QUICK NOTES:
This story, you guys. It just doesn't want to get written. I'll be slowing down pretty soon. Again, because … life.
Arendelle and its peeps aren't mine.
Chapter 8
Several weeks had passed since Kristoff and Sven came down from the mountain, and though they accompanied the queen every day into the homes of the afflicted, neither showed any signs of having contracted the illness themselves. They were relieved, of course—incredibly so—but this turn of events also left them quite perplexed.
How, exactly, was it possible for Kristoff to avoid the contagion for so long—and after having exposed himself to it so damn frequently? If they could just answer these questions, thought Elsa, they might be able to save Arendelle before too many more lives were lost.
A substantial piece of the puzzle, it turned out, would be brought to light by none other than Kristoff himself. This was as much a surprise to him as it would have been for those of a more noble birth and auspicious patronage, and the queen would later relish the chance to rub it into the faces of certain naysayers within her own council. Arendelle's official ice master and deliverer was not good enough for the princess? Really, now?
But that was a whole different thing.
The puzzle piece in question fell into place on a day like so many before it—one in which the queen and her one-man escort were visiting those poor folk who had been stricken with the disease. And when the ice deliverer made his discovery, it just so happened that they were in the home of a certain seamstress with a husband, a dog, and seven spirited children to take care of.
Unfortunately, only four of those children were showing much spirit at the moment.
"Robert has gone to work in the settlements," explained the woman, "to help make ends meet. I will not allow him to come home. If he were to fall ill ..."
She did not finish the thought. She didn't have to: the family needed his income, and they needed it desperately. Should something happen to their father, the children might become destitute before the fever really took hold. And were that to happen, their chances of survival would be next to nothing.
"No one needs a seamstress these days," Freya concluded. She wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand and concentrated on smoothing the folds of her apron. When she looked up again, her features were composed.
Kristoff admired her stoicism. She was a strong woman, and generous to a fault in spite of how little she had. At the moment, he was seated awkwardly in a chair that Robert must have cobbled together for the children. There wasn't much in the way of furniture in this modest home, though Kristoff didn't mind—because Kristoff hadn't grown up with any furniture at all. Still, it made for a funny contrast. He was a solid man, to be sure, but what most people overlooked (because he tended to slouch) was that he was also long. Really long. So long, in fact, that his knees poked up ridiculously when he sat in the child-sized chair by the hearth.
Freya's brood was relentlessly amused by this, and by Kristoff in general. They alighted on random household items—an overturned bucket, an inveterate rocking horse, the edge of a box of kindling—and stared at him in the way that children do. He found it intensely unnerving.
"Are you a doctor?" they demanded.
Kristoff was alarmed. Were they speaking to him? He had about as much experience with children as he did with adults, which was to say practically none.
"Me? No."
"Why not?"
"I'm just ... I'm an ice harvester."
They regarded him skeptically. "So?"
His eyes widened. Were they being serious?
"So ... I'm not smart enough to be a doctor," he replied. Duh. "I just sell ice."
They continued to stare. He stole a glance at Elsa and their mother, who were deep in conversation. The queen's brows were drawn tight, her lips turned down at the corners. Her eyes seemed fluid in the dim light of the kitchen, and he could see that their discourse pained her deeply.
For a moment, he was overcome by a sense of admiration and awe. How much control she must be exerting, to keep her powers in check. Not a single thread of frost escaped her fingers ...
"Are you in love with the princess?"
The question was so unexpected, so abruptly delivered—so wrong—that Kristoff actually choked on his own breath. He spluttered and coughed and embarrassed himself even further, if that was possible, until Freya appeared at his side with a cup of water.
"Out!" she said firmly, glaring daggers at the children. "All of you!" And they scattered like dandelion seeds in a fractious wind.
"I am so sorry, Mister Bjorgman," she lamented, studying him attentively. "Are you all right, sir?"
Kristoff nodded and accepted the water gratefully. He'd swallowed over half before becoming aware of that stale, vaguely metallic taste of city life hitting the back of his throat. It was dull and flat and lukewarm—nothing like the pure springs from which he was accustomed to drinking, where the snowmelt came down in aerated trills of such bracing clarity that it made him feel alive just to sip from his cupped hands ...
Oh.
"... bunch of jackanapes, the lot of them!" Freya ranted. But Kristoff wasn't listening.
His eyes sought Elsa's, and she frowned when she caught the expression on his face.
"What is it?" she asked. The seamstress stammered to a halt and blinked at them both.
"Elsa—" he began, but then hesitated.
"What?" she repeated, her voice escalating a bit. Why was he acting so strangely? "For God's sake, Kristoff. Just tell me what's wrong."
His eyes were distant, now, as though he was lost in thought. Which, in fact, he was.
"Nothing," he murmured. "Nothing's wrong ... I mean, I'm fine. But I think," He paused. "... I think maybe I'm going to be sick."
Freya blanched. She reached for the overturned bucket, but Kristoff waved her off.
"Not now," he said pensively. "Not yet."
Elsa was on her feet. She watched him with a wild expression in her eyes, and an arctic wind seemed to burst in through the door.
"What do you mean?" she asked. "What are you even talking about? When?"
Kristoff rose to his full height and gently placed the cup on the table between them.
"Soon."