AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, I absolutely HAVE to publicly respond to Guest Reviewer Guest986, regarding how I keep this fanfiction pretty much a total secret. Truth be told, it is no longer COMPLETELY under wraps. Like, a handful of people know I do fanfiction in general (it's choose-your-own-prompt writing practice—how awesome is THAT?!) because I've recommended it, but I still don't want anyone knowing about what fandom I'm in, or anything. That being said, a couple friends have found out anyway by accident. It's actually a kind of a funny story, and I'd love to share it, but it would be a VERY long Author's Note (I know, even MORE than usual). Would anybody like me to post that, in front of the next chapter? Please let me know in the reviews.
At the same time, I am overWHELMINGLY thankful for you guys. (I just wrote a super-long and emotional Author's Note that I'm NOT posting here, because I don't want to make anybody read that.) I know that I say it all the time, but I don't think I can stress it enough: I am so, SO grateful for you guys. In a nutshell, YOU ARE WHY I KEEP DOING THIS. YOU ARE WHY I CAN JUSTIFY HOW MUCH TIME IT TAKES, TO BE WORKING ON A BOOK I CAN NEVER SELL, just because I love the characters, and because I—want to. And because it's helping me work through my various issues, to write this. Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU, for being here, being interested, and helping me justify my secret hobby!
I love you all, thanks for reading, and I hope you have a fantabulous day! :) :) :) ~NopeNotTelling
To Guest Reviewer "Guest" (who is in AP Physics and Chem): First off, way to go with those classes—and let me know if you ever need help with Physics or Math! Secondly, regarding the fact that you apparently write ROTG fanfiction, but are too scared to post it: oh my gosh. Do it. Post. It's totally fun, and amazing, and the people on this website (for the most part!) are AWESOME. It's also a great way to practice writing, gauge audience reactions, build up your confidence, make friends, and potentially even have a real impact. So, about posting your stuff (CHANT IT WITH ME, EVERYBODY!): Doooo it, dooo it, dooo it, dooo it…! 8-D
To Guest Reviewers "author unknown," "me," "dark angel," and "3Anonymous3": (*gross sobbing*) OH MY GOSH I LOVE YOU TOOOOOOOOOOO! 8..) (*grosser sobbing*) YOU ARE ADORABLE AND I WANT TO HUG YOU THROUGH THE SCREEN. *Hugs guest reviewers through the screen*
CONTENT WARNING:This chapter has some angst in it (sorry!), but the next one is super light and Jelsa-y, so please stick with me and hold out for that. (Yes. I just used "Jelsa-y" as an adjective. Deal with it.) ;)
.
.
57: THE LAST LETTER
"Mrs. Braaten!"
The schoolteacher jumped, stumbling back a step in surprise as Queen Anna stumbled up to her, throwing her arms around her in a slightly suffocating—and not more than slightly informal—embrace. As she broke away from the hug, the schoolteacher let out a nervous laugh.
"Thank you so much for coming again, your highnesses," she said gratefully. "The children do love seeing you! And, the stories."
"It's wonderful to be back," Elsa replied. "How is your son doing? Is he recovering from his illness?"
To this, the schoolteacher's eyes widened, amazed that the Acting Queen of Arendelle would remember such an obscure detail.
"Oh—yes, he—he is," she exclaimed. "Thank you for asking, your majesty. And—um, and remembering!"
"I'm glad he's feeling better."
The schoolteacher nodded, turning to the girl in the closest desk. "Helena, would you please take Queen Anna's cloak and hang it up by the stove?"
The girl jumped up to do so, running over to them as Anna shrugged out of her cloak, handing it to the girl. Elsa, of course, didn't have a cloak, and the schoolteacher was beginning to turn around to say something more just as she suddenly caught glance of the Anna's enormously pregnant stomach.
The schoolteacher jolted.
"Oh, my goodness!" she gasped, "Your MAJESTY! How—!?"
Elsa restrained from a laugh at the schoolteacher's bulging eyes, and Queen Anna rocked back onto her heels, patting her stomach.
"Almost done cooking," Anna laughed. "The last time you saw me, I was four months along."
"I remember," the schoolteacher exclaimed, "And even then, you were—oh, my. A lot of women aren't even showing by then!"
