AUTHOR'S NOTE: Two things: FIRST… okay, you know how Disney hyper-sexualized the way Elsa walks at the end of "Let It Go?" This is rated T for the fact that I'm making fun of them… by messing with Jack's mind. (*MANIACAL LAUGHTER*) SECOND… so, I made the horrible mistake of going back and looking at some of the first chapters I posted (you know, before I thought anyone would ever read this?), and realized that I… hate them. I'm usually writing about 3-4 chapters ahead of what I'm posting, and I have the basic plot of the rest of Ice Alliance planned out, but those early chapters REALLY need serious work. QUESTION: I NEED to edit those anyway. Should I do it now, have a more solid beginning, and then get back to the story, or should I keep pushing forward with the plot, and then edit them at once the end? Please let me know. Love you all, and have a fantabulous day!

CONTENT WARNING: Should I even keep bothering, with this? There's sexual innuendo. More innuendo. SO MUCH INNUENDO. ;)

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28: THREAD, PARCHMENT, AND PINS

After replacing the enormous books, Jack followed Queen Elsa in silence again through the twisting halls. She had said that it was complicated—well, that he was complicated. And something about theories. What the blizzards could she have meant by theories?

The Ice Powers Girl looked so tense and worried again that Jack found himself using every ounce of willpower that he possessed to keep from sending a subtle snowflake to land on the back of her neck. Not much magic—just a bit, only enough to calm her down. He had briefly entertained the idea that, if he did it carefully enough, she wouldn't notice it. Given the context, though, he decided against the idea. With his luck, it would come off as creepy, and Elsa, the tips of her ears still slightly pink, was clearly uncomfortable enough already.

Maybe he'd been a tad too honest.

Of course, he hadn't lied; walking in on her that morning was a complete accident. For Elsa's sake, he tried with all his might not linger on the memory, but it kept on popping back up again in his mind, completely uninvited... The image of the beautiful young queen standing there in the faint lamplight, pulling up her hair, her pale pink skin glowing softly through that translucent little half-outfit… she, and… and that icy little… um. Well.

Dang.

No other way to describe it, really.

It wasn't that he hadn't accidentally seen more than a few things that he didn't want to, in over three centuries of invisibility. In fact, within his first few months, Jack had gotten pretty good at being about to discern which bedroom windows belonged to teenagers and adults, so that he could stay FAR away from them during the early morning and evening hours. But, for some reason, walking in on Elsa had sent him for a loop. And, OH, what a fantastic loop it was.

He looked back to the Snow Queen, who was regally holding her head high as she swept past the other people in the hallway, her full hips swinging back and forth from her high-heeled gait. When she was in bare feet, she didn't walk that way… could a pair of shoes really do that?

I like heels, Elsa had said earlier. They make me taller.

Jack raised his eyebrows slightly, looking back to her and involuntarily glancing down.

Oh, that ain't ALL they do to you, Snowflake.

A sly little grin twitched out of the side of his mouth as he looked down again, watching the back of her skirt.

I wonder if she realizes how she walks when—you know what, I'm not saying anything.

With the jolting realization that his gaze had been locked on Elsa's hips for at least a solid ten seconds, Jack squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head vigorously and pacing after her faster. At least they still had the Alliance thing going, even though they hadn't really done anything with it yet. It wasn't exactly a relationship, but it seemed to imply something stronger than friendship… right?

No. We're just friends. She only wants to be friends, he thought desperately, mentally scolding himself as Elsa daintily picked up the front of her skirt, starting to climb up a long, twisting flight of stairs in front of him. She's not ready for anything more, just yet. That's obvious. And, friendship is fine. Right? Being friends is—

He looked back up towards her and jolted. A little bit ahead of him now on the stairs, the sparkling ice fabric shifting over her hips with each step, the back of Elsa's skirt was now exactly at his eye level.

He froze.

After a brief moment of standing on the step, dumbfounded like a deer in the headlights, Jack shook his head violently again, biting down hard on his lip and running his fingers through his hair. Maybe his brain actually had disintegrated from sifting through those idiotic court records. Either way, it certainly wasn't working the way it used to anymore.

And that dress. Was not. Helping.

