Prologue — The Bells of Arendelle
Olim, olim, Deus accelere
Hoc sæculum splendium
Accelere fiat venire olim
On the morning of December 21, 1843…
The bells of Arendelle were ringing.
The good citizens of the kingdom gathered at the Cathedral to listen to the sermon of His Majesty, Runeard the Righteous, before whom the populace trembled as he stalked beneath the lofty arches of the church.
His blue eyes, as cold as the snow that piled up on the ground, crippled all who looked into them. An old but elegant Bible, worthy of a monarch, was tucked under his arm.
Still facing the crowd, the man walked over to a lectern with a calm that made the audience dizzy. After clearing his throat, he exclaimed in a deep voice:
"Congregants… We gather here, on the winter solstice, on the morning of the Polar Night Festival! Our streets will soon be filled with criminals, foreigners, and Northuldra, who on this one day are free to roam without being subject to arrest." He looked at the faces of the audience, most were indifferent, a few shook their heads in disapproval, and a noisy minority laughed and whispered, as if eager for his words to come true.
Filthy sinners!
Unfazed, Runeard continued:
"Beware the temptations of those less devout than we. We must fight the urge to indulge ourselves, for remember, we are all born sinners…"
The emphasis on the last words indicated the end of the sermon.
As he walked away, the king's mind couldn't help but return to the past, a recurring reverie on such occasions.
All those words about crime and sin and the Northuldra, memories of a past he would rather forget if he could. God knew he would do things differently if he could.
Long years ago, did this story begin in this place called Arendelle
On the afternoon of December 21, 1813…
Two princes, father and son, were praying in Arendelle Cathedral. The boy looked anxiously at the man next to him, his closed expression always acting as a wall between them.
It wasn't always like this...
A part of his subconscious whispered. But that was many years ago, when his mother was still around, before the fights, before she spent days alone in her room... before magic took her away!
"What's troubling you, boy?" His father's voice brings Agnarr back to the present.
"Nothing, father..." He thinks about letting the matter die, but for some reason he decides to try his luck, maybe the memory of his mother gave him courage. "I just don't understand." Runeard's eyebrow rises, almost making the boy give up. "Why can't I go to the Polar Night Festival with you?" The man stands up so quickly that the boy almost fears a slap and reflexively closes his eyes.
A few seconds passed, but all that Agnarr felt was his father's hand stroking his hair. His calloused fingers slid down and reached his son's chin, lifting the little boy's face.
"Agnarr, my son…" His father's cold, condescending tone made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "A child of your age has no place there!" His hand releases the boy's chin and rests on his shoulder.
The grin beneath his mustache made him feel many things, but reassurance was not one of them.
"Besides, I'm not going because I like it, but because that's what people expect of me, because I'll soon be the head of our church!" His father was not a violent man, his hand squeezed his shoulder without much force, but his disappointed look was as painful as a punch in the stomach.
He made the sign of the cross before he went on.
"What do you think people would say if they saw you there? A party with so much sin that could easily seduce a young man…"
He paused for a few seconds, as if remembering something.
Suddenly, a guard called out to Runeard.
"If your reputation is tarnished, you are as good as dead…" Even if he tried to answer, the boy's voice was gone. Runeard pressed harder on his shoulder. "Don't follow the same path as your mother, boy!" Finally, he let go.
Agnarr stood there for a few seconds, frozen in place, trying to catch his breath.
"And wipe those tears away, the last thing I want is for your great-grandmother to see you like this."
He didn't know when his eyes started to water, but he obeyed his father.
Lifting his head, he saw Runeard's expression soften. He raised his hand, and Agnarr flinched, still frightened, but trying not to show fear as his father stroked his hair again.
"You know I hate to do this, right? But it's time for you to learn what's right and what's wrong, and I want to prepare you for the future, just as my father prepared me."
"I know, father, forgive me…" He hoped the words didn't sound as false as they were.
"You are forgiven!" Runeard turned away, ready to go about his business, but not without first giving his son a final order. "Go home and write out your catechism." And he left.
Agnarr watched him disappear. Now alone in the cathedral, he walked to the doors. Outside, in the square, people were laughing, eating and drinking, enjoying the celebration. Life in the castle and the cathedral was so monotonous and dull that the thought of going out and celebrating with the commoners filled his mind.