"Yes, but apparently, this kiddo has been determined to make me 'a lot of woman,' so…"
To this, Elsa finally broke, bursting out laughing as the schoolteacher's face flushed. Anna beamed, and the schoolteacher embarrassedly drew in her breath.
"Please forgive my rudeness, Queen Anna," she apologized, "I—I suppose I wasn't expecting—it's been almost four months since you last saw us."
Anna giggled. "You're fine!"
"Has it really been four months, already?" Elsa asked. "Goodness! I'm glad we're back then."
Anna nodded. "With an EXCITING ANNOUNCEMENT!" she bubbled, suddenly spinning around and looking to the rest of the schoolhouse. "I, Queen Anna, and my sister, Queen Elsa, are really, really, REALLY excited to invite all of you to the Children's Party in the castle on Christmas Day!"
A collective wave of gasps and squeals of excitement rolled through the schoolhouse, and Elsa's heart leapt. They all looked so happy.
Anna looked so happy.
"Settle down! Settle down, everyone!" the schoolteacher scolded, turning to the class. "If you don't let their majesties speak, you won't be able to hear the stories!"
To this, the children fell quiet, a few last whispers and giggled comments resounding through the classroom. Seeing that all the students were in their desks, the schoolteacher nodded curtly.
"Queen Anna—with your—um, with your condition," she said kindly, "We've reserved the big chair for you. Is that alright?"
Anna nodded, grinning and starting to lurch towards it in the front corner of the room. "Sounds great to me!"
"Askel and Nils," the schoolteacher directed, turning to a pair of tween-age boys as Elsa followed her sister to the front, "We have another chair in the back room. Would you please go and get it for—"
"—Oh, there's no need for that," Elsa laughed softly.
The boys stopped, turning back to face her as the Snow Queen gracefully stepped forward, sweeping her hand in a circle before her in the air. An elegant, crystalline chair swirled into existence from beneath her fingers, inspiring another round of gasps and squeals of delight as the Fifth Spirit whisked her capelet forward, gracefully sitting down as the carriage driver brought her bag to her.
She thanked him and took it, reaching inside and pulling out a storybook. As Elsa opened it, pulling back the colorful color, she could feel the children's eyes on her, the excitement and energy in their collective gaze practically radiating from their eager faces.
A sudden, unexpected wave of bittersweet regret washing over her, Elsa felt her heart sink. If only Jack were here. He would love these children. Their enthusiasm, and their innocence. If Jack were here, he'd be having the time of his life, just laughing with them, and playing with them, and—!
And it hit her.
Elsa froze, her breath catching at the realization. Hearing Anna's voice in her mind, their earlier conversation from the carriage was suddenly echoing through her memory:
"Well… he said he'd come to the Christmas Eve Ball," Anna had giggled, "So, it'd be kind of weird for him to just fly away after it finished. Which means that YOU need to be thinking about what you're going to give him for Christmas."
All of a sudden, Elsa knew exactly what she was going to do.
A hint of a smile tugging at the edge of her lips, Elsa pulled in her breath, silently closing the storybook. As she looked up to the children seated all before her in the classroom, their teacher took a hesitant step forward.
"Um… your majesty?" she whispered. "Are you alright?"
"Oh! Yes! It's just—!" Queen Elsa let out a nervous laugh, giving her head a quick shake. "I was—I was actually thinking that I might tell a little story of my own today."
"By all means," the schoolteacher replied, looking a little confused. "Tell whatever story you like."
To this, Elsa's heart leapt. Her cheeks flushing, she pulled in her breath, shifting on her hips and trying to keep herself from bursting into giggles with excitement.
"Is it about the Nokk?" one of the little girls squealed, inspiring another wave of excited whispers, "Or Bruni, we could hear about the—"
"—Shh!" the teacher chastised.
"No," Elsa shook her head, "This one doesn't take place in the Enchanted Forest. It's still good, though."
Looking forward to the children with a mischievous glint in her eyes, the Snow Queen leaned forward in her icy chair as if she were about to tell a secret.
"Now, tell me. Have any of you heard—of the Legend," she started dramatically, dropping her voice to a whisper. "Of Jack Frost?"
.
.
