Galloping hooves shattered the brook as the Frosthand trampled through its trickling tranquility. A Cavalry company bearing gleaming silver breastplates threaded with frost. Warhorses bred for strength to carry the finest officers of Arendelle.
The Queen's Guard.
As if the Queen of Arendelle needed guarding.
She was winter's wrath. Fair and terrible like a morning storm. And the blizzard rode amongst them. Blue, iceberg eyes lofted toward the village's huts dotted on the horizon. Instead of armour, she wore a snow-flecked riding habit. Instead of a musket, she wielded a crystal-ice mace, topped with a virulent, curdling ball of frost that shed sleet on her men's beards. Instead of years of military training - she bore the endless curse of winter. A winter that went before her steed's footsteps and laid silent the gun carriages. Earlier so determined to oppose Arendelle's advance. Its gunners languished inches deep beneath the Queen's snow. Ghastly-white funeral mounds undoubtedly meant to haunt another separatist state into submission.
Like all her futile pursuits in the young reign of her Monarchy. It didn't work.
Puffs of smoke erupted from the village and musket-fire whizzed through the men. Bullets rang off their armour and they scattered. Smoke chafed her nostrils. A trot churned into a gallop. Before the Frosthand hurled itself full-tilt towards the single line of infantry quaking in its boots. Daring to fight them only by the brandished pistols of their officers behind.
The Queen's mace billowed a curtain of white light. An icy chasm ripped through the plains and tore through men and musket alike. It was the work of three seconds, a mere flick of her wrist - before the last hostilities of the Northuldran Rebellion fizzled its dying breaths. Her patience still wore thin like ragged cloth. Frayed at the seams with each dead body she passed.
They dismounted before the village's community hall. Doors already flung open with a white rag on a stick emerging forth.
"M'lady, Elsa of Arendelle," the Adjutant bowed, cowering backwards when Elsa walked right up to his face, "Sir Adrian Hoth bids thee-"
She shoved him aside and strode forth into the hall. A yelp sounded behind her. Followed by a gunshot. Improper courtesies.
Sir Hoth sat alone amidst the strewn remnants of his Northuldran Headquarters. Desks and maps and supply crates meant to sustain months of prolonged siege warfare. Now reduced to a bearded man. Arm limp in a sling where a bullet went through his shoulder. Frostbitten fingers.
Always the frostbite.
"A pity," Hoth muttered, looking away from the Frosthand dragging his Adjutant's corpse, "Linew was a loyal fellow."
"Unlike yourself, cur," Elsa's voice boomed through the hall, "did my father not offer you a place at the table? Representation on the Council? Estates for Northuldran Nobility and Welfare for its subjects? Why choose bloodshed?"
"You don't get it," Hoth leaned in his chair, now assured of his fate, "we were meant to be our own people."
"And risk being swallowed by other Kingdoms instead of our own?" Elsa glared at him, "Northuldra's place in the North begins with Arendelle and ends with Arendelle. No amount of generational warfare can change this."
"Easy for you to say from a Palace," Hoth's tone mocked her, "Queen Elsa of the North-"
Elsa grimaced. She stepped forth, ungloved herself and slapped him. The crack echoed around the hall and bit icicles into his cheek. He spat blood on the ground.
"There you are mistaken," Elsa rubbed her throbbing hand, "I am the North."
"Get on with it," Hoth goaded her, "unless you came here to hear me beg for mercy. In which case I will be yet another disappointment."
Elsa scoffed, "I know you have no heir - though I wish you did. At least another generation would see this and perhaps grow weary of the bloodshed."
"Heir or no heir," Hoth looked away, "your time will come soon, Snow Queen."
Rage boiled beneath Elsa's veins, though it showed not on her face. Only in her mace, darkened with malice. She gripped it within her steady fingers, and Hoth paled at his impending death beneath its thorns.
Let the annals of history not be mistaken. Despite his bravado, Sir Adrian Hoth of Northuldra died in Rundhaug Village Hall on his knees.
Pissing his pants like a dog.