Tossing the staff to himself and regripping it with frustration, he leapt into the air, flying up on the wide staircase and touching down to walk by her side instead of behind her. Jolting slightly, but then righting herself, Elsa visibly restrained from acknowledging him. Still unable to speak to each other out in the hallway, servants and maids walking through him as they finished ascending the stairs, Jack forced himself to stare at her face. Only. Her. Face. Which was very pretty, but—

The image from that morning suddenly flashed across his mind again. His jaw slackened a bit.

Heh.

Pretty…

DANGIT, Jack! He thought angrily at himself, You are 319 years old. You're supposed to be able to handle this. Elsa is a GIRL. This is what girls look like…

He bit his lip, eying the shimmering ice crystals in her thick, shiny blonde braid.

Ice Powers Girl. Winter Spirit Girl.

He drew in his breath as the realization hit him.

Never-going-to-find-one-like-this-ever-again girl.

From everything he'd seen so far, Elsa was a dream. And she was so much like him, except for the—female—ness. Which Jack was excessively aware of, in this particular moment, with extremely high approval. She wanted to just be friends—at least, that's what she said—and he wasn't going to intentionally push her for anything more unless she was ready. He wasn't a jerk, but he was going to pursue her. He had to. This was just—no. In 319 years, he had never found a young woman like this, and he knew the chances of his ever finding another one ever again were incredibly slim…

Sweet mother of snowdrifts. He was losing his mind.

It was like Elsa kept trying to put down boundaries, and he kept tripping over them.

They finally ended up standing in front of a large, white door, decorated with lilac Arendelle crocus symbols towards the end of the bedrooms. She reached for the handle of the door, and then paused. Her hand shaking, she hesitantly looked back to him. Jack saw with dismay that the Ice Powers Girl's eyes were filled with pain.

Alone in the hallway once again, they were now able to speak.

She pulled in a deep breath. "I—um," Elsa whispered, "I'm sorry—I haven't been in here since before my coronation."

He nodded, still confused. Then, gulping, the Snow Queen shakily took the handle and turned it, silently pushing the door open and stepping into the room.

As she whisked in her recently-repaired capelet, silently closing the door behind them, Jack looked around himself. The room had a few pieces of furniture, but for the most part, it was fairly sparse. It had a tall ceiling as well, just like her bedroom and art gallery, and was faintly lit by the last remaining light of day pouring in front a grand window, looking out over the castle's front courtyard. It was mid-afternoon, but a week or so before Christmas, dusk was approaching rapidly.

On the far side of the room was a single bed, with a canopy and thick, rich purple curtains and an elaborate bedskirt. Across from it and its end table was a long dresser, and between them was a thick, rich carpet. A chair was next to the dresser, and across the room was an armoire, rather like Elsa's current one. A dainty little desk, and a bookcase, were close to the door where he was standing. All in all, it was a lovely—cold, but lovely—room for a royal child.

Jack looked to the dresser again. The bottom drawer was sitting slightly open, a few dark-colored pieces of cloth sticking out of it.

His breath caught.

Elsa sighed. "This was my—"

"—Your childhood bedroom?"

She bit her lip. "How—how did you—?"

"—Just a hunch," Jack said coldly, pacing over to the dresser, "And those had better not be what I think they are."

"Don't—!"

He had already grasped the knob, yanking the large drawer out. Looking down, Jack felt his throat tighten with anger as he gazed into it, seeing that the entire drawer was filled with pair after pair of gloves.

Suddenly, a small piece of white fabric in the back caught his attention. A wave of horror sweeping over him, Jack shakily reached down for it. His eyes widened as he pulled out the tiny, white glove and held it up in the air, his mouth falling slightly open with disbelief.

It was the perfect size for a young child.

Jack's teeth clenched together. His eyes narrowing, and he turned to Elsa, feeling blood rushing to his face in fury. He glanced menacingly to the glove, and then looked intensely back into her face.

"Elsa," Jack said slowly, struggling to control his voice. "How old were you?"

"Please," she pleaded, "Jack—they were only trying to hel—"

"—How old were you?"

She bit her lip, looking down. "Seven," she whispered. "I—I was seven."