After eight hundred and fifty-four years of being a Guardian, Professor Nicholas Ivan Claus had his fair share of secrets. Many of these were secrets that were hidden in his files, buried deep underground, containing the literally millions of letters written to him from children all over the world. In so many centuries, the old professor had never discarded a single one. After all, doing so was against his personal policy—and Nicholas honored his own rules without exceptions, just like he had with Princess Elsa and the Oath of Confidentiality.
But times could change.
"Ee, jaw-wah, eh?"
Phil—his head student—held out a clipboard, raising his furry eyebrows.
North shook his head. "Not now."
The yeti bowed his head, stepping back as the Guardian of Wonder walked past, pulling open the enclosure to the Workshop's main elevator. As it shut behind him, he crossed his enormous arms over his chest, staring at the ground.
He had done what he could, for the princess. At least—that's what he had thought. But now, Nicholas was suddenly questioning himself, his mostly-comfortable and long-since drawn conclusions about the matter shaken into a jumble once again.
North wasn't entirely sure what it was, exactly, about the Guardian of Fun's unexpected confrontation that still had him so shaken. Perhaps it was the way that Jack had blasted into the Workshop, practically crying in fury and on the brink of a complete emotional breakdown. Perhaps it was having to face the fact that he could have handled the princess's situation differently—or that he perhaps hadn't even really handled it well, at all.
More than likely, it was the jarring realization that Jack Frost was far more of a true Guardian than North had been giving him credit for.
CLUNK!
Reaching the ground level, the elevator thudded to a stop, jolting North back into the present. Giving his head a quick shake, he uncrossed his arms, stepping forward and pushing open the wooden enclosure's gate.
Turning in the opposite direction than he would usually go in on this level (leading to the reindeer stables and sleigh runway), he passed the packaging department for the Vault. Coming up to its door, the yeti stationed as its guard lifted his head. Seeing that it was his leader, he turned and reached up to the lantern beside the door, lifting it from its hook and holding it out.
"Wee-aw-jah?" he offered.
North nodded solemnly. "Thank you."
He took the lantern as the yeti turned around to the enormous crank-wheel of the outside of the Vault's door. Shaking out his furry hands, the yeti then reached forward and pulled in a deep breath.
He gripped the cast iron wheel, forcing it to the left with all his strength.
CCCCCcccccrrrr-ANK!
North drew himself up as the enormous, thick door swung inwards, groaning on its ancient hinges and revealing the dark tunnel of filing cabinets beyond.
Holding the lantern aloft, North nodded. Stepping inside, he then paused, waiting for his eyes to adjust as the yeti slowly pulled the door shut behind him.
BOOM.
With the tumbling of the locks, the crank-wheel turning back into place, Nicholas knew that his student had now effectively sealed him inside. But—he was less worried than relieved. His protocols involving the opening and locking of the Vault were readily in place (to make sure that no accidents happened), and North—now locked inside the deep, dark heart of the mountain, with no company but that of the millions of letters from the world's children in the files—needed privacy.
Santa Claus and his mail bin required it.
Looking to the aisles of filing cabinets before him as his eyes finished adjusting to the darkness, North huffed, and started walking. The Vault itself was something magical—rather, it was enchanted in such a way that it could forever expand backwards, going deeper and deeper into the ice as new filing cabinets filled with the names of new children (organized by birthday) appeared at its front. Every time a new child was born, a new file would shimmer into existence, bearing their name. Queen Elsa, now twenty-three years old, would be only a few dozen feet back in the rows and rows of filing cabinets. When he'd gone searching for Jackson Overland's file in the previous spring, however, North had found it necessary to set aside twenty minutes each way for the long walk through 319 years' worth of files all the way back into the ever-expanding mountain.
Quite the opposite of Jack Frost, when the Guardian of Wonder was raised, he was given the gift of memory. It of course was nothing like Toothiana's memory; hers was of course much more powerful and keen for emotions, and experiences related to human interaction, than his own. Not to mention, Tooth was responsible not only for her own memory, but for those of all those she protected. However, North's memory was still good enough that he could quite easily remember the names and desires of the world's children each Christmas, just like he had once been able to remember equations and diagrams.
Before long, his feet automatically turning at the corner of the cabinets, North was moving down an aisle from the mid 1820's. About fifteen feet in, reading the birthdays on the labels, he came to a stop. Ah, yes.
