AUTHOR'S NOTE: First of all, a continued HUGE THANK YOU to everybody who has read and reviewed. You guys are SERIOUSLY the best! It motivates me to no end. :) Also, the Jelsa Haven discord now has a channel for obsessing about movie details and stuff, and I am enjoying it WAY too much already. If anyone wants to come obsess with us, please contact me! I'm bad at Discord, but I know people who aren't who could give you an invite! ;)

Thanks for everything, and have a fantabulous day!

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83: Winter's Inner Circle

Queen Elsa had a plan.

It was only after he had left that she truly realized how much she had grown accustomed to the slight chill on her arm, and the navy blue fabric and white hair in the corner of her eye. Not being with Jack, here in the castle, felt—strange. Exposed, almost, despite the fact that none of her subjects could see him. And, despite how much she didn't want to admit it to herself, Elsa was becoming increasingly conscious of how jumpy she was, at every little thing, since he had gone.

It was only once she was without it that Elsa realized something about Jack's presence made her feel safe. It was a pathetic and humiliating thing to come to terms with, but that didn't make it less true. And for a multiplicity of other reasons, an even greater truth had settled unnervingly, and unavoidably, into her mind:

She wanted him back.

After one live and real Jack Frost had magically shown up in her room, Elsa had admittedly felt a little embarrassed (if not disappointed) that she hadn't actually been the one to find him first. For one thing, she would have actually been dressed—not to mention, wearing proper makeup at the time. But mostly, it was the sinking feeling that all those years of secret searching under her childhood bed had gone to waste, despite the thrill of finding out that her theories were correct. Now, however—now, Elsa had a feeling that her work was about to pay off. It might not have helped her find Jack Frost the first time, but it did hold the key to finding him once again.

During all her years of searching, the princess of Arendelle had assumed that the key to locating one fun-loving Spirit of Winter would be found through the accounts of his sightings. She'd been seeking out a location. But as it turned out, what she actually needed, to locate Jack Frost, was a person. A mutual contact, if you will.

And this was why Queen Elsa was now waiting on her balcony, watching the sky for the appearance of sand.

Just inside, everything was set: two chairs, a table, and a pitcher of eggnog with cups. She asked Gale to keep a lookout, as well (and to potentially help the winds to blow in Arendelle's direction, if needed). She'd researched it, and if the Guardian of Fun had been telling the truth, he had a very old, very trusted friend who would—in all likelihood—be floating over Arendelle at some point during the evening.

According to Borstad's account, the Sky Elf's golden rivers glowed in the moonlight.

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"Jack!"

Jack Frost tumbled forward onto the ground, bouncing on the balls of his feet as the schoolboy ran up to him. Jamie threw his arms around Jack's waist, and Jack laughed, his heart leaping.

"Hey, there, kiddo!" Jack exclaimed, bending down and giving him a squeeze, "Whatcha doin' out here?!"

"Looking for you!"

"It's literally a Winter Storm Warning-level blizzard," Jack chuckled, "You're—like—nine. You should be inside."

"But staying inside isn't any fun," Jamie protested.

"Yeah, and you know what else isn't fun? Dying."

Jamie smiled sheepishly, taking a step back as Jack flicked the end of his nose.

"I've missed you," the boy mumbled shyly.

Jack's heart swelled.

"I've missed you too, kiddo," he said, ruffling Jamie's hair as they turned to walk towards the houses up on the hill.

Jamie laughed, jumping up as they went and sneaking a peek at the Spirit of Winter's ice-covered hoodie and white hair. The wind whipping around them, the boy clutched his coat tighter, his teeth clenched together like he was trying to keep them from chattering.

Ah… right.

Closing his eyes, the Guardian pulled in his breath. Leaning his head back, as if to stare into the storms above them, he then concentrated, the wind still thrashing, although far less violent now than it was at the bottom of the earth.

That's enough, Jack thought.

The wind howled, whining in protest. Jack cracked one eye open, as if in a wink.

For now, he added.

Grinning slyly, he cocked an eyebrow at the sky.

The storm deliberated for a few moments, crashing and cresting a few more times. Then—like it was letting out a sigh—the blizzard calmed, the wind dying down to a much gentler whistle as the snowflakes swept and flew around them in a more peaceful manner.

