There is no rose without a thorn.

French Proverb

–

Arendelle Estate, England, 1873

The summer air was hot and thick with the promise of a coming storm. Kristoff didn't mind, though, as his tiny fingers found purchase on a crevice in the stone, too engrossed in his mission to care about much else.

He scaled the wall surrounding the estate with difficulty, slipping once or twice before catching himself, narrowly avoiding a nasty fall to the ground. His tongue was pinched precariously, torturously between his teeth as he focused on the task at hand; he was nearly to the top now, more and more of the estate coming into view each time he hoisted himself up further. The higher he went, the easier it got; luckily, the spaces between the bricks were just wide enough to accommodate his small feet, allowing him more leverage than a grown adult would have had.

Upon reaching the top, he took a moment to catch his bearings; the towering mansion of the estate loomed nearby, casting a long shadow over the property. In the distance, hazy gray clouds crawled over the horizon, threatening rain and worse. But he had time yet.

Swinging his legs over the edge of the wall, Kristoff braced himself and pushed off, allowing himself to freefall to the grass below. He landed with a thud and rolled clumsily to the side in an attempt to soften his impact., but somehow he still landed face-down and spread eagle, his already filthy clothes mussed even further and now covered in bits of grass and soil.

If his parents knew what he was up to, and saw how badly he had dirtied and tattered his britches, they would be cross with him. Even his golden hair was nearly black from filth.

But he didn't have any parents, and the young boy wasn't sure if he ever had, and so none of it mattered anyway.

He stood up and found himself in a luscious garden, surrounded on all sides by flowering bushes twice as tall as himself; it was a dizzying myriad of colors and blooms and fragrances, some of which he could even identify, such as the blue hydrangeas, white rhododendrons, pink azaleas, and red roses. He couldn't ever remember seeing a place so beautiful. Like Heaven on Earth.

But there was no food. Not a single fruit or vegetable in sight. Not even a patch of wild chives for him to chew on to try to sate his hunger. He looked around again to be sure, his round amber eyes glancing this way and that, but it was of no use; there was nothing edible at all in the entire garden. His stomach grumbled at the disappointing realization.

It was then, when Kristoff turned back towards the wall to contemplate his next move, that he was startled by a small voice from behind him.

"Hello."

He whipped around to face the owner of the voice. Upon coming face-to-face with a young, rosy-cheeked girl, a little younger than himself, he let out a frightened squeak and jumped backwards. The girl appeared unfazed.

"Who are you?" she asked in a high-pitched voice that was neither accusatory nor demanding, but simply curious, in that inquisitive way that children ask things. Her fingers played with the end of an auburn braid and her blue eyes sparkled as she scanned the boy up and down. "And why are you so dirty? Did you just come from over the wall?"

She sniffed the air a bit and scrunched her nose.

"You smell bad."

Kristoff frowned. "I do not."

She leaned closer to him, and he recoiled as far from her as he possibly could, pressing his back against the garden wall. She seemed to be sizing him up, her eyes darting from his coal-streaked nose to a tear in the shoulder of his blouse, all the way down to his scuffed leather shoes that were two sizes too small and had started to come apart at the seams.

She opened her mouth to say something, but was interrupted by the audible rumbling of his stomach, and clamped her mouth shut. Kristoff's face flushed with embarrassment, but she didn't notice. Rather, she straightened up, and after a brief moment of contemplation, looked directly into his brown eyes with her blues.

"Are you hungry?" She held out a petite freckled hand. "Here, come with me."

When Kristoff hesitated, eyeing her hand as though it were a snake that would lash out and poison him with its fangs, the girl scoffed.

"I won't bite."

Reluctantly, he put his hand in hers and allowed himself to be dragged past a line of shrubs and around the corner. He was surprised to see that the garden opened into a wide grassy area, where the lord and lady of the estate probably held their afternoon teas and luncheons. Currently, it was devoid of any furnishings, save for a child-sized easel set before a wooden chair. The girl must have been painting before his unexpected presence disturbed her.

She led him to the chair and gestured for him to sit upon it. He did so, watching her nervously.

