AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, so I'm strangely super-motivated to write now because I decided that everybody, including me, would probably prefer the next few segments as a few shorter, faster chapters rather than big long ones. Oh, and because I'm doing that, they're going to be slightly LESS well-drafted than usual. (Sorry, hope everyone is okay with that!) Also, the quasi-spoiler offer is still available, and I now have an EXACT number of chapters until the DAY they figure it out, because I actually know just how the next few chapters are all being outlined/broken up.
Mostly, I'm still hugely flattered that people seem to like my writing—and as for the guys who responded to my last Author's Note (*happy weeping*) just—a million thank you's. That is VERY reassuring (both for how I'm writing Jack and for life in general), and honestly, one of the best things I've gotten out of writing this out over the last few years is (this is going to sound weird) that it's actually made me a lot less cynical about men. (There's a long personal history of a lot of abuse/gaslighting that went into that, but I don't feel like spilling all of that in an Author's Note right now. Suffice it to say that I am in VERY limited contact with my family, and that my husband is my hero.)
In short, thank you thank you thank you THANK YOU, annnnnnnnnnd, you are all great, thank you SO MUCH for reading my writing, a HUGE extra thank you to all of you who have reviewed, and I hope you have a fantabulous day! :)
CONTENT WARNING: Sexual innuendo, as par usual
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81: SO BE ALONE
For ten minutes straight, Elsa stood on her balcony, frozen, and staring at the sky in blank shock.
Gone.
She swallowed, hardly even feeling like she was breathing. All of the oxygen had been completely sucked out of the air. Time stood deathly still, like the snowflakes frozen mid-fall around her, and her muscles felt like they had been turned to stone.
Jack Frost was gone.
Eventually, Queen Elsa backed up into her icy art gallery, blindly reaching for the handles to the balcony doors. Her mind numb as she stepped inside, she watched herself close them in front of her with a resounding click, sealing her back into the royal castle and silencing the beckoning, the questioning, of the worried wind spirits that had been swirling around her. And she stared.
She could hardly move—terrified, horrified. And frozen. Staring at the doors in front of her, the Snow Queen dared not speak, not breathe, for fear of cracking the crystalline silence of the moment. A moment in which something, somehow, had died.
She wasn't yet sure what. But something.
Knock knock!
Elsa jumped, the sound of knuckles rapping on wood from the next room. Frantically gathering her senses, she gave her head a hard shake, picking up her skirt and running back into her bedroom.
"Queen Elsa?" asked a voice, "There are—!"
Ca-CHUNK!
She threw the door open, startling the maid and making her leap back with a squeak. Blushing, Elsa cleared her throat. "Oh—I'm sorry," I stammered, "I—I'm a bit distracted."
"Your—um—your mail," the woman shook, letting out an uncomfortable laugh and presenting the silver tray. "Your highness."
"Thank you."
Elsa took it with a nod, and the servant bowed, shutting the door again as the young queen turned away. As she walked back into the room, the door swinging shut behind her, her eyes bulged.
The first letter was addressed in Rolf's handwriting.
Elsa's heart stopped. The second letter looked the same—it had come from inside of the castle, from another one of the members—the other final member—of the Royal Council.
Queen Elsa threw her hand to the side.
Creak! A jagged icicle shot out from underneath her fingers, slender and short. Jabbing in into the envelope, she ripped the first letter open, and the the second, yanking the papers out and letting both their envelopes, along with her improvised letter-opener, fall to the ground. As she skimmed their inner messages, one after another, Elsa's heart started pounding again, the realization shooting through her body like an electric shock.
Resignations.
These were resignations.
The—last—resignations.
Elsa gasped and clutched the papers to her chest, stumbling back a step and looking up. All around her in the room—in an ice vase, and another ice vase, and sprawled across the top corner where two of her walls joined and met the ceiling—were ice flowers. All varieties, all different shapes and sizes, every one meticulously crafted out of ice by the hands of the most phenomenal ice sculptor Elsa knew, the ice flowers blossomed beside the patterns of the Arendelle crocuses that had been built everywhere into the room. But along with the hundreds of ice flowers, true to his word, Jack Frost had left her with one final gift:
The Council was destroyed.