Satisfied, Jack drummed his fingers on the staff, dropping his head forward. It was still a good-sized storm—in all likelihood, no one would notice how much it had suddenly died down—but it was now far less…

Um.

Angsty.

He could admit it.

Looking back to Jamie, Jack suddenly realized that the boy was gawking up at him in awe, his mouth hanging open.

"Did you," Jamie gasped, "Did you just—!"

"Whaaaat? Did I just what?"

This time, the Guardian actually did wink, putting a finger to his lips. Jamie's eyes lit up, enthralled to be in on the secret.

They turned and continued the walk up the hill.

"So!" Jack started again as they went, Jamie now clearly having a much easier time stomping through the snow in the gentler wind, "What have you been up to, since I last saw you? Getting into a little trouble, I hope…"

Jamie laughed, a skip in his step once again. "My uncle's trying to get me to start going by James. You know, my real name," he offered. "He says Jamie is a wimpy name."

"What?"

"It's true."

"Naw. It's only a wimpy name if you make it a wimpy name." Jack poked at his shoulder, "And you are no wimp, Jamie Bennet."

The boy glowed at his praise, and Jack smiled in spite of himself. Mother of North, this kid was adorable.

And mortal.

The Guardian pulled in his breath, choosing his words carefully. "Names and stuff aside… though," he started again, "We DO still need to get you inside. You're going to freeze your ears off, running around out here before the blizzard's over."

"But you just—"

"—It's not over. I just calmed it down for a few minutes."

"It WAS you!"

Feigning offense, Jack shot him a look, and the boy laughed again. Then, Jamie shrugged. "Want to come with me?"

Jack's eyes widened. "Come with you?"

"We have cocoa. And my mom made a fruitcake yesterday. We always have tons of leftovers."

At the word fruitcake, Jack distinctly heard his stomach rumble. His hand flying to his stomach, he shook his head, suddenly realizing that he hadn't actually eaten anything since—Manny. Had it really been over two days? And he hadn't noticed?

Had Elsa wrecked him that much?

He looked back down to the young boy standing in front of him in the snow.

"Cocoa and fruitcake sound great," Jack Frost decided.

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It would have been absolute torture, up this far north and working at this altitude, if sand weren't such a good insulator for heat.

Normally, the Sandman wouldn't return to the same area more than two or three times a month. Children didn't typically need that much help with their dreams, and for as long as Pitch Black and his nightmares were being kept at bay, getting an "inspired" dream once every two to three weeks would be more than enough. His reasons for returning to Arendelle almost every night for the past week, however, were far from normal.

Floating over the outskirts of Arendelle Proper, the Sandman went about his work, streams of glowing, shimmering sand shooting out from his cloud into the frigid darkness of the night. He could feel the dreams: currently, many were taking on the themes of Christmas (being the evening of December 22nd), and he could see the candies and gingerbread houses and yule goats bouncing around within the sand as it flew. North would like that… and so did he. With so much positivity and excitement in the air, the Sandman usually made it a personal tradition to take Christmas Eve off.

As he began to approach the castle, a flash of silver caught his eye.

Shinggg!

His gaze snapped to the light, just as it disappeared. His eyes narrowing, the Guardian floated a bit closer… and a few moments later, it came again.

Shinggg!

Another jet of snow shot into the air, disintegrating into a silvery mist.

A signal.

Grinning to himself, the Sandman swirled out the last of the dreams, then expertly twisting off the individual strands one by one and swishing his traveling cloud into a tight disc. With a silent chuckle, he then turned to the castle, swooping towards it on his cloud. Oh, Jacky-Boy. What trouble have you gotten yourself into this time? If the snow sprite kept racking up the favors like this, then at some point, he'd have to—

As the Guardian of Dreams came close enough to see over the castle's out walls, he slowed down.

The Sandman's eyes widened. There, on the balcony overlooking the castle's grand front courtyard, wasn't Jack Frost at all, but the sparkling, statuesque Queen Elsa, for whom he had already prepared a lovely frost-laden dream. And she appeared to be—waiting.

