AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hey, guys! Not much to say, so I'll get right to it:
Regarding the DEMI-DRAFT: A completely reconstructed chapter 5 has been posted! (Some stuff has been cut, some has been added, but it's altogether a lot better now.)
Responding to Guest Reviewers: I'm going to try to get back on top of this again (my small children. I am behind in everything, and blame my adorable wonderful small children). XD
To the Guest Reviewer who wrote, "I want to hug and strangle almost every character in this story for putting me through emotional angsty hell": Me too. Me too, my friend. XD
To the Guest Reviewer Toymaker: You can't know how much that means to me—although I am also astounded how long this is taking (I started writing this as a college student). ;)
To Guest Reviewer Pstar7: (*whispers*) thank yoooooooooou I worked so hard on that chapter I can't even describe it
CONTENT WARNING: General acknowledgement of the fact that Elsa's sexuality got politicized (which always has delightful consequences). A desire for representation is COMPLETELY legitimate, and of course people can ship whoever they want to ship. But to demand that a preexisting character be REWRITTEN to rip the representation away from those who the character was actually written to represent (in Elsa's case, people with depression) in favor of regifting the representation to a group that's more politically trendy at the moment is problematic at best. (If you want a lesbian character, then you need to actually WRITE a lesbian character—not just point at the smart girl, please! Women are more complicated than that!)
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96: THE BALL BEGINS
"And—as I am currently slightly obstructed from being able to do so," the enormously pregnant Queen Anna finished, drawing some chuckles and smiles from the ballroom of people as she gestured towards her stomach, "My sister, the Acting Queen of Arendelle, will start this evening's Christmas Eve Ball by dancing with the visiting Crown Prince of the kingdom of Kingsley, Prince Frederik."
Anna stepped back, looking to Elsa with an encouraging smile. Elsa returned it nervously, drawing a look of concern from her sister, but then drew herself up the best that she could, glancing outwards.
As the handsome prince stepped out from the crowd and began to walk towards the throne platform, a hush swept over the ballroom. And the stares—oh, there were stares. Even though no one spoke, Elsa could see the whispers lighting up in people's eyes; expressions of shock and excitement and furious betrayal all fixing upon her at once. She could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end as her insides turned to stone.
This was going to make people angry.
Queen Elsa was keenly aware of all of the gazes as they, in unison, shifted from Prince Frederik to up where she was standing on the throne platform. Her stomach twisting, she then watched herself walk forward, the two stairs before her leading down to the dance floor suddenly looking far larger than usual, and almost dangerous. This wasn't simply like her coronation, where the worst that could be discussed was her physical appearance, or her intellect, or her ability to lead. Somehow, the reactions she was about to receive had evaded her until this moment, and now it was too late to turn back.
The truth was that the famous Snow Queen of Arendelle was powerful, intelligent, and—as of yet—single. The real reason of why Elsa was single was that she (like the vast majority of single adults her age) had simply not yet found a legitimately suitable partner, and was not willing to sacrifice everyone and everything else in her life in order to obtain one. But of course, the rumor mill would not be hearing of something as innocent and straightforward as that. The gossip network had run its course since her initial coronation, with whispers of an increasing fever pitch spreading like wildfire through both her supporters and detractors who seemed increasingly determined to believe that her lack of a male counterpart was surely some sort of grand political "statement," or at least implied some secret about her person—whether it were her priorities, her virtue, or even her romantic "preferences," when it came to that sort of thing. It was profoundly inappropriate to make such assumptions, but there was no way to stop the whispers: half of their danger was that they, like shadows, were impossible to catch. Like smoke, the whispers would not disappear until the so-imagined fire of her romantically single status was put out. And even then… Elsa had her doubts.
Such whispers had followed like wolves behind every independently powerful woman since the beginning of time, but that didn't make them any less humiliating… or infuriating. Some people, it seemed, took true issue with the concept of a legitimately intelligent young woman, jumping through increasingly absurd and offensive logical hoops in their misogynistic desperation to invent reasons of what could have possibly possessed a girl to not have turned into a boy-crazy imbecile on the eve of her thirteenth birthday, rather than be willing to accept the insane notion that legitimately focused and intelligent young women did, in fact, exist. And that such a young woman could desire a man, without losing her mind? Preposterous. Girls were meant to be defined entirely by their sexuality, and if they believed otherwise, then there was something wrong with them. At least, that seemed to be the underlying belief of those fueling the rumors. The whispers weren't unanticipated, but they were as cruel and dehumanizing as always.