Her breaths coming sharp and shallow, Elsa's eyes starting stinging. For all of their conniving and meddling and abuse, they were gone. The Fifth Guardian had chased off every single one of them—leaving Elsa, and not to mention Arendelle, free. The promise of the Ice Alliance had been fulfilled.
And thus it was over.
That was what had died.
Clutching the letters in her hands, surrounded throughout the room by both the Arendelle crocuses and the crystalline ice flowers, Elsa the Snow Queen sank down onto her knees and burst into tears.
.
.
"GAAAAAAURGH!"
CRRACK!
Jack flung the end of the staff in front of him, sparkling ice ripping through the air and scattering into the fierce wind. The rolling sea of storm clouds thrashed violently beneath him in the sky, the blizzard growing stronger over the frozen wasteland as he flew. Here, soaring high over Antarctica and as geographically far away from Arendelle as he possibly could get, he didn't have to restrain. In a way, desperately trying to vent his frustration, Jack knew that he belonged here.
Alone.
Where he couldn't hurt anybody.
CRACK!
Another explosion of ice erupted from the staff, and Jack flipped forward into the air, shooting down into the snowstorm, the wind shrieking through his ears. Elsa didn't want him touching her anymore. Oh, no, she wouldn't need that. She wouldn't even need a blasted dance partner. Not when she had Prince Wonderful there, to sweep her off into the night…
Setting his jaw, Jack fought back the stinging in his eyes. She didn't want him touching her so much. He'd been pushing his luck, anyway.
But it was. So. Humiliating. Because he never would have—ever—EVER meant—!
"AURGH!"
CRACK!
The ice scattered as it blasted away from his body. The clouds crashed and swirled around him, the blizzard growing stronger and stronger at his command. Jack wasn't entirely certain if what he was doing counted as more of a workout or a temper tantrum, but—either way, it felt good. Whenever Jack was upset, or sometimes even just when he felt like doing it, he'd come down here to the bottom of the earth and whip up the biggest snowstorm he could muster. It was good practice—although there was a reason that he came to Antarctica, rather than risking this time of storm over a populated area.
A different type of population, anyway. The penguins would be fine. But he didn't know if he would be.
CRACK!
An idiot. He was an idiot. This whole time, Jack had been thinking that the beautiful, incredible Snow Queen had actually liked HIM, and—daddy issues? Was that all he was, to her? Meanwhile, ol' Prince Wonderful had automatically fallen into the role of Potential Husband, JUST because he had a crown. While Jack was trapped in his own special category of Creepy Eternal Friendzone, because, apparently, Elsa wanted his approval, but not HIM.
Oooh, it was a good thing that Elsa's father was already dead.
"AURGH!"
CRRRRRRACK!
He pulled back the staff, gritting his teeth and diving into the wind. Ever since Anna pointed out her sister's issues, Jack couldn't shake the lingering feeling of, I APPROVE, ELSA! OKAY!? NOW LEAVE ME ALONE!
If he was just some creepy replacement Father Figure or something, which he'd NEVER signed up for… granted, even though he approved of Elsa, he did NOT approve of her choices. Which were hers, but… ugh. Prince-Boy? REALLY?
He trembled as he readjusted his grip on the staff, steadying himself for a moment before shooting up over the top of the storm and into the sky beyond. With his location, it was dark all day long in this place, but—he could tell where he was.
He drew in a long, shaky breath, pausing for a moment as he hovered over the storm. Elsa was wearing gloves, for Prince-Boy. She was concealing her ice powers, for PRINCE-BOY. And Jack knew that she didn't mean it to be an attack against ice powers, against BOTH of them, but it still felt like a betrayal. Just because there were only two members of their species, it didn't mean that species wasn't worth fighting for. Ice powers were not something to be concealed. They were fun. And awesome. At least, HE'D thought so.
