, carved with familiar symbols, sat next to him.
His eyes were striking, and not just because of the differing colors, colors Anna had described on the wolf that had saved her. His eyes were intense yet not threatening, wise beyond his years. And sad, so very sad. She regarded the small smile that curled his lips, as false as a golden tooth. She would know, she had seen such a smile countless times before - in her mirror.
"Queen Elsa," his voice was not deep, but it carried, "my name is Alphonse. It is a true pleasure to meet you." The man, Alphonse, glanced at the guards flanking him. "Before we begin, I would suggest we put all of our cards on the table." Alphonse lifted his hand, palm up, and clicked his tongue. His hand was engulfed in blue flames, burning like a torch. He closed his fingers and the flames went out. The guards, who had gripped their swords at an act of magic not from their queen, in the presence of their queen, relaxed.
"I'm certain you have many questions," Alphonse said, "or you wouldn't have sent the ice harvester to consult his foster family." Elsa's brows rose in surprise and Alphonse smiled that false smile again. "I do have other skills besides pyromancy, Queen Elsa," he said and stood, leaving his cloak, staff, and satchel behind. "The trolls are wise, Queen Elsa, but their knowledge is secondhand, at best. I have fought these things myself, many times." His tone carried no pride in his achievements nor arrogance in his skills, simply fact. He looked her straight in the eye. "You have no reason to trust me, Queen Elsa, but I swear that you can. I will do everything in my power to help you vanquish this threat to your kingdom."
Elsa looked deeply into his mismatched eyes and saw no deceit, no self-serving desire that would characterize nearly any lord, baron, duke, or royal who came with such an offer. In his eyes she saw only honesty. And yet an image of Hans Westergard flashed before her mind's eye. He had seemed honest when he spoke to her in that jail cell, begging her to stop the winter out of apparent concern for her people. And then he had left Anna, his fiancee, her sister, to die and tried to kill Elsa to take over her home. She felt, deep down, that she really could trust this man, but perhaps a second or third pair of eyes would help.
"I will have to discuss this with my advisors, Mr. Alphonse," she said, referring to Anna and Kristoff rather than her royal advisors. It was better to be polite than hostile to an apparent ally, so her father had often said. Alphonse "smiled" again and nodded.
"I would expect nothing less. The troll shaman, Grand Pabbie, told me your story. Given those … experiences your reservations are quite understandable. And very wise, if I might add." Alphonse picked up his things and bowed before making for the door. He paused at the threshold.
"You don't have to call me 'mister', my lady. Alphonse will do just fine. I will be in the gardens if you need me." And with that, he left. One of the guards approached her.
"Keep an eye on him, she ordered gently. "Make sure he stays in the garden." The guard nodded and left to follow his quarry.
Up in the mountains, Anna and Kristoff made their way down the mountain while discussing Pabbie's advice. Engrossed in their discussion, they didn't notice a red-feathered hawk observing them. On a whim, the raptor looked up and noticed a smaller, darker bird up ahead. A raven, if it was not mistaken. The hawk screeched and turned, flying south. The hawk eventually settled deep in the forest, near a burial mound.
The hawk ruffled it feathers and Shifted, its visage seeming to ripple as it changed into a tall, handsome, red-haired young man. Hans Westergard of the Southern Isles. Hans scowled in thought, considering what he had seen. Some part of him, that sliver buried deep in his soul, had known he should expect a raven or two shadowing the princess. And that same fleck of his consciousness knew that those birds heralded something that might complicate his plans. Perhaps it was time to get a little help with that.
Hans settled on the grass and reached into a pouch at his belt, removing a bottle of ointment. He uncorked it and dabbed some on his fingers before recorking it and putting it back where he could find it. Hans rubbed his fingertips together and spread the ointment over his face, starting at the center of his forehead and to the sides, down the sides of his face, over his jaw, and down his neck. He could feel the substance beginning to take effect and focused inward, trying to reach his deepest self.
After a moment, Hans seemed to open his eyes, revealing a world that was fluid and disjointed, like seen through a cracked mirror where the shards kept shifting. He focused and the undulations became faster, the atmosphere seeming to darken, until he reached a kind of twilight within himself. He kept going, just a little further, and a light like an ember appeared before him.
The ember caught fire and grew, forming a shape in the near-darkness. The shape resolved into a handsome young man, faintly glowing like the fire that had formed him. The man bore a passing resemblance to Hans himself, if a touch slimmer in the face and his nose smaller. His hair was lighter, orange like a candle flame, and his eyes were a kind of yellow-green. Faint scars ran down his cheeks, like he had long ago cried tears of fire, and a series of small scars lined his lips. There was an unmistakable air of madness around him, though Hans had felt worse around one of his brothers.
"You saw the bird?" the figure asked.
"Yes," Hans answered evenly. "What does it mean, exactly?" The figure smiled deviously.
"It means another piece has joined the game, a strong one. And another player, too." The figure paused. "You must learn what you can about this player and his piece, young Hans, if you are to act accordingly." Hans thought this over, his clever mind examining it from every possible angle.
"The draugr have failed," he determined. "They are no match for this one. Do you have a suggestion?"
"This is your scheme, young prince," the figure said, mockery just skimming his tone, "but I encourage you in this. The best way to learn is yourself. And the strong do not suspect those they will not see." The figure giggled and disappeared in a puff of flames.
Hans felt himself jerk back to reality, his body covered in sweat and his tongue dry as a bone. He narrowed his eyes, thinking over what he had learned. This part of him, the part that had made itself known on the trip back to the Southern Isles when he had been driven half mad with thirst, had taught him much, given him wisdom and power. It had taught him passively, at least. It was almost as if he were rediscovering something he had learned long ago. Perhaps he had.
Hans briefly thought about summoning more draugr, but banished the thought just as quickly. It was true, they had failed. Then a thought entered his head as he considered what the figure had said. Hans had last time lost because he did not truly understand his opponents. So who did those in power not see? Hans grinned maliciously as an idea formed in his mind. An idea that was anything but good for the royals of Arendelle.
Hans Shifted back into a hawk and flew north, toward the castle he had almost had. This time, it would be his.
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