Swallowing the lump of dread in her throat, the Fifth Spirit forced herself to move forward towards the prince, her hands tightly clasped in front of her skirt as she descended the two stairs on the edge of the ballroom, trying to ignore the intense scrutiny in all the gazes that were now fixed upon her. Of course, Elsa couldn't object to this treatment—if she dared to do so, she would be attacked even more ferociously. And that wasn't even to mention her fear of potentially hurting those among her subjects who actually WERE single for such reasons, and certainly needed no more reasons to feel ostracized or misunderstood. It truly seemed that there was no way to speak out against the sexism of the stereotypes without someone getting hurt… so, like a good girl, Elsa stayed silent, and suffered alone. But now—publicly stepping out with a handsome prince, in such a potentially binding and romantic setting—the whispers were set to become deafening.
As the Snow Queen walked out to her dance partner, feeling the unusual sensation of her calf-length dancing skirt swinging against her legs (as opposed to a floor-sweeping skirt flowing on the ground behind her), Prince Frederik's face cracked into a broad smile. He was of course wearing his usual outfit with its bright Kingsley-red jacket and cravat, his modest crown and pin polished to perfection, and his white gloves immaculate.
Elsa returned his smile with the best rendition of the Queen Face that she could muster, her heart pounding. He bowed slightly as the waist, and she gave him a regal nod, then shakily curtsying and coming back up again. He extended his hand, and Elsa placed her own in it, and—
She froze.
Elsa's eyes bulged. Looking down to their hands see if she'd felt what she thought she had, the Fifth Spirit's heart started pounding as the realization sank in.
The palms of Prince Frederik's gloves were padded.
Queen Elsa's throat tightened with shock, heat rushing to her cheeks. It was a subtle thing—truly, even Frederik didn't seem to be aware that she'd noticed—but it stung. Her hands (and body) were cold. Very cold. And the Prince of Kingsley had taken precautions.
She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek and looked away from Frederik's gaze as he took her hand in his, lifting it up into a dancing position.
Jack Frost didn't think there was anything wrong with her hands.
Elsa swallowed hard, gulping down the bitter taste in her mouth as she fully stepped up to the Prince, letting him reach around her with his other arm to place his hand on her shoulder blade as she placed her own opposite hand onto his bicep. From somewhere across the room, beyond the stares and the gawking and the whispers, the royal musicians started to play, a lovely, dignified waltz sounding through the ballroom.
She closed her eyes.
Elsa breathed in, and out. Instead of this warm, overly-crowded ballroom, the Fifth Spirit pictured an icy ballroom, cold and private. She told herself that the too-hot, padded male hand resting on her shoulder blade was instead ungloved, and freezing. She tried to imagine that all of the excited, angry, empty yet judgmental gazes fixated upon her from throughout the room were instead only one set of beautiful blue eyes, deep and intelligent and marked with frost-like streaks of silvery white.
She listened for the cue of the music.
Waltz is like a snowflake, Jack's voice whispered in her mind.
Elsa felt her muscles instinctually relax, her shoulders sinking slightly and her heart rate slowing of its own accord as the edges of her mouth ticked upwards into the tiniest hint of a smile.
In the arms of the man she wished were another, the Fifth Spirit of the Enchanted Forest then felt herself be pushed slightly back, and was sweeping away into the rhythm of the dance as the Christmas Eve Ball began.
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Creeeeeeak.
"Elsa?"
Jack Frost's voice shook with uncertainty as he slowly pushed open her balcony door, looking around. Hearing no response and seeing nothing but the gleaming statues of the Ice Powers Girl's art gallery, he pushed the door all the way open, stepping inside.
"Elsa? It's me—Jack," he tried again, slightly louder, "I—uh, I had to put out a few fires on my way back, but—"
His voice trailed off, and he gulped, closing the door behind him with a quiet click. It was super unlikely that Elsa was getting dressed or anything at this point, but he was not taking any chances. He could not, could NOT, mess up this night. And he was determined to not make a mess this time.