Floating over the wall, the Guardian's sandy little eyebrows lifted, his interest piqued. As the young woman looked up and caught sight of him, she jumped. Gathering her senses, Sandy then watched as she drew herself up, putting on a calm and regal air as he silently descended down onto her balcony.

"Good evening," Queen Elsa said.

He nodded in agreement, giving her a good-natured smile as he stepped off of the cloud, then letting it disintegrate into the darkness behind him. With the Snow Queen of Arendelle suddenly in front of him—snowflakes sprinkled throughout her hair, intelligent blue eyes expectant, and wearing a sparkling, curve-hugging ice dress—it was once again painfully and hilariously obvious to the Sandman why the lonely little Guardian of Fun was completely losing his mind.

"Thank you so much for coming down," the icy young queen started again nervously, "I have drinks and a place to sit down inside. It's a privilege to meet you, Mr… Sandman."

His smile widened, and he reached up towards his head.

Poof!

The little bowler hat popped into existence, and he took it, giving it a tip with a slight bow.

Likewise, your majesty.

She smiled a bit in embarrassment, her cheeks flushing. Hardly able to contain her excitement, the young woman's eyes were alight with something that Sandy could recognize only because he had—especially recently—seen in in the eyes of a small number of believing children.

The Snow Queen was feeling a bit starstruck.

His heart swelled. She turned and pulled the doors open, and he tented his fingers together, silently following her into the castle. Unlike some of the others, not everyone got to work only one night a year, and he didn't get that many opportunities to take breaks—especially two days before he already had a planned night off. Ahh, this was going to be delightful.

As soon as he had passed through, Sandy floated up to the top of the nearest shelf, eagerly admiring the icy artworks that sat upon it. The young queen's icy art gallery was every bit as breathtaking now as it had been in the previous week—rows upon rows of crystalline ice shelves gleaming in the moonlight, piled up with hundreds (if not thousands) of glistening miniature ice statues. He wanted to gawk, to take a few minutes or perhaps hours to examine all of the pieces, but the Sandman could tell that the lady was stressed about something. And from the suspicious lack of one Jack Frost, he already a hunch what it might be.

The young queen pulled in her breath. "I can't keep cocoa warm, but I could keep eggnog chilled," she started, anxiously twisting her fingers against each other. "So that's all I have here, at the moment. And water."

Sandy paused.

Still up high in the air, he turned around. Upon the icy table, there was a large pitcher filled with a creamy, light gold substance.

His breath caught.

Eggnog?

"But I can easily ring for a maid to bring some more. Or if there's something else you'd rather—"

EGGNOG!

Like a magnet being pulled to its opposite, the Sandman floated back down from the beautiful shelves, making his way for the table and chairs that the young queen was gesturing to. Seeing his expression—and the way that he was staring at the pitcher—Queen Elsa cut herself off, smiling with relief.

"I'll try not to take too much of your time," she promised.

Sandy floated over to the table, grinning from ear to ear as she stepped towards it as well.

"I'm sure you're very busy."

He picked up one of the cups.

"But I know that you're a friend of—um, of Jack's—"

The Sandman eagerly held out the little glass, and Queen Elsa startled a bit, then jumping for the pitcher to fill it.

"And I really appreciate—I mean, I hope that—!" She cut herself off, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment and taking a moment to steady herself. Opening them again, she took a deep breath, starting to pour."Well, given that you know him, I was very much hoping that you would be willing—um—willing to—"

His cup filled, she stepped back, and the Sandman pulled it close with a deep inhale. Aaaaaaaah… EGGNOG. Sweet delightful elixir. He might have lost his voice, but the little old Guardian's taste buds were PERFECTLY intact. And he could smell it. The nutmeg, the cream, the vanilla… a perfect drink, for a freezing night. Not quite as good as the Mrs. Claus stuff, but—

"To—um—talk—to me."

Sandy stopped.

He looked up from his cup. Her eyes pleading, The Snow Queen was nervously twisting her fingers together in front of her skirt again, staring at him in anticipation.

The Sandman's heart sank. Silently placing the cup back down onto the crystalline table, he turned back to the her in the air, reaching up to his throat. He gave it a gentle pat. With a sorrowful expression, the Sandman then looked back into the young woman's eyes, shaking his head.