Despite her years in Christensen Estate, sleep still clung to Anna's eyes each time Housekeeper Agnes kicked her in the shins before dawn. Their coarse-walled servant's quarters lit merely by the dying ember of a candle. The Rooster hadn't crowed yet, but Agnes had a knack for overpreparing, overplanning, over-everything except over-indulging them with an extra minute of sleep. Perhaps her fastidious nature had resulted in her appointment as Head Housekeeper Agnes. As she so often insisted on being addressed.
"Get up," Agnes barked, "we have visitors today."
"Ah, visitors," Anna bemoaned, clutching her face, "thus arrives the tide of fortune that will change my life-"
"One more word that isn't yes or ma'am and I'll birch you to pieces," Agnes threatened, before striding out their rathole of a dorm.
Anna looked away at the other beds. Threadbare sheets tucked neat and tidy like rows of little matchboxes. Half the servant girls had already left for duties. Hilda shrugged back as she made her bed. Right before her fellow maid left their dank, stony-cold quarters, Anna took another glance at the slight curve of Hilda's hips beneath her apron. The tousle of brown hair that peeked beneath her coif. Her face warmed.
"I know you're looking at me," Hilda called out from the doorway, without turning around, before she headed for duties.
Anna apologised with a smile.
And an extra half-bar of chocolate snuck from the pantry. Tucked into Hilda's pocket doing the Lord's dishes after breakfast when Agnes wasn't looking.
"Oh stop it, you," Hilda chided, elbow-deep in dishwater, "it's going to take more than that-"
"You two-" Agnes stormed into the scullery.
They flinched, sloshing each other with soapy water.
"Hurry up! Get dried! Assemble in the sitting room with all the girls. Our visitor's arriving soon," Agnes thundered despite the scullery being only five paces across.
Hilda rolled her eyes.
"Some visitors these are," Anna grumbled. Despite the threats, Anna still took her own heavenly sweet time with the dishes. Even changing to a spare dress and apron. She pondered taking a bath just to drag out the waiting, but opted to stand in line for a sudden inspection by the Lord and Lady of the House. Earl Christensen. He stood at attention like a preening peacock for a good hour until he sweated into his gaiters and quaked in his boots. A sombre military parade of servants in a gilded mahogany sitting room littered with tired floral arrangements and uninspired artwork.
Until at last, a carriage rumbled up the garden path and deposited a single paunchy woman onto their estate. She walked straight into the sitting room. Unescorted. No fawning servants or stewards announced her name. Her grey dress was unkempt from travel. Eyes bleary. Even their Lady Christensen was better dressed than her, but still she curtsied deeply. Lord Christensen bowed and kissed her hand like he was courting her anew.
Thus arrives the tide of fortune. Anna thought to herself, wondering what the blazes this was all this about.
They exchanged hushed whispers, before the Lady in grey stood before a line of servants and addressed them in a soft voice steeped with authority. A parchment scroll unrolled in her hand and Anna recognised its Royal seal immediately.
Oh.
Oh. Oh. Oh.
"Greetings! As you are undoubtedly aware - there has been political strife in our Kingdom for months past. The Royal Household has seen fit to replace several members of its staff. Unfortunately, the Household is unable to train that many replacement staff at a whim. Such pressing times demand us to hire directly from the Households of our largest estates. Thus, it is with our great anticipation and appreciation to Earl Christensen that he has agreed to release one of the Housemaids here for Service in the Royal Household of Arendelle."
Anna swallowed as the verbose language swirled inside her head. All she understood was release. Royal Household. Political strife.
"Thus, for this purpose - we are only looking for senior maids, aged between 21 and 25. If this describes you, I ask that you step forward, please."
Blood drained from Anna's face. She hesitated for a second, before noticing two other girls have already stepped forth. And so she followed, heart in throat. The two girls stood far down the long line of household staff. They exchanged terse whispers out of earshot.
The thought suddenly dawned upon Anna. It could be her last day here. Today. Years of slogging away washing linens and doing dishes and scrubbing the floors until her hands bled. What would the palace be like? She wondered. Or could it be exchanging one prison for another? Lady Christensen had been polite and well-mannered to her maids. And there was Hilda here too- But-
She barely decided whether she even wanted to leave before the lady strode before her. Rosy cheeks and blue eyes bore down on Anna as she gave her best curtsey.