Suddenly remembering (and confident that he wasn't about to intrude on… anything), Jack jumped, leaping into the air and darting down the art gallery to drop onto the ground again by her desk. Bouncing forward on the balls of his feet, he frantically yanked out the top drawer, searching for it.
Seeing the glint of gold in the moonlight, Jack grabbed for it, yanking the pocketwatch up out of the drawer by its chain and flipping it open.
6:44 pm.
The Guardian groaned, his head falling back as he squeezed his eyes shut in pain. Late. SUPER late. Manny, that stupid little skirmish in the Forest had taken too long. Like, he'd needed the salamander, but…!
Clack. He snapped the pocketwatch shut, replacing it in the desk and shoving the drawer shut with a thump. Jumping back, Jack Frost then tossed his staff to himself, spinning on his heel and running into Elsa's bedroom to—
Skidding to a stop, Jack's eyes bulged as the swirling colors of a portal began spinning into existence in front of him in the middle of Elsa's otherwise empty bedroom, the familiar whooshing sound making him freeze in his tracks. His breath catching with horror, the Fifth Guardian clapped his hand to his pocket in anxiety, and—no. The magic snowglobe he was carrying was still there. He hadn't dropped it during the flight, or—
WhooooooooOOOOOOOOOSH!
He snapped his head up just in time to see a large, brown shape beginning to form in the portal, and a fraction of a second later—
"Phil?"
The yeti nodded as he stepped out of the portal, the swirling colors continuing to spin behind him in the air as it held itself open, not yet ready to collapse. His eyes wide, the Spirit of Winter let out a laugh of shock.
"What the—" he asked, "What are you doing here? Don't you guys usually hibernate or something, after North's off?"
Halfway through pulling open a drawstring Santa Sack, Phil glanced up to the Youngest Guardian with a glare. Snort-scoffing, the yeti then rolled his eyes, and resumed pulling open the drawstring, reaching for something inside.
Jack fell quiet as Phil pulled out a flat, medium-sized and unadorned silver box. The Guardian recognized it immediately. Phil, presumably under North's instruction, must have taken it from Jack's personal drawer at the Pole.
Reverently receiving the box as Phil handed it to him—the box that had magically appeared at the Pole just after he'd taken his oath, a gift sent from the Man in the Moon—Jack Frost lifted off its lid. On top of the pristine set of new clothes inside sat a tiny note, written in the Guardian of Wonder's signature script.
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You will be needing these
-N
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The music ended, and Queen Elsa stumbled as the Prince of Kingsley twirled her out, barely catching herself in time to do a quick little curtsey to finish the dance. Frederik—pretending not to notice her mistake—gave a curt little bow himself, then straightening up with the grace of a man who had literal decades of dance lessons to fall back upon for confidence.
The polite clapping sounded throughout the room, and the large number of couples who had joined in the number shifted, some dispersing to the walls and some laughing and talking and staying in the center as they waited for the music of the next dance to begin. Taking a tiny step towards her, Prince Frederik drew in his breath.
She felt her entire body go stiff as he cleared his throat.
"Queen Elsa," Frederik began stiffly, "I was rather hoping that we could—I mean, that—if I may—"
He cleared his throat again, squeezing his eyes shut to gather his courage. Elsa's eyebrows lifted in surprise. The normally collected, relaxed prince was suddenly looked anxious—almost as anxious as she was.
"Queen Elsa, I simply—" He cut himself off with a quick shake of his head. "May I talk to you?"
A wave of confusion swept over Elsa's face. Prince Frederik reached up and felt for his lapel pin, straightening it by the tiniest bit as he glanced away, and then back into her eyes.
"Alone?" he added on a whisper.
Elsa now felt more confused than ever.
"Um…"
Her voice trailed off. Why did he look so nervous? And why was it so important that he speak to her alone? In their entire brief courtship so far (with the exception of their first meeting), there had basically always been some form of chaperone, or they had at least been in some kind of public place. It wasn't like there was anything secret about the nature of their relationship; this was about a potential alliance between Arendelle and Kingsley. And (for as far as Frederik knew), they were still only considering the possibility. Unless he was ready to issue a full proposal of marriage, so soon after they'd just met, Elsa couldn't think of a single reason why he would need to speak to her alone, instead of just—
The Snow Queen's breath caught in her throat.