He knew this particular file drawer quite well.
North grasped the old handle, pulling it out. Setting the lantern down on top of the enormous filing cabinet as the drawer obediently rumbled forward on its tracks before him, the Guardian of Wonder then reached into its back, pushing away the files surrounding the group of letters and reaching for the tiny stack, held together with twine. When a child stopped believing, and their names would fade on The List (the names of believing children would always appear in fresh ink, like they had just been written), and he would bundle their letters and shift them to the back of their respective drawers in long-term files. Elsa's letters were no exception, but for someone who had stopped believing so young, her bundle was still impressively thick.
After he'd sent her the book, the young princess had immediately written back to thank him, and within a few weeks, letters and letters brimming with questions about the Legend of Jack Frost began to appear in his office. North didn't usually receive that many letters in the first two months of the year, and answered the little girl's inquiries the best he could, for not being well acquainted with the Spirit of Winter (beyond receiving occasional reports from Phil about attempted break-ins, which North found more amusing than anything else—even though he had, in an effort to give Jack a fresh start, pretended not to know about them in the previous spring). North had even found the princess a few more books on the subject, but before the gifts could be delivered, their correspondence had abruptly stopped.
It was only when he'd received the last one that he'd realized their letters were being intercepted. And by then, it was too late.
Taking the little envelope out of its file, Nicholas stepped back and bumped the drawer. It shuddered as it rolled back down on its tracks, stopping at the back of the cabinet with a dull thud as he turned away, trudging down to the far end of the aisle.
Directly across the aisles from the front of the Vault, the space opened into a sitting area with an enormous fireplace and a rich, thick carpet spread across the stone floor. While the Guardian of Wonder used his upstairs office for Toy Prototyping, it was nowhere near large enough (or, in his opinion, secure enough) to serve as a place for him to go through his mail. This fireplace was situated directly underneath the fireplaces in the rest of the Workshop (the most notable one being that on the Control Station balcony), and was always lit. North had spent many hours sitting in the enormous, winged armchair before it each year, twice-checking The List by the light of its flame.
Holding the old envelope in his hands, North turned around in front of the fireplace, collapsing into the chair. He didn't actually need to open it, to know what this one said. But he did so anyway, making sure—as a last check—that it was the correct letter. The last letter.
The letter that a certain Guardian of Fun could never—under any circumstances—be allowed to see.
Closing his eyes, Nicholas drew in a long, painful breath. Opening them again, he then slipped his fingers into the envelope's top edge, grasping the old parchment and pulling it out.
Unfolding it as the foil-edged Arendelle Crocus in the top corner caught the glistening light from the fireplace, the little princess's writing was suddenly before him once again.
.
Dear Santa Claus,
I miss getting your letters in my stocking drawer. I hope you're doing well. Thank you for sending me a friend! At first I thought he was Jack Frost, but that's okay. I'm sure Mr. Frost is busy like you.
Things are wonderful. It's nice not being so lonely. My new friend can be a little scary, but I know he loves me. He's even helping me conceal! I love—
.
The Guardian of Wonder sucked in his breath, his teeth clenching together in pain as his eyes involuntarily fell over the three final sentences. It was bad enough, what had happened. But that the princess thought that HE had actually sent-!
No, North thought angrily. Shakily gripping the letter in one hand while placing the other on the armrest of the enormous chair, North pushed himself up onto his feet. If he had realized that little Elsa still believed in Jack Frost, he would have CERTAINLY broken his policy, bringing in the mischievous snow sprite and telling him about the girl's situation. At the time, though, for her to keep believing in much of anything was incredible—and that the Spirit of Winter would still be real to her, despite the circumstances, was every bit as unfathomable as it was heart-wrenching. No one, in Nicholas's shoes, would have realized that a child's belief could be that strong.
At least—that was what North had tried to reassure himself, for every night for the previous ten and a half years.
The fire crackled and burned as the old professor walked towards it, watching the dancing colors glinting off of his boots. North still couldn't believe that he'd let something so obvious escape his notice. After all—this was supposed to be his strong suit. Protecting children by fostering their sense of wonder, that was. And, in Princess Elsa's case, there was even a prophesy, to boot. The Rock Troll had specifically said that fear would be her enemy.