"Greetings, Ma'am-"
"Call me Gerda."
"Greetings, Gerda. I'm Anna."
Anna curtsied, again and again. Before she realised she only had to do it once. Stopped by a white-gloved hand on her shoulder.
"Can you sew, Anna?"
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Again, Gerda. Can you read and write? Can you sing?"
"Yes Ma- Yes, Gerda. Norwegian, English, Fre-"
"Can you ride? Can you shoot?"
"Horses? Guns? Yes, Gerda. Though I'm not sure if I can shoot from a horse-"
"Not necessary," Gerda interrupted, "take off your headdress."
Anna removed her coif, exposing her pigtailed red hair. The sight turned Gerda's straight lipped expression into a visible frown.
Welp - looks like I'm staying here. But the questions continued.
"What is your Church?"
"Lutheran."
"Where do your parents come from?"
"Kristiansan."
"Good, good, good," Gerda muttered, and turned away to speak with Lord Christensen. Her collar soaked with perspiration. She barely tied the coif back on before her heart lurched at Gerda pointing directly at her.
"The rest of you are dismissed to your duties," Lord Christensen announced, "Anna, your service has been a pleasure. Pack your things and get in the carriage."
The news left her wide-eyed in shock, jaw hanging open like a tiger's yawn. Her feet were rocks. Rooted into the carpet until Gerda strode by and hissed in her ear, "Pack your things, girl - the Queen hath not all day to wait for you."
The Queen.
I'm going to see the Queen.
Anna barely had any possessions to pack, but Agnes still returned her enamelled hairbrush and handmirror. Tiny heirloom luxuries confiscated for tardiness. She paused at the last thing she had to pack: a threadbare stuffed doll her parents had gifted before they sent her away. Lady Joan of Arc. Grey felt patches for armour. Dark threads for hair and blue stitches for beady eyes. Perhaps I'll get to see a real Warrior Queen. Her heart waned with melancholic longing as she departed Christensen Estate's porch. Timber steps her tiny fingers had polished to a mirror shine so many winter mornings. Anna breathed a sigh. Her last sorrowful vestige somehow summoned Hilda down the steps with a smirk on her lips. Anna already knew what she'd concealed beneath her sleeve.
Hilda pressed the hard bar of chocolate into her pocket, and left the softest of kisses on Anna's cheek.
"I will miss you, Anna," Hilda swept her into the tightest embrace, spreading a damp warmth into her collar, "I will miss our moments together."
Anna sniggered, "Hilda, I fear you have already forgotten me. For what soft eyes you used to send my way now appear reserved for that new girl, Lotte. Is it now?"
The insinuation wasn't lost on the brunette. She looked away, pondering an answer - before realising it was unlikely she'd ever see her again, "She can't be as good as you are, surely."
In the thin silence as she locked eyes with her friend one last time, Anna pondered parting words that could both ease that ache of separation, and give Hilda yet hope for a future cleaved apart.
"Maybe, but you can be good for her."
With those words, Anna turned and left for good. Carried away by the tide of fortune she'd unwittingly called into existence with her waking words.
"Make way! Make way for the Queen's Guard!" the heralds trumpeted. Hooves clacked on stony pavements as the Frosthand trotted down Arendelle's streets. The Capital's townsfolk fell silent at the din of rattling armor and clicking horseshoes. Gazes gripped in wonderment at their Queen riding tall amongst her Guards. A mace leaned against her shoulder. Thorny ice-points glittered in the sunlight like the jewels in her crown. The pink of Sir Adrian's blood plain to see for all. The steadfastness of her rule eternal. Vengeance and power braided together.
A message, perhaps. Submit. It twisted Elsa's gut the longer she bore that accursed weapon. Each street she passed beneath their withering gazes tore her spirit asunder bit by bit as she kept her mount's trot in time with the others. A breeze's sudden bloom fluttered her Prussian Blue cape, and with it hollered a cheer from a bystander:
"Hail, Queen Elsa of Arendelle - may your reign last eternal!"
Voices piped in unison. They grew louder towards the Palace.
May the North fall to its knees before thee!