And then, to watch her going off DEFENDING this jerk, actively choosing to marry a guy who was hurting her, while Jack was supposed to just stand there and smile—what was Elsa even wanting, anyway? His blessing? Because if she asked for his blessing, then his answer was NO!
He grit his teeth. Flipping forwards, Jack Frost dove back down into the storm once again, sweeping the staff left and right as he egged the winds on, the snow, the blizzard. Grow stronger. Grow faster. More wind. More snow. More crashing, more spinning, more blowing, MORE, MORE, MOOORE!
The storm leapt in response, obediently thrashing harder, pounding the frozen ground below with ripping winds and swells of snowflakes. Jack nodded, breathless. It was something he could control.
The winds were HIS.
CRACK!
Another blast of ice scattered into the wind. He knew that Elsa was trying to do what was best for Arendelle. Putting her kingdom first, and all. And he respected that, but—this wasn't just 'putting Arendelle first,' this was emotional masochism. Arendelle didn't need this guy, and neither did she. Why couldn't she SEE that? Arendelle was set! They had a queen, a backup queen, another guy who could technically become a king, AND at least one more adorable little bundle of royalty on the way! What more could any kingdom want!?
And besides, what was she even going to do, if she ended up with Freddie? Was Elsa going to just wear the gloves all the time? Like she had a thing about dirt? Was she going to wear them to eat? Or, as auntie, hold the royal heirs? Or make royal heirs? Sure, sweetheart, let's have you take off absolutely everything else, but leave on the gloves, suppress your powers, and—
Jack's entire body went rigid.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAURGH!"
CRRRRRRRRRACK!
Ice erupted out of his chest and arms and upper back as he threw his hands outwards, exploding in all directions in a shock wave of splintering shards. The rage of his inner storm rushing from his body, Jack toppled backwards, letting himself go into freefall.
The wing screeching through his ears as he plummeted, Jack closed his eyes, limply accelerating towards the ground as the furious storm ripped through his clothes and hair. The blizzard growing stronger of its own volition, he let out his breath, finally pulling his staff onto the soles of his feet.
WHOOSH!
He swooped around to right himself at the last possible second, surfing the frozen current of air as the ground leapt up to meet him, arcing away barely ten feet before impact. Spinning into the wind, Jack leapt from the staff, catching it with an off hand and swinging down onto the ice to run forward a few steps as he touched down, gravity reclaiming its hold on his body as he gasped for breath. The idea of that abuser making poor Elsa—HIS Elsa—!
His teeth clicked together in fury, his knuckles going white on the staff.
Best—best to not think about that.
Desperately trying to push the images out of his brain, Jack frantically rubbed his eye sockets with the heels of his hands. No use. None of it, was any use. And he had tried—everything.
He didn't want her to restrain. He wanted her to let go. In fact, Elsa letting go, in that sense, sounded like the most fun thing that he could possibly imagine. And the idea that he could've been the reason for it was a straight-up fantasy. From back when he was dumb enough to believe in such things. As if he'd ever get a chance.
Sniffing, Jack messily rubbed his sleeve across his nose, his eyes blurry with frustration as he stood, alone, on Antarctica's frozen ground. Not even the penguins were here. They'd be huddled up as a group, capable of withstanding whatever blizzards life threw at them, all because they stayed together.
Stayed.
TOGETHER.
Nothing like a penguin to make a human look stupid.
Jack scoffed to himself, pulling the staff back onto his shoulder, trying not to think about Prince Wonderful, and all the romantic dates he was definitely having with the Ice Powers Girl—you know, the only one in existence—right now. It was probably going great. And they were probably going to get married, because of politics.
And Jack couldn't do anything about it. Even if he could, though—if ol' Prince-Boy COULD see him, what could Jack even do? What could he even—say?
Hi, there. Nice to meet you, Freddie. Oh, and have fun sexually traumatizing the woman of my dreams, when OH RIGHT YOU DON'T EVEN LIKE HER.