The prince was tempted to defy Runeard and go there, perhaps he really was seduced by sin, as his father always said.
Before he had a chance to open the doors, a girl rushed into the sanctuary, colliding with him and knocking them both to the ground.
"Watch where you're going!" He shouted impulsively, but regretted it when he saw her condition.
She had a cut on her left cheek and it was clear that she was running from someone. Her clothing made his eyes widen and he lost all sense for a few seconds.
A Northuldra!
When she finally opened her eyes, whatever insult was on the tip of her tongue was gone. She turned away from the boy as if he was going to burn her, her face losing its color in an instant as she searched for a way to escape.
"Your Highness, please forgive me!" Still stunned, he could not answer clearly.
"A Northuldra... in the cathedral?" It looked like she was going to run away, so he came to his senses. "Don't run, please!" The girl stopped, but her face was still pale.
Agnarr approached slowly, his hands raised in an attempt to calm her. He knew the Northuldra feared the royal family, but he had never come face to face with one.
"Why are you here and not at the festival?"
Hesitant, her expression showed her inner conflict.
She wanted to tell him the truth, but feared that he would not believe her. Few people trusted the Northuldra.
"I... I needed sanctuary!" She spoke. Agnarr looked at her intently, waiting for her to continue. "The church guards, they accused me of stealing one of the soldiers, but I did nothing, I swear!"
"I believe you." He sat down on one of the pews and invited her to do the same.
The two were silent for a while until the girl sighed.
"It doesn't matter, if the queen finds out that there's a Northuldra in the church, I doubt she'll let me stay." There was a mixture of sadness and resignation in her words.
Agnarr saw tears in the corner of her eyes, and at that moment he decided he did not want to see her cry, whether she was a Northuldra or not. He offered her a handkerchief, which she accepted, though fearfully.
"Well, you can rest assured! The cathedral has a bell tower that no one visits, you can stay there until things settle down." She smiled and wiped her eyes.
"Thank you! You're actually very kind. How can I ever thank you?"
"Your company is enough."
"I'm flattered!"
"My name is Agnarr!" She laughs sarcastically.
"I know that, silly! You're the Prince of Arendelle, everyone knows who you are." The comment, followed by another laugh, makes his face flush, but he tries to hide it with a smile.
"Okay, smartass, so what is your name?" She stops laughing, but continues to smile, and Agnarr's cheeks warm again.
"Iduna!"
Righteous Prince Runeard was ever more drawn like a son to Arendelle
It was his birthday, 1820…
Runeard sighed as he stared at the door to his son's room.
It had been a difficult week. It had been a long time since the boy had become more rebellious, going so far as to defy him last week after refusing to accompany him to St. Olaf's Mass. He prayed that his son would return to his old submissive, polite self.
Since that fateful day four years ago, during the Polar Night Festival, something has changed in Agnarr. Since then, he had become more hostile. The boy who used to accompany him to the celebrations in the cathedral now always seemed to have an excuse not to go.
Desperate, Runeard isolated himself more and more in the church, praying that everything would go back to the way it was. His grandmother, Queen Else, watched the situation with dismay, criticizing him for not being able to control his own son.
Not like his profligate child, Agnarr who'd have none of Arendelle
Perhaps it was his own fault. Since his wife's disappearance, his heart had hardened, and poor Agnarr could not understand why his mother was absent, or why his father acted the way he did.
The Church was something that helped him find peace, and Else approved of Runeard's new life of devotion to the clergy, but perhaps so much devotion to the sanctuary of the realm had caused him to neglect his own son.
Now, holding a small doll, a stuffed penguin that had belonged to his son and that he had found while revisiting memories of simpler times, Runeard hoped to have a chance to reconnect with Agnarr and lead him away from this twisted path.
He entered without knocking, he never knocked, he didn't think it was necessary.
The sight he saw horrified him.
On the bed, half-naked, was not only his son, but a woman. Not just any woman, but a Northuldra.
Agnarr got off her quickly, with a terrified expression on his face, the fear in his eyes the same as when he had caught him sneaking into the royal kitchen to eat a piece of cake when he was a little boy.
A pure and virtuous little boy, not the sinner standing before him now.
"Father, please, it's not what it looks like!"