After a moment, her eyes widened with comprehension.

"You can't speak?" Queen Elsa realized. "You're—non-verbal?"

He nodded.

Floating down to the chair, he silently lit down upon it, relaxing onto the ice. He could hardly feel its chill, through his sand.

"Well—how do you usually communicate?" she asked, making him look up again, "Can I get you some parchment, or—"

He silently bounced up from the chair again, shaking his head and waving his tiny hands back and forth. He then began swirling them over his head, image after image spiraling into existence.

Sand. Hourglass of sand. Hand writing, sand. Jerking quill. He grimaced, gesturing to his hand. Mouth, he shook his head, Ear, he shook his head again.

Eyes.

Eyes, Sandman silhouette, Sandman swirling image, arrow pointing from eyes to at Sandman making image.

Pausing, he looked back to her with a preemptive grimace.

Just as he expected, the young queen was staring at him in confusion, peering at him like she was studying a strange specimen under a microscope. He didn't expect her to understand. It was complicated to explain to non-sandy people. He could write, but—well, the sand constantly falling from his skin and hair made the physical act of writing as aggravating as it was excruciating, as the sand would bunch to grind into his palms and smudge any ink it touched. He could spell in the air, but…

He stared at the floor.

Pictures, he thought. I can make pictures.

And the old little Guardian closed his eyes.

"You create images in the air?"

Sandy startled. His eyelids snapping open, his gaze whipped back to the young queen's to make him realize—to his shock—that he had her complete attention.

"That's very creative," the Snow Queen added, sitting back into her seat as he stared. "And it's amazing how fast you are."

His brow furrowed with confusion. Uh…

Thanks?

"You had a quill in there, right after the hourglass," she said, looking down like she was piecing it together, "And—wait. Are you literate?"

He nodded, shrugging as he swirled more images into the air.

Letter A, Letter B, Letter C, Letter D…

Etcetera. He shrugged again, alternating a lift of each palm in gesture. Reaching for his cup of eggnog, he picked it up, taking another drink.

"So, it's the physical act of writing that doesn't work for you," Elsa ventured. "Because of the sand?"

He froze mid-gulp.

Taking down the cup, Sandy's gaze once again lifted and locked onto hers. Had she—but—

He nodded slowly, studying the young queen in wonder. She smiled, reaching for a cup herself.

"So, even if I'm not getting something, you could still spell it out if you needed to," she said, picking up the pitcher and pouring some eggnog for herself, "Just in the air? Have you done that before?"

Sandy huffed, a bitter grin tugging at the edge of his mouth. Taking another drink, he let out his breath, then placing the cup upon the ice table again and looking back to her.

He tapped his wrist, as if gesturing to a wristwatch.

Question mark?

Raising one eyebrow, the Sandman shot her a cynical, bitter smirk. She studied him, her eyes narrowing for a brief moment before then—once again—reigniting with the little inner spark of comprehension.

Uh-huh.

Having drained his first cup of eggnog, Sandy floated up into the air from his seat, picking up his cup and holding it out to her, as she was still holding the pitcher. The young queen nodded, and refilled it.

"That's perfectly alright with me, if it's still alright with you," she said casually, placing the pitcher back onto the table and crossing her right leg over her left. "Take all the time you need."

…What?

Sandy's eyes widened, and he floated back down into his chair, gripping the cup as he stared at her in shock. What did—did she really mean tha—could it—?

So many years.

The Sandman's heart started pounding, his mind racing. Centuries. For centuries, with so much to tell everyone, and after so many years of no one listening… what could he say?

What would anyone say?

Trembling with excitement, the Sandman placed his cup back onto the table with a faint clink. Pulling in a deep breath, he then turned back to face her, his hands shaking as he carefully formed the images in the air.

Letter A. Letter B. Letter D. Letter U. Letter L. Letter L. Letter A. Letter H.

He pointed to himself, pleadingly gazing up into the young woman's eyes.

For a long, silent moment, she studied him. Then—realizing what he was saying—her expression melted into a smile.

"That's a beautiful name," Queen Elsa said softly. "Welcome to Arendelle, Abdullah."