Jack pulled in his breath, crumpling the tiny glove in his hand. Seven years old. She had been seven years old, when they'd started cooping her up.

When they'd started teaching her she was a monster.

Jack loved seven-yr-olds. In his mind, children had something of a "golden age," between the years of six and nine; they were old enough to have fun, but also still young enough that none of them had reached adolescence—or had stopped believing, for the most part. Age seven was truly an age for innocent joy, and play, and—

He looked back to the beautiful young woman standing across the room. Her elegant body draped in a gown of ice, she stood with her shoulders slightly hunched in shame, her cerulean blue eyes cast down with sadness again.

Isolation.

For her, age seven was an age for isolation.

His stomach twisted, looking at her, seeing her delicate frame bent over with fear again. Jack closed his eyes, pulling in a long breath.

"Elsa," he said softly, "Do you have any idea how horrifying this is to me?"

She said nothing, but nodded. It was as if she was in physical pain, the room bearing down on her with memories. Memories a young girl should never have formed…

The Ice Powers Girl pulled in a deep breath. Placing the glove back in the dresser drawer, Jack turned to look at her again.

"Just out of curiosity," Elsa said hesitantly, pausing and gazing up into his eyes from across the room, "Um—how old are you? Exactly? I know it's not polite, but I don't think I can stand not knowing anymore."

He swallowed hard, staring at the ground and shifting his fingers on his staff.

"Let's just say I'm old," he muttered.

"Look, I know you're at least two hundred and sixty, okay?"

The statement took him completely by surprise.

He looked up in shock, his eyes widening slightly. "You—you do?"

"Yeah."

"How?"

"Research."

Jack felt another wave of confusion sweep through him, and Elsa pulled in a long breath.

"You might as well tell me," she sighed. "I've just—being in this room reminded me. I've always wondered. I mean, if you did even have an age. One of my theories was that you'd sort of always existed, but I suppose that, if you died, that would imply that you were born at one point."

"Yeah," he admitted, "I guess so. If you must know, I was—woken back up—about three hundred years ago. Almost three hundred and one."

She paused, looking thoughtfully up at the ceiling, as if she was doing a quick calculation. A pensive expression on her face, she then looked back to him, a weak little smile pulling at the edge of her mouth.

"300 years," she repeated glassily. "Yeah, I—that sounds about right."

"Sounds about right? What do you mean?" Jack exclaimed, "How did you know? I mean, I sure didn't tell you my age. I thought you'd be creeped out."

"Like I said. Research," Elsa sighed, biting her lip again. "That's—um, that's why I brought you here. What I wanted to show you."

Jack watched as she slowly turned back towards the bed, and bent down. It was fairly high of the ground, and she gently picked up the edge of the bedskirt, lifting it up and revealing a clean, dark space underneath.

"This is it."

A few moments passed in silence.

"Um," Jack said slowly, "I'm… not seeing anything."

Elsa nodded. "That's because I hid it well," she whispered. "I had to keep this in a place where no one would ever find it. No servants, no tutors, no parents. But, once you see it, I think it's pretty self-explanatory."

Jack watched in wonder as she got down on the floor, touching her capelet to disintegrate it. Her eyes were filled with pain, like dark old memories—memories of things that never should have been forced on someone so young—were being woken up for the first time in years.

As she looked back to him, Jack gestured to the space under the bed with his staff.

"So, would you hide from people under there, or…?"

"On, no. That wasn't it at all," she laughed, twisting around and reaching underneath the bedskirt. A new wave of confusion swept over Jack's face as the Fifth Spirit pulled out a wooden cooking spoon, a box of matches, and a tea candle, setting them beside her, one by one. "This was my—well, my special place. I spent a lot of my childhood and adolescence under here."

He looked again to the darkness under the bed, and to the strange objects on the floor. As Elsa chose a match and began fumbling to brush it against the side of the box, Jack drew in his breath, carefully measuring his words.

"Sounds lonely," he said.

Elsa paused, lying down. "Well—yes," she admitted. "But every day, Anna would knock on my door and ask me if I wanted to build a snowman. It wasn't always at the same time, but she'd usually make her appearance somewhere in-between 3:30 and 4:00 in the afternoon. You know—after the tutors left."