Proposal.
Elsa's eyes snapped back to his in shock, wide as saucers. From somewhere beyond her thoughts, the Fifth Spirit could hear the band start playing the next piece of music as her mind raced, piecing it all together. The Ball. Prince Frederik was about to propose marriage, so that they could make a formal announcement of their upcoming political alliance at the Christmas Eve Ball.
And Jack still hadn't arrived.
"The courtyard," Prince Frederik was saying, a pleading edge on his voice, "We've walked there before—if you would be willing to take a turn in it with me, I believe we—"
"—ThisIsAnotherWaltz!" Elsa blurted, the words tumbling out in a rush as she lunged to grab his gloved hand, gesturing towards the band with the other, "Can we dance it? I love waltzing; you're such a wonderful dancer, it would be so fun!"
Frederik froze, his mouth hanging open in shock at her interruption. After a brief moment of obvious mental floundering, he gave himself a little shake, then nodding curtly.
"Of course, your majesty," the prince corrected, plastering on the forced smile of what Elsa now recognized to be Frederik's male version of the Queen Face.
He offered his hand again, the padding in the palms of his gloves now painfully obvious to the Snow Queen. Pretending to have not noticed (and while swallowing her guilt), Elsa placed her freezing hand upon his gloved one, letting the Prince of Kingsley take her into a dancing position while she did another quick—and disappointing—scan of the Arendelle Royal Ballroom.
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In an urgent silence, Jack Frost hurried through the castle.
Never in his life had he walked this fast. He couldn't fly—he was still scared of accidentally blowing out the dozens of Christmas candles, lined up and down the hallway in garlands and wreaths. He nervously reached up to adjust the collar of his tailored white shirt as he went, then glancing towards the pocket on the left side of his chest. The elaborate embroidery (white-on-white, with a few traces of silver thread) made out the crest of the Guardians, all over and entwining with a snowflake. His new pants were a slender pair of silver-colored slacks, held up by a new ice blue belt—without a buckle, because Jack already had one of those. And Manny clearly knew how important it was to him.
Jack had always had a liking for his belt buckle. It was a solid, sturdy old silver metal thing—and when he got his memories back, he could actually remember why. His parents had saved up to buy it for him, for his thirteenth birthday. A really good metal buckle like that cost a bit more than a handful of grain, so to speak. And his father had it specially made by the local blacksmith.
You're a man now, Jack, he'd said, in his gruff but affectionate way. And a man needs a good belt.
That had been the entire explanation. And at the time, it had been all that Jack had needed. It was a good memory.
But right now, Jack didn't feel like a man. He felt like a boy—nervous and stammering, and barely one step away from sweaty palms and shaking knees and dropping his staff from his fingers in anxiety. In addition to the comparatively simple shirt and slacks, the Man in the Moon had fashioned a dramatic new cape for him as well, silver and navy and sweeping down past his knees, but—nope. Jack couldn't do it. He already felt self-conscious enough.
He didn't want to be late. He didn't want to disappoint Elsa, when he knew how important this Ball was to her, but even she didn't seem to realize how much was riding on this evening. What if Prince Wonderful had already proposed?
Jack broke into a run.
His bare feet whump-ing on the wooden floor with each stride as he got closer, from the echoes in the hallway he could hear it: music, dancing, and the tittering sounds of meaningless conversations, the kind that were basically the same as small talk, but made more aggravating by the addition of alcohol. He didn't know how Elsa put up with it. But it was definitely a party, filled with people, and—
As Jack Frost ran into the ballroom, he froze. His eyes had caught sight of the Snow Queen almost immediately.
And her dress.
Jack's breath caught in his throat. Queen Elsa looked as startlingly beautiful to him as always, her braided hair long and soft, her eyes sharp and passionate, and her curvy, feminine body draped in sparkling ice. But this dress wasn't only pretty, or even seductive, like it had been on the night before. It was personal. The Ice Powers Girl's dress had ballooning sleeves that ended in thick cuffs at her wrists, a long drape of a hood hanging down her back, and was decorated with strangely-familiar ice fractals splintered across the collar and chest. But those things alone weren't what made Jack's heart start pounding like the thundering of half a dozen reindeer hooves galloping down a frozen sleigh runway.
