Oh, what is this, you say. Two updates within a month? Have I learned to be an efficient writer?

The answer, sadly, is no. During the long months of the hiatus, I wrote some material for chapter 8, and ended up writing so much and struggling with the editing so long I ended up posting it in two parts; this is the second. So now my buffer is gone.

I'm also going into a period of intense studying. I hope to keep writing through it, but in case I can't and it'll be a while before the next update, don't lose heart! I won't abandon the fic.

Thanks for reading! And the support and feedback, it means a lot!

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IX

where a queen rewards her allies

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Elsa wandered languidly among the shelves, deliberating on what to pick. There were things everywhere, in crates on the floor, on the shelves, hanging from the walls and even the ceiling. Some were familiar, while others were curious mysteries. It was her first time in a shop, as far as she knew.
So far, shops appeared to be stuffy, cluttered places, smelling like a strange, varying mixture of unfamiliar things.

On the other side of the shelf, on her side packed with household items and kitchenware, she heard Anna rummaging about, muttering about strengths and finishes with Olaf and the shopkeeper's son assisting her. Elsa supposed she was looking for something outdoorsy for Kristoff. She circled around the end of the shelf, trying to look interested. Her eyes met the eager stare of the salesgirl, one of the shopkeeper's many children. The girl was stalking her around at a respectful distance, bobbing a flustered curtsey every time Elsa so much as glanced in her general direction, waiting with bated breath for a chance to be of some assistance to Her Majesty. Elsa flashed a smile at her and turned to browse the wares again before the girl would interpret it as an invitation. She had no idea what to choose. She didn't need anything, especially from a place like this.

She had to pick something, however. A new wave of pamphlets had struck. This time there had been far more than before, and the baker Oskarsen had enlisted the help of Kronstad, the general grocer, in addition to the guards. Combined, the baker's and the grocer's boys had formed an effective task force, sprinting nimbly and quietly along the streets, tearing the libel down without causing a fuss before day broke over Arendelle.

Oskarsen had sworn up and down he'd known Einar Kronstad all his life and could vouch for him, that he'd trust the man with his own life – and yet, a prickly, nauseous tangle of worry about knowledge of the incidents spreading nestled in Elsa's belly. Nevertheless, Kronstad was now involved alongside with Oskarsen, and Elsa needed to demonstrate her great appreciation of their loyalty. She had discussed it with Prince Hans, and they'd agreed that an unofficial little shopping trip would serve nicely. Had she paid them any official tributes, questions would have arisen about what, exactly, was the Queen thankful to the common shopkeepers for, but if she was simply seen patronising their establishments, it would give the vendors an air of exceptional distinction without causing suspicion. Anna had, of course, loved the idea, and Olaf had tagged along for the experience. So here she was, the queen at the general grocery, looking for something to purchase.

Elsa edged around another corner, careful to not tear her dress on the protruding – well, it looked like something horse-related – and caught a glimpse of bolts of fabric piled high in the back corner. Her interest piqued, she made her way over. The girl trailed after her like an excited shadow.

The fabric selection was quite decent, in fact. A lot of the fabrics were somewhat coarse, meant for everyday work-clothes, but the finer end was actually truly fine as far as Elsa could tell. She noticed something, reached out a hand – and suddenly the girl sprinted in front of her, climbing up the shelf like a blonde-braided squirrel, hooted a thisoneyourmajestymaam, and hoisted the heavy bolt down on the measuring table with surprising strength and a resounding thud the instant Elsa gave a confused nod. She felt obliged to rub the fabric between her fingers and hum appreciatively while the girl rattled off information about the merchandise; double-dyed extra-light silk damask from Umbiria, latest fashion, private importer, centuries of expertise, guaranteed to keep the colours. It is beautiful, Elsa thought as the girl raced through the sales pitch. The fabric was a deep, brilliant blue that seemed to glow and ripple green in the light when she turned it, with gorgeous, intricately woven birds and plants in darker shades. It reminded her of a twilight garden, lush and exotic and somehow sensual. Daring and alive. Too daring for her.

"Fit for a queen, ma'am," the girl finished, blushing breathlessly, bobbing two curtseys just in case. Elsa couldn't help smiling.
"Indeed, it's gorgeous, thank you. My, what excellent service!" The girl yanked her gaze down, suppressing a smile while muttering thanks. "But I'm not sure if I need new dresses at the moment. I'll keep it in mind, but for now, I'd like to browse a bit further?"
"Yesm'," the girl breathed, curtseyed and slid out of the way like an oiled eel. Elsa smiled benevolently at nothing, clasped her hands and let her gaze run across the fabric shelves.

Then she saw the needlework section, tightly packed in a nook, and breathed a sigh of relief.
The embroidery threads were also of solid quality, the silken loops gleaming softly in a wide gradient of colours. Elsa picked a lovely green, a nice bluish grey, and four loops of the shade of purple in the Arendelle coat of arms, she was always running out of it – and then a particular shade of brownish red caught her eye. It took her a heartbeat to make the connection. She ran a finger along the silk, and then it hit her.