Creak!
Looking down, Jack suddenly realized that he'd been pacing, the ground around him freezing over with a fresh, jagged layer of ice. Turning around as the storm raged on above him, Jack realized that there were nearly-identical blasts of fresh ice all over the ground, each shot out from one of the earlier footsteps along his path. Shoving his fingers into his hair, the Spirit of Winter chewed on the inside of his cheek, one thing becoming abundantly clear:
This wasn't helping.
Pulling his hand down, the Guardian looked at his feet. Kicking at the ice, and then beginning to trudge forward, the truth was self-evident. He couldn't stay in this frozen wasteland forever. And frankly, he knew it his heart that he wouldn't really want to, anyway. What was even the point of having all this snow and ice, with nobody around to enjoy it?
Jack glanced down to his staff. Feeling its familiar weight, he tossed it in his hand, curling his fingers around the gnarled wood. What he needed was to take a page from Elsa's book. Get good and distracted. Get lost in his work. But where could he go? Maybe the Americas? He hadn't been there for a while. Meanwhile, Bunny had said the nightmares were headed north… so, maybe he needed to go check that out. While NOT passing through Scandinavia, thank you very much.
The freezing antarctic wind whipping his hair around his face, Jack ran a few steps forward and launched himself off of the ice. The pulsing rhythm of the storm spinning and crashing for a hundred miles around him as he shot upwards into the sky, Jack Frost closed his eyes, sensing his bearings. No matter how rough the storm, he could always tell. And the Pacific Ocean was—yeah, alright. That way.
Whether he was going through Canada or China and Siberia, he could make up his mind on the way. It was a good, long flight—and if he stayed over water, then everybody would be fine. He generally tried to hang out at super-high altitudes and travel by ocean over the equator, anyway. Nobody minded a bit of snow on the mountains, but in his current state, he figured it would be best to avoid—well.
Everyone.
Like he didn't even exist.
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Queen Elsa saw no one for the rest of the day.
She cancelled all her appointments. She avoided her family. She did not see cousin, nor her brother-in-law, Olaf, or even her sister, Anna. She normally would have considered this to be selfish and irresponsible behavior, but—she couldn't do it, right now. She couldn't face people.
She just—couldn't.
With snow falling softly around her, she feigned illness (as was usually the only way for someone in her position to be able to take emergency time off), and felt appropriately terrible for the doctors and servants who she knew so desperately wanted to help. She appreciated it—really. She did. But they couldn't understand. Even if there were a chance that understanding could occur, she felt so hopeless, and so miserable, that she didn't want to risk opening her door. Either they were going to hurt her, or she was going to hurt them. Either way, it was better to be alone.
For now.
Was this hiding, or mourning?
Her knees pulled into her chest as she gripped her mother's shawl, Elsa lay curled up in her bed, still as a stone from where she had, earlier, pretended to be asleep when Anna had come in. How could she face her? Face anyone? After everything?
She had to get it together. Control it. She could avoid everyone for a few hours, but at some point, she would need to come back out and be The Queen.
Not now, though.
Her ice had fractured out from beneath her body to encase the bedsheets, spiking downwards onto the floor and even stretching out in dangerous-looking spines across the rich carpet. Above her, the frigid air materialized with flurries, floating down to where they surrounded her in ever-growing snowdrifts, piling up in mounds of snow that threatened to collapse in on top of her as she lay between them, nearly suffocated by the crushing reality of what had just taken place.
All those years or research. Of dreaming. Of wishing that somehow, some way, she could find Jack Frost, and that he would be real, and—well, her dreams had shifted somewhat since age eleven, with the type of relationship she wanted to have with him. But that didn't change the one thing that she knew to be true, when it came to the fun-loving, blizzard-bringing Spirit of Winter.
She loved him.
So she'd pushed him away.
Elsa curled up even tighter under the covers, gripping her mother's shawl as her entire body shook with tears.
Why do I always push people away?