QUICK NOTES:
This chapter has been edited for development. In case you're revisiting ...
Arendelle and its peeps aren't mine.
Chapter 2
News of the man's death reached Arendelle castle a day later. He was not the first to succumb to the terrible fever, but he was the first able-bodied young man to do so, and this alarmed the queen a great deal.
"He was 38 years old," she murmured, staring out the window of her study to the village beyond the castle walls. Few people had ventured out of their homes. They were fearful of the spreading disease, oblivious to the fact that confining themselves to their narrow rooms only increased the likelihood that they would contract it.
Afraid of what they didn't understand, they thought they could hide from the plague. Elsa gave a short, humorless laugh and brought her hands to her temples. This could very well turn disastrous.
"He was a healthy man," she continued. "Fit. Employed at the docks, where he was esteemed for his physical strength."
The two men before her exchanged a worried glance.
"This is true," said the first. Elsa turned her back to the window and addressed his companion.
"Tell me about the other victims."
The second gentleman pulled down on his cuffs, an agitated gesture. He was one of the many physicians appointed by the court to advise the queen on matters of public health, and he was not entirely confident in her presence. She was an imposing figure—a kind and admirable queen, for certain, but also distinctly aloof. He found himself cowed by her beauty.
"The first confirmed case was an elderly woman," he began, "beloved by her family of course, but already in decline." He paused to clear his throat and glanced at the woman standing stiffly before him. She nodded and gestured for him to continue.
"The second was a retired milliner, not so advanced in age but generally in poor health. He had a history of digestive complaints and was prone to fits of epilepsy ..."
The physician continued along this vein, uninterrupted, detailing the various instances in which this strange malady had proven fatal within the population of Arendelle. It was a morbid conversation, one that caused the queen untold distress, but it was a necessary one. Each casualty was tragic, of course, but every one of them had been associated with the very old, the very young, or the already infirm. Every one of them, that is, until the case of Mr. Hjorth.
"Do we know the cause?" inquired Elsa. She twisted her hands distractedly, painting her fingertips an icy blue. This did not escape the physician's notice, and he made an involuntary step backward.
"Not at this time, no," interjected the first gentleman, a member of the queen's council of state. "We are looking into it ..."
Elsa nodded again. "What about the mountain settlements?"
"They do not appear to have been affected, ma'am."
She looked at them blankly. "How is this possible?"
Neither man was capable of a response, and so neither offered one.
"Fredrik," she said firmly. "I need you to send a man to each—"
But the councilman interrupted her with a shake of his head. "They will not receive any travellers from the castle or village," he said apologetically. "They have heard of our plight, and they are afraid …"
Elsa sighed. She could hardly blame them. Already vulnerable to the harsh realities of life at high altitudes, in such a wilderness, and being so far removed from the amenities of city life, the people of the mountain settlements were isolating themselves from the problem as best they could. And that meant turning a blind eye to those in need.
Arendelle was in need, though, and the people were looking to her for guidance. She could see that the spark of desperation had begun to kindle in their eyes, particularly in those of the residents along the crowded flanks of the city, where the populace was less affluent and frequently less educated. It was an irony that did not escape her: that those who were denigrated for their lack of culture were generally the more astute and farsighted of all the citizenry. And indeed, the underprivileged were most at risk at the moment. Elsa saw that they knew this and that they were afraid. What had begun as a routine seasonal ague was fast becoming epidemic as family, friends, and neighbors fell—one by one—into a feverish stupor. It was one from which few recovered.
Fredrik broke into her thoughts as though he had been reading them. "Queen Elsa," he began, his voice uncertain. "Have you given any thought to … your own protection?"
Elsa started. "What?"
"It would perhaps be wise for you to … close the castle gates to outsiders," he ventured. "At least until the danger has passed."
"Absolutely not."
"But, Your Majesty—"
"I will not hide behind these walls and watch my people suffer," she said vehemently.
There was a pause. "What about the Princess Anna?"
The queen stiffened. A few stray snowflakes drifted down from the rafters above, and Fredrik and Mr. Iverson became acutely aware of the temperature dropping several degrees around them.
She returned her attention to the physician. "How bad is it, Mr. Iverson?"
The man hesitated. "It is not good, Your Majesty," he said at last. "The rate of infection is increasing."
"Are the people alarmed?"
"In the lower districts, ma'am ..."
Elsa released a shaky sigh.
It would not do to set the palace apart from the rest of the city. Murmurs of unrest were already wending their way through the cobbled streets and back alleys of Arendelle's working class neighborhoods. It was a pauper's disease, they said—a condition for the masses. The kingdom was, in fact, a prosperous one—favored in both husbandry and trade—and the distribution of wealth throughout its lands was appreciable. Indeed, the growing middle class was perhaps the largest constituency of its population, but as in most societies, there was a minority of poor as well as a significant class of well-to-do aristocrats. And in the eyes of those poor, and the hardworking middle orders, this condition was not for the privileged.
Were the queen to sequester herself and the various residents of Arendelle castle behind its gates, things would quickly unravel in the city. She could not do this to her people.
And yet … and yet … How to protect her sister, whom she'd only just welcomed back into her life? How to insulate those most dear to her—Gerda, who mothered her relentlessly as a child, and even more so after the death of her parents. It was she whose compassion Elsa mirrored in all things as queen of the realm. And Kai, the man who taught her to assert herself—to stand firm before those who assumed they could bully this fragile woman in the interests of their own royal agendas. These two were mother and father to her in those turbulent years before being crowned queen, and their behavior did not change now that she was the leader of the entire kingdom …
These thoughts warred within her heart for some time, but at length, she spoke.
"All right then," she said. "We must do our best to reassure them. Continue to investigate the source of this ... affliction. In the meantime, what can be done to contain it?"
The men were silent.
"Gentlemen?"
"We don't know, Your Majesty. It's impossible to determine who may already carry the infection."
Elsa frowned. "I don't understand."
"This illness, Queen Elsa ... it resembles the cholera that swept through Arendelle two decades ago. Some may carry it without ever succumbing to the fever; others may walk about for days before falling ill."
"How do we know this is not the cholera?"
"Subtle differences, Your Majesty. In this case, it is neither dehydration nor lack of nourishment that is the ultimate cause of death."
Elsa waited for him to finish. When he did not, she pressed him further. "What is it?" she demanded. "What is the cause?"
Mr. Iverson met her eyes and faltered. Then he said, "The fever, Your Majesty. It is the fever that kills."