"What is she doing HERE!" His voice was louder than he expected, so much so that he didn't realize he was being followed.
"What is going on here?" The queen's cold voice sent a chill through Runeard. He hoped to resolve the situation without involving his grandmother, perhaps arresting the girl and disciplining Agnarr to convince him never to mention the matter.
After all, Else was very strict, and now he didn't know how the current scenario would end.
"Grandmother, I don't—"
"That's 'Your Majesty' to you, child!"
She walked slowly to the bed where Iduna was pathetically hiding her nakedness. Else's thin, wrinkled hand grabbed her arm and threw her to the floor.
"Mercy, Your Majesty!" she begged.
"Please, let me explain!"
"There is nothing to explain, Agnarr! Everything is very clear…" She pointed at the woman on the ground. "It's no surprise that a Northuldra would use black magic to seduce a member of the royal family." The words soothed the heart of Runeard, who feared that his son would be punished excessively.
"It's not her fault!" Agnarr said, standing in front of the girl.
The queen's gaze narrowed and Runeard grumbled angrily, the boy was making things more difficult for himself.
"Out of my way, Agnarr, take your chance while I'm being generous... This woman from hell must pay!" But he wouldn't back down.
"I won't let you lay a finger on her!" On impulse, Else slapped him across the face. Runeard held his breath; he had never imagined anything like this in his worst nightmares.
With a still determined expression, Agnarr stood firm, and Iduna, now dressed, held his hand.
"If you choose this path, I will have no choice but to exile you." Her words were blunt, as if the possibility of banishing her own great-grandson did not bother her in the least.
"Exile? But, Your Majesty, you cannot—"
"Sorry, Runeard, but I've no choice. We are the leaders of the Church, and we cannot allow sin to remain among us!" The man heard the words with despair. He ran to his son and grabbed him by the shoulders.
"Agnarr, please come to your senses! This is your home, it is we who have given you comfort and safety—"
"Comfort? You call this comfort?" He shouted, pushing his father away. "You call this safety? Well, you can have it. You're welcome to it!" He picked up his shirt from the floor and walked with Iduna to the door.
On the floor, Runeard held out his hands, begging his son not to go. But it was no use.
And Agnarr and the girl left.
And Runeard didn't hear from his son for several years.
It was St. Olaf's Day, 1826…
The king presided over the festivities in the cathedral. Much had changed since he had last seen Agnarr. With the young prince missing, the easiest solution was to blame the Northuldra for what had happened...
And that was true, he thought.
Queen Else died a few months after the prince's escape. Runeard was crowned and given the title of "Righteous" for his great devotion to the Church. Some of his advisors suggested that he remarry to have another heir, but he refused.
Since Rita, he doubted that he could fall in love again.
Everything was going normally, he was watching the people walking in the cathedral square, and the evening was almost approaching, when one of the messengers handed him an anonymous letter.
"Whose is it?"
"I can't say, Your Majesty, I got it from a young man in a tavern." The king looked at the letter with indifference and thought about throwing it away, but what harm would it do to read a simple letter?
The name written on the paper almost knocked him unconscious. It couldn't be...
Agnarr!
The letter contained only an address and asked Runeard to go there.
His first impulse was to leave as soon as possible, but he didn't want to draw any more attention than necessary. He waited until the last member of the congregation had left to begin his mission.
And concealing his face, Runeard stole to a place far away, away from Arendelle.
It was daylight when he arrived at the location. The address on the letter was a small tavern on the outskirts of town. At the door stood a huge man, even compared to Runeard, who was also quite tall.
As he approached, the king was surprised by the gentle face of the man at the door, which was polite and warm, in stark contrast to his appearance.
"Welcome to the Wandering Oaken Tavern and Inn! How may I help you?" Runeard lifted the hood that covered his face, and the man gasped in surprise.
"Your Majesty! We have been waiting for you..." He let the king pass and led him to the back of the establishment where the rooms were.
Oaken opened the door for him, and inside there was only a double bed and a desk.
"I will leave you alone." Runeard entered hesitantly. The furniture in the room was old, but well-kept. On the desk was a Northuldra scarf, a bundle of worn clothes, and a bowl of water with a towel.
There was a figure lying on the bed.