Queen Elsa's ballgown was navy blue.
Jack Frost's eyes bulged. It was like time had stopped—his heart stopping in its beating as well, as the realization sank in. He had to be seeing things. Was he seeing things? It just—his hoodie. It was his HOODIE.
Jack's mouth fell open in disbelief, the winter spirit hardly noticing as some random lady's arm passed unknowingly through his shoulder. Looking harder, he could now see that Elsa's dress had external pockets, one on each hip, and the long hood's fabric faded into translucent ice halfway down her back, taking the place of her usual signature capelets and overskirts. Between the hood, the sleeves, the pockets, the color, the cuffs, and the uncanny fractals of ice… it was as obvious as it was undeniable. Queen Elsa of Arendelle had made a dress version of HIS HOODIE.
Shaking himself, Jack Frost startled back into existence, starting to move forward just as the beautiful Ice Powers Girl gave a little jump as well, turning away from him to face some unseen companion. As a portly man standing in front of Jack moved to the side, clearing his view, a flash of bright crimson fabric and rich brown hair across the room was suddenly next to the Snow Queen.
Jack's heart dropped as Elsa nodded in response to something that Prince Frederik had whispered into her ear, their hushed conversation well out of earshot to the ballroom of talking people. To the Guardian's horror, the prince then offered Elsa his arm, and the lovely Fifth Spirit of the Enchanted Forest—with one last, sad glance into the ballroom—turned completely away, placing her hand in it next to his elbow.
No!
Jack's stomach twisted, his eyes wide as he watched the strapping prince lead his Snow Queen from the room. Her beautiful braid hanging down her back on top of the long navy hood, Elsa nodded as Prince Frederik opened the door for her. The twosome then silently stepped out into the night, presumably to take a walk in one the the courtyards or at least to sit on a benches in the crisp, festive Christmas Eve air. A perfect spot, for a private conversation.
Or a proposal.
NO!
His entire body rigid, Jack Frost shoved his free hand into his hair, his heart pounding. What could he do? What could he do?! He couldn't just—barge in, and demand that Elsa reject the guy. Could he? Should he? Would she kill him? Or was he supposed to pull some sort of dramatic move like that? He was running out of time. If Prince Frederik could see him, this would all be simple. Auuurgh, being invisible was the WORST!
Letting his head fall back, Jack ripped his hand from his hair, staring at the ceiling like it would suddenly spell out some miraculous answer with the support beams of the ballroom. He had to do something. SOMETHING. But—!
Was it already too late?
Summoning every ounce of hope he could muster, Jack drew himself up, his teeth clicking together as he looked back in the direction of where the Snow Queen and the Prince of Kingsley had disappeared. No! There was no such THING, as too late! It wasn't hopeless—and, he wasn't out of options. Elsa had been looking for something, right before she'd left. Or someone. And that dress was DEFINITELY a message. She hadn't seen him, but she'd been looking. And now—!
He knew what he had to do.
The Guardian squeezed his eyes shut, like he was in pain. Lifting up his staff and letting it fall back onto his shoulder, the Spirit of Winter then turned, looking over the ballroom. He didn't see both of them, but—well, there was one. And presumably, she would know where the other was.
His feet feeling much heavier than usual, he crossed the space, staying close to the wall and carefully stepping around the commonfolk and dignitaries as he approached the tiny young woman with spiky, shoulder-length brown hair.
Finally, he was behind her. Gathering his courage, Jack Frost pulled in his breath.
"Rapunzel?"
Elsa's cousin startled slightly, then spinning around. As her eyes met Jack's, she gave a tiny gasp, her gaze lighting up with excitement as she realized who he was.
Feeling the last bit of his pride draining away, the Spirit of Winter swallowed with effort. His mouth dry, he pulled in his breath to try again, his usually deep voice now hardly more than a squeak.
"Rapunzel, I need your help."
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(Another) AUTHOR'S NOTE, regarding Jack's belt/costume (which I couldn't post at the beginning because of SPOILERS): Yes, Jack Frost IS wearing a belt in ROTG, aka That One Movie I Have Watched Way Too Many Times! You can see it best right before he frost-blasts everybody in the scene where he first comes to the North Pole. That being said, I reserve the right to change my design for his Leveled-Up Clothes ;)