"Wait here," she instructed, holding out both hands palms-forward to emphasize her point. When Kristoff nodded that he understood, she turned and ran, disappearing from view.

The sky darkened gradually around him as he waited, the dark storm clouds rolling in until they were directly overhead, casting everything in dim gray. The girl was taking too long. It made Kristoff begin to feel paranoid, and he worried that she had gone off to tell her parents about the filthy orphan boy who was trespassing on their property, or to fetch a constable to come arrest him. He decided that he wasn't going to stick around to find out which one it was.

He was about to leave, and braced his hand on the back of the chair to stand, when he saw the girl returning from the corner of his eye, carrying a wicker picnic basket that was almost as big as she was.

"I didn't know what you like, so I grabbed everything I could," she huffed, out of breath from the effort of carrying the heavy basket. She dropped it on the grass in front of him and propped open the lid.

Kristoff's mouth dropped open at the sight of the inside; a variety of multicolored cheeses and smoked meats, nestled amongst waxy purple grapes and juicy green pears, filled the basket. Just beneath the delicacies, Kristoff could make out the golden, pillowy edges of at least a dozen different kinds of breads.

When Kristoff didn't attack the basket immediately, the girl smoothed out the front of her lacy butter-colored dress before she put her hands on her hips and beamed at him, proudly.

"Go ahead," she insisted. "It's all for you!"

Kristoff gulped. "Won't your parents wonder what happened to all of this food when they find out its missing?"

He knew what is was like to be reprimanded for stealing food; it wasn't a pleasant experience.

The girl only shrugged, unperturbed. "I'll just tell them I got hungry for a snack."

He wasn't convinced, but the pain in his abdomen left him with no other choice. With no preference to what he ate first, he stuck both grubby hands into the basket and grabbed as much food as he could in two fistfuls, shoveling it into his mouth with vigor.

It took Kristoff a few minutes to realize that the girl was watching him, clearly amused, and he sheepishly swallowed his mouthful of food, wincing when it was too much for his throat. He was being rude.

"I, uhh… I like your painting," he offered between bites of a baguette, nodding with his head towards the half-finished landscape on the canvas beside him. "I haven't seen very much art before, but you seem quite good."

The red-haired girl did a slight curtsy. "Thank you. Flowers are my favorite subject."

"They're pretty," Kristoff agreed, but the words were muffled by a mouthful of sharp cheddar. The girl giggled, and smiled wider at him, but then her face fell.

"Where are your parents?" she asked him quietly.

He cast his eyes downward. "I don't have any."

"Oh, I'm sorry." She stuck a toe in the dirt. Kristoff couldn't help but notice how shiny and new her shoes looked.

As if on cue, the awkwardness between them was cut by a voice shouting in the distance, from the direction of the mansion.

"Anna!"

It was a woman's voice, and the motherly sound of it caused Kristoff's fear of punishment to return.

"Oh," the girl bemoaned, her hands flying to her face. "I have to go!"

"Anna!" the voice called again, louder this time.

She leaned forward into him and cupped a hand to his ear.

"Next time, use the gate," she whispered into the alcove created by her palm, as though what she was saying was some great secret that was only to be shared between the two of them. With a giggle, she quickly bent down to grab the picnic basket before she spun on her heel and bounced in the direction of the house, her red hair bobbing farther and farther until she was out of Kristoff's line of sight, lost amongst the rows of carefully manicured rose bushes.

The young boy turned to his right just as the rain began to fall; sure enough, the wrought iron gate leading in and out of the garden was there, negating any need to climb the wall. He had missed it in his survey of the estate.

But there would never be a next time. He'd never dare to return to this place after being caught once already.

Thunder roared and the sky sparked with white light; Kristoff spared no time in booking it to the gate, eager to leave before he found himself caught in the full force of the storm.

He thought about her for sometime after their encounter, but as the years went by and Kristoff grew older, the girl in the gardens was forgotten.

–

A/N: Based on a prompt by minnothebunny ( kristanna on tumblr) about a Gothic period Kristanna where Elsa is a real villain. Let the story commence!