"Hello, father!" His eyes welled with tears as he heard the voice that had haunted his nightmares for so many years.
"Agnarr, my son…" He knelt down to get a better look at his face. His breath caught as he saw the young man's condition. His skin was covered in scars and blisters, blood dripped from his mouth, and he was obviously in great pain.
Smallpox.
"I heard you became king…" He coughed. "I'm sorry about Grandma."
"Where have you been all this time?" The monarch took the wet cloth and wiped it across Agnarr's forehead. He was burning up.
"Traveling, hounded from city to city with my beautiful Iduna!"
"The Northuldra girl? And where is she?" The boy closed his face ruefully, holding back tears.
"She died a month ago... Sick like me. Terrible thing, to watch her suffer!"
Agnarr knew he shouldn't lie, especially in this pitiful state, but he didn't want to risk Anna's safety. So it was okay to lie about Iduna dying in childbirth if it would keep the king away from the baby.
"Oh, my son... Let me take you home, and we will find a remedy that will not only heal your wounds, but also your soul!" He petted his strawberry-blond hair, now dirty. "The cathedral will again be your sanctuary—"
"Enough, enough, please, father!" Agnarr held his arms out and looked at him seriously. "It's too late for me, anyway!"
"Don't say that, our Lord is capable of miracles!" The man laughed until he coughed again.
"If you're so righteous, if you've truly discovered charity at this late date, there's someone you can help!" Struggling to his feet, he slowly made his way to the only window in the room and pointed out.
Runeard saw a child. A little girl who couldn't have been more than three years old was playing in the back. Her hair was blonde, almost white, she wore typical Northuldra clothing, and she was having fun chasing a small bird.
"Is she yours?" Agnarr just nodded. Runeard gave a small smile. "What is her name?"
"Elsa, because of her hair." He laughed, and Runeard followed. The girl had the same hair as his grandmother, Else, when she was young. Agnarr's face grew darker as he continued to speak. "Father, there is something you must know." But before he could continue, Elsa did something that shook the king.
He could only be dreaming. It wasn't possible, but what he saw were snowflakes coming out of the girl's hands, and she didn't seem to be surprised, in fact, she seemed to have done it many times before. It could only be one thing, and Runeard felt like he was going to faint.
"Magic!"
It could only be an act of the devil, something unnatural and sinful.
He had heard stories of the Northuldra using magic to escape and protect themselves from the kingdom's guards, but nothing like what he was seeing. He turned to Agnarr and declared:
"It is God's judgment on you. The wicked shall not go unpunished!
"I should have known." He said angrily. "I was a fool to think you would look after her for me!" Runeard, still staring at the child, turned away in disbelief at his son's words.
"Look after her, me? But she is a Northuldra child!
"And mine too." Agnarr began to cough, spurting more blood, and leaned against the wall, his strength gone. Runeard helped him back to his bed. "Take care of her, father, if you can find it in your heart." He coughed again, visibly more tired.
"Shhh, rest! Let's talk about it tomorrow." The young man did not argue and closed his eyes, giving in to a tiredness he had never felt before.
Runeard sat beside him, pondering his son's words. How could he grant his son's request? As the head of the church, the right thing to do would be to put the child down and prevent the evil from spreading.
But now, looking at the little girl who was having fun making a snowman, he wondered if he would be able to do it. He prayed, asking God to show him the way.
Finally, he leaned against the side of the bed where Agnarr was resting and fell asleep as well.
The king awoke to the sound of a door opening. Looking out of the window, the afternoon seemed to be drawing to a close. A small murmur drew his attention to the person in the doorway.
His eyes met Elsa's for the first time. She seemed to hesitate, not knowing if she could enter the room or not.
"You must be Elsa, right?" The child nodded. "My name is Runeard." He motioned for her to come closer, and she did so, not without first putting on the scarf that lay on the desk.
Up close, it was easier to see how much she resembled Agnarr; in another setting, the king would have been happy to know he was a grandfather. Her head moved from side to side as if searching for something.
"Are you Papa's friend?" Runeard nodded.
He wondered if he should tell her that he was his father, and thus her grandfather, but decided against it. It was still hard to believe that a Northuldra, one whose evil revealed itself in the form of magic, shared his blood. He got up and made room for Elsa to approach her father, who was still lying down.