May her Majesty subdue the Northern Realms and bring us peace!
Let none dare oppose Winter's grasp!
She forced a smile back at their cheers. But only saw windows fluttering shut against the frosty draft that followed her. Taverns and Cafes that still hung Agnarr's portrait beside her own. Clinging to the reins, she tried to make sense of the rose petals strewn upon the street by Citizens welcoming her back. Red and pink petals kicked up by hooves stuck to the bloodstained mace. Macabre. She was a sleet-white winter chill by the time they reached the Palace. A stony silence gripped her chest when the gates boomed shut.
The rest of the Frosthand had already returned their warhorses. Undoubtedly headed straight for baths and warm Quarters to bicker and lament about another campaign fought with her in bitter cold. It took another five minutes standing at the Palace door before Elsa realised no one was coming to receive her. Strange.
Gerda fled down the grand stairs. Her croaky voice muttered a dozen apologies as she helped the Queen out of her riding habit.
"I'm terribly sorry your Majesty-"
"There appears to be a sullen silence in this Palace of late, where have all the staff gone?"
Gerda looked over her shoulder, a pile of ice-cold riding clothes weighed her rickety shoulders down.
"I've been told not to inform you," Gerda cleared her throat, "but for now, the Council requests your audience-"
"So soon?" Elsa strode towards the Council Chamber. No steward stood at post. For once, she had to brace against an immense Oak door and shove it open by her own strength.
All twelve Council members bolted from their seats at once. Red leather chairs and Mahogany panelled walls. The chamber evoked as much dreadful cold as it did austere quiet. Between all the arguments and warring bouts of petty silence. Elsa hated this room the most. She looked away from their deferential bowing and wondered if she despised these twelve men as much.
"I'm assuming," the purple train of Elsa's gown swept behind her as she strode into the Chamber's chill, "that the dearth of my Household's presence has something to do with you lot."
The oldest of them, Lord Tønsberg, stood forward. Granite-grey hair gleamed beneath dustmotes suspended in the sunbeam. She trusted him. It also annoyed her to no end that he had to speak on their behalf. As though she was perceived to be more amenable to his petitions.
"Your Majesty, the council rejoices at your victory in the North," Tønsberg bowed, "but it is apparent that sympathies to their cause have strayed far beyond their borders."
"Hear, hear-"
"During an inspection by the Serjeant-of-arms, correspondence was uncovered between Sir Adrian Hoth and one of the housemaids," Tønsberg continued, "It appears there has been a scheme all along to influence Arendelle positions regarding the North from within the Royal Household-"
"Housemaids," Elsa drew in a breath, "I don't suppose you mean Marian."
"Yes, Miss Marian was the start of this affair. But we've investigated further and uncovered approximately half of the Royal Household with links towards either Northern Separatism or Republicanism-"
"Half? Pray tell, what if the Serjeant-at-arms chose this moment to settle scores- " Elsa clutched her forehead, "Good Lord - Marian was always whispering in my ear about her father in Northuldra and how much he longed-"
"Treason, hear," they muttered.
"It is the advice of the Council, that for the Safety and Security of the Queen," Tønsberg maintained, "these staff are to be dismissed and replaced with thoroughly vetted ones. As your Majesty was away on campaign, we've taken the liberty to sign this decree. Kai and Gerda have been up and down the countryside searching for replacements."
"No, no, alright," Elsa breathed, "I only hope that we have not overextended our hand in this matter."
"The Royal Court has ordered the evidences preserved for recordkeeping should trials become necessary," Tønsberg motioned for a steward to bring forth a wooden chest. The Council gathered around a table to view the contents. Stacks of meeting notes. Sketches of the castle grounds. Signed letters bearing the Seal of Northuldra and Sir Adrian's own handwriting calling for an end to her reign. A damning list of names indicating a prospective future Arendelle cabinet. And when they got to the bottom of the chest, two items turned Elsa's blood to ice.
"W-what's this?" Elsa asked, as Tønsberg placed a miniature pistol and a dagger on the table. Murmured discontent broke between the men.
"M'lady, they were plotting to kill you," Tønsberg turned to look at Elsa, shaking in her gown, "in your sleep."