It had never occurred to Nicholas that the statement had been meant so—literally.
"All your BIG SPEECHES about duty, and honor, and the responsibilities of a Guardian, and WHAT'S it all for?" Jack Frost's voice was suddenly yelling in his mind. "NOTHING!"
North pressed his lips together in pain, the hot, scalding guilt bubbling up inside him like lava as he stood in front of the fireplace, gripping the little princess's letter. He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing that he knew a way to drown out Jack's voice from his memory.
"She BELIEVED in you," it continued, nearly breaking with emotion. "She—TRUSTED—you!"
I tried! North thought desperately. I did my best! I did everything I could! There was nothing I could DO!
He swallowed hard, his eyes watering as he gazed forward into the flames. Nicholas then looked back down to the letter, the physical proof of what had happened, and of how he had failed.
The evidence.
North started to lift up the letter, and then froze, looking down to it as his breaths started to come fast and shallow with fear. This wasn't just any piece of parchment—this was a letter, to Santa Claus, written by the hand of a little girl. And that made it sacred.
But it was also the was the written condemnation of his failure. And yet, he had to—wait. No. He couldn't—he couldn't do this.
Was he really considering doing this?
North's heart started pounding, the cold, dark wave of panic sweeping slowly through his body as he frantically looked back and forth between the fire and the letter in his hand. Letting out his breath, he started to turn away from the hearth, just as the Youngest Guardian's voice hissed one more time in his mind:
"The six-year-old girl YOU left without a Guardian."
NO!
The Guardian of Wonder whipped back around and threw the letter into the fire with fury, the stationary soaring into the flames. His hands trembling with anger, he then stepped back, resolutely crossing his enormous arms over his chest as he struggled to calm down.
He WAS a Guardian. And a good one. And it was just a mistake—and honest mistake, not doing more to protect the princess. He hadn't left her; he'd just had—a lot of other children to watch over. Other responsibilities. And, he'd done everything he could. Everything he thought was necessary, of course. There was no way he could have known…
Was there?
The shame bubbling up inside him, North pressed his lips together, holding his ground as he faced down the flames. He should have known. If only he'd figured it out, if only—!
He would never be forgiven, if anyone saw that letter. Jack Frost certainly couldn't see it. And now, he would never see it.
No one ever would.
There was snap, and North looked back down. The fire spat again, dancing over the piece of parchment, the foiled stationary's edges already black as it began to melt and curl apart onto the logs.
A flash of panic suddenly shot through his body, his muscles contracting in horror. Realizing what he had done, North gasped and lunged forward, snatching up the poker from beside the enormous fireplace.
"No," he stammered, desperately prodding at the logs. "No—!"
As he tried to fish the letter back out, one of the smaller logs suddenly collapsed onto the flame, sending the fire roaring up before him in a burst of heat. Startling back in shock, Nicholas desperately threw the poker to the side, falling onto his knee and throwing his hand forward at the logs.
Sss!
He gasped in pain, jerking his fingers back as the flames danced past his skin. The fire spat again, sending white-hot embers flying past the edge of the hearth. Shaking out his hand, Nicholas looked to the letter again to realize with horror that it was unfolding in the whirlwind of sparks, its edges curling open and beginning to burn just beyond his reach.
It was too late.
Slowly getting up onto his feet, Nicholas took a step back. His mind going numb as the edges of the little girl's letter began to blacken and crumble into ash, he stared into the crackling fire, feeling the cold, icy realization sinking in.
Too late.
His knees started to shake beneath him. Nicholas felt his lungs contract in horror, time seeming to crunch to a standstill as the dull thudding sound of his own heart pounding filled his ears.
What have I done? North thought.
The bottom edge of the parchment unfurling across the embers, the last two, inky lines of the princess's handwriting suddenly came into his view, standing out against the brilliant light of the fire, simultaneously taunting and condemning him as they were consumed by the flames.
"What have I done," North whimpered, his voice breaking in the silence. "What—have I—done?"
Sinking down onto his knees, the nine-hundred-and-three-year-old Guardian of Wonder buried his face in his hands, overcome with emotion as the last two lines of the princess's burning letter seared into his soul:
.
I love my new friend. I call him the Gray Man.
He says you're not real