"Papa, wake up!" But he didn't move.
"Come on, Agnarr, get up!" He grabbed one of his son's shoulders and shook him gently. "I know you are tired, but we must talk." He shook him a little harder, but Agnarr remained motionless.
Panicking, he shook him harder than he had expected, and still there was no response. Elsa began calling for her father, and still nothing.
Finally, Runeard checked the man's pulse and let out a wail of distress.
Dies iræ, dies illa
Agnarr was dead.
"Oh God, please, no!" He knelt down and went to embrace his son, but when he saw the blood and the wounds, he decided to stay away, even though it broke his heart.
"Why won't Papa wake up?" Runeard could not face the child. "He... He went to heaven, right? With Mama?"
The mention of the Northuldra woman, the reason Agnarr had run away, the reason he ended up dead in a filthy tavern, made his blood boil.
"Your mother is not in heaven, and because of her, neither is your father!" He shouted. Tears began to trickle down Elsa's cheeks, and for a moment he regretted shouting, but deep down he vehemently believed his words. "He is dead because of her!"
"But... But he promised to go to heaven! With her!" Elsa tried to run to her father, but Runeard held her back. "Let me go! He could not have left me alone, he promised!" He held her as she cried, and he couldn't help but shed tears, too.
There they stayed until they had no more tears to shed.
Runeard was the first to rise, and he noticed that the girl had passed out from exhaustion. He was still unsure what to do with her, only knowing that he had to get out of there as soon as possible.
Holding Elsa in his arms, the king left the place, but not before taking one last look at Agnarr. At the door he met Oaken, who straightened his posture at the sight of him.
"The boy is dead... Please bury him and send all expenses to the castle." The words did not seem to surprise the tall man, so he turned his eyes to the girl in Runeard's arms. "I will take care of her." He finished.
Oaken pressed his lips together as if to argue, but he would not be the one to go against the King of Arendelle. Reluctantly, he let Runeard take the child.
Solvet sæclum in favilla
He rode without stopping until he reached the edge of Arendelle Cathedral.
His mind raced with the dilemma of what to do. On the one hand, he wanted to honor his son's request on his deathbed, but at the same time, allowing such a sin-cursed creature to live would be an affront to everything he believed in.
The sight of the cathedral, located near the kingdom's docks, forced him to make a decision. As he looked at Elsa, wrapped in her scarf, he remembered the Northuldra woman from years ago who had changed the lives of everyone he cared about.
His face fell and he dismounted from his horse. With every step, he could hear his heart pounding in his chest, his breathing uncompensated, but he fought to keep his appearance from showing his hesitation.
When he reached the end of the pier, he stretched out the arms that held his still-sleeping granddaughter and prepared to let her go.
"God have mercy on your soul!"
Kyrie, Eléison
He stopped.
Before he could throw her into the sea, Runeard turned toward the cathedral and felt the gaze of the plaster saints as if it were the gaze of God. For the first time, he feared for his immortal soul.
Quickly, he pulled the unconscious girl to him, making sure she didn't fall. Staring at her, as if in an epiphany, he realized what he had to do.
"Oh Lord, you have sent me a test! This child is my cross to bear. I may not have saved my son, but I will save this—thing. But a monster like this must be kept hidden." He turned again to the Cathedral and smiled.
The bell tower. Practically abandoned, the place would be perfect.
At that moment, Runeard made a promise to God:
I will keep and care for her
And teach her at my knee
To think like me…
And Runeard gave the child a cruel last name, from an old legend about a witch, that means Snow Queen.
"Snedronningen!"
Now… Here is a riddle to guess if you can sing the bells of Arendelle.
What makes a monster? And what makes a man?
Sing the bells of Arendelle!
I do not own Frozen, or any of the related characters. The Frozen Franchise is owned by Walt Disney Pictures. This fanfiction is intended for entertainment only. I am not making any profit from this story. All rights of the original Frozen story belong to Walt Disney Pictures.
The story is based on the Hunchback of Notre Dame Musical, not the Disney animated film. The parts in bold and italics are parts of the songs/dialogue from the play.
I know that Norway is mostly Lutheran, but you cannot escape Catholicism in a story based on The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Let's pretend that Arendelle's religion is a mixture of the two.