"Good sister."

The end of the match suddenly exploded into flame, and she jumped. Huffing a self-conscious laugh, Elsa shook her head. "Sorry," she admitted, "I'm used to just having Bruni do this now…"

As the flame sputtered and then calmed down into a steady, controllable burn, Elsa picked up the tea candle. Lighting it carefully, and then shook out the match.

"But… Anna was always an amazing sister," the Ice Powers Girl sighed, starting again as she placed the candle in the dip of the cooking spoon. "And—I couldn't answer—you know, because of my powers, but—as I laid here on the ground and looked to the side, I could always see her feet under the door."

"Just her feet?"

Elsa nodded. She closed her eyes, pausing for a moment, as if she was savoring the memory. Jack took another step towards her, and she pulled in a long breath, smiling weakly.

"Anna always had the cutest feet," the Snow Queen breathed.

Another few moments of silence.

She shook her head, sighing again, and laid down on the ground, pulling up the bedskirt. Jack swallowed hard, turning around and looking to the door. She had spent her entire childhood and adolescence so hidden away that she couldn't even see her own sister. They had completely trapped her. But, in that casual comment, her center was shining through again. The young Elsa was so desperate to love that she would watch for the sight of her little sister's feet.

As he looked back to her, his eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise. She had rolled under the bed, her delicate hand reaching out from the bedskirt and feeling the floor for the handle of the spoon. Jack smiled in spite of himself as he crouched down, carefully pushing it up against her fingers. Her hand closed around it, and Jack watched as the bedskirt lifted a few inches, the Ice Powers Girl pulling the spoon—with the candle sitting on it—underneath the bed after her.

Without saying a word, Jack laid down on the floor as well, carefully setting down his staff. Then, pulling up the bedskirt, he rolled over as well, joining Elsa in the two-foot space under the bed in the faint candlelight.

As he looked back up, his breath caught.

On the underside of the bedframe, messily sewn into place in the corners, was an enormous map of Scandinavia, primarily focusing on Arendelle, but including many of the surrounding kingdoms as well. On top of the map were hundreds of strips of parchment, pinned into the map and the wooden bedframe itself. Threads and strings of all different colors wound and twisted over the messy writing on the strips, like a grand web of ideas on the underside of Elsa's childhood bed.

Research.

Elsa, lying beside him as the tea candle flickered between them on the spoon, pulled in a deep breath. Jack jolted slightly, his eyes wide, and looked to her.

"Pulling together the stories and accounts, I felt like I was noticing a lot of similarities," she choked, "And I started building this map. There were just—it was all way too consistent to be a legend."

"How so?"

She pointed across his body. Jack looked up and saw a short list, pinned into one of the main wooden planks under the bed.

.

white hair

blue eyes

stick (?)

able to fly (wings?)

fun

very old

either with children or completely alone

able to walk through people (angel?)

.

"Wait," he stammered, "This—this a list about me."

"Well, I—I had a lot of different theories," Elsa said quietly, gesturing to one of the pieces of parchment in the middle. "But I guess I got one thing right."

Jack's eyes followed her finger and fell onto the very center of the map. There, in the messy scrawl of a child struggling to control her script, were four words, written in capital letters.

JACK FROST IS REAL

His heart started pounding. Jack's breath caught as he looked over the surface of the map, between all of the pins and threads, reading the pieces of parchment.

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Jack Frost. Sighted 3/3/1803. Flying man. A#12, P#34

Jack Frost. Sighted 10/15/1702. Snowball fight, white hair. A#2, P#15

Jack Frost. Sighted 12/1/1689. Blue eyes, white hair, freezing pond. A#10, P#8

Jack Frost. Sighted 5/8/1764. Icing trees, thin body. A#7, P#29

Jack Frost. Sighted 1/29/1699. Flying, stick, no further description. A#5, P#18

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"Where did all of these come from?" he breathed.

"Records," she told him. "You know—from the library."

"Records from what, though?"

Elsa pulled in a long breath, closing her eyes. Finally, not looking at him, she sighed.

"They're records from the old insane asylum, Jack."