It was the exact shade of his hair.

How uncanny.

Elsa drew a slow breath, sliding her fingers into the loop, feeling the threads flow between them, her eyelids fluttering slightly at the memory. Her treacherous heartbeat drummed in her chest. The breath she held escaped her in a quiet sigh as she stood there, eyes closed, slowly moving her fingers in the thread, transported.
"Found something you like?"
Anna's cheerful voice was shockingly close, and Elsa jumped and snatched her hand back as if the fiery thread had burnt her.

The loop, tangled around her fingers, came loose from the shelf and fell on the floor.

"A-a- yes! Threads! For my embroidering!" Anna was smiling at her, curious, her face aglow with excitement. Behind her, the shopkeeper's son was balancing an armful of things, blankets, bags, a lantern and at least a couple of axes and who knew what else, and Olaf was waddling behind him, carrying around him a coil of rope so large he nearly drowned in it. The salesgirl darted forward, picked the fallen loop up and held it up to Elsa with yet another curtsey.
"Ooh, let me see! Are you getting that one, too?" Anna scrutinised the loop of reddish silk suddenly burning as bright and damning as hellfire on the salesgirl's palm, and her expression flickered in something like a distant memory, something on the tip of her tongue, a recognition in-forming. Oh no. "It looks-"
"Like a-a- a fox, doesn't it," Elsa blurted. "I want to embroider a fox. Somewhere. A handkerchief, perhaps."
"A fox?"
"A cute little fox, yes," Elsa said, squeezing out a nervous smile. "I've been embroidering traditional motifs and Arendelle crocuses on everything for years. I could do something more lively for once." She sighed. "It sounds childish, doesn't it?"
"No, no! It sounds great!" Anna grinned, her eyes sparkling. "It sounds fun! I like it! Will it be a cunning fox?"
"Extremely cunning, and sly," Elsa said, taking the wretched loop of damnation and its tempting sultry softness from the salesgirl. "Maybe it'll bring some good luck and cunning to me, as well. I feel like I need it." Anna giggled.
"Could you embroider one for me, too? I'd like to have a lucky fox made by you."
"Oh, I'll embroider you several, each luckier than the next. Or maybe I'll make two different foxes," Elsa said conspiratorially, sliding her free hand around Anna's arm, "one for both of us."
She felt slightly like a dirty liar.
"Yours should be an arctic fox, then," Anna said, reaching into the thread shelf for a beautiful off-white loop.
"There! Come on now, I want to show you the part with the cashier. I've been to quite a few shops, you know, on my travels in the north with Kristoff, so I know how to do it properly," Anna gushed, pulling Elsa with her towards the big counter at the far front of the shop. "You have to show the salesperson everything you're taking, I made a mistake with this once, they don't like it if you forget something and almost walk out -"

As they passed the fabric bolts, Elsa heard a small gasp of breath, like someone starting to say something but hesitating at the last instant, and turned to look behind her. The girl was pursing her lips, roses blooming on her cheeks, hunching slightly forward in her eagerness to speak.
"Yes?"
"Your Majesty, if I may, ma'am, it really flatters your pretty eyes!" Another curtsey.

Elsa stared at her for a moment, not fathoming what she was talking about at first, before bursting into a chuckle.
"Fine, I'll take some, if you think I should," she laughed. The girl broke into a grin and slipped to the counter where the blue fabric was still spread out, producing a measuring stick from somewhere.
"How much will Your Majesty take? Enough for a fine ballgown, at least, ma'am?
"Yes, why not. How many alns does it take," she glanced at Anna, who shrugged. Both had always had their gowns made by seamstresses. "six, eight?"
"A full ballgown will take a lot of fabric, ma'am, for a lovely flowing hem," the girl chirped, swiftly pulling out and measuring the lengths in rhythmic movements as the fabric bolt rolled on the desk, "at least four alns for the top, five in case Your Majesty might want long sleeves or a high collar, and then nearly ten for the skirt, better to take eleven, in case there's some new fashion that takes a lot. And the design is so nice, it's better to add a bit, three alns at least, so there's more room to work the patterns around, ma'am. It never hurts to have some extra,Your Majesty can always have a bag or a vest made, but if there's too little it's such a bother." She'd unfurled an impressive-looking pile of the fabric, gleaming and rippling like the cool sapphire sea in shallow coves on bright summer days, when she suddenly stopped, pressed a finger on the measured spot and produced a pair of scissors, ready to cut. "Nineteen – I'd say twenty alns, to be sure, ma'am?"
"Very well," Elsa said, astounded. The girl zipped through the length and folded the fabric neatly with swift expertise.

"So much," Olaf sighed admiringly, having lifted his head up from within the rope coil to see. "If it would be water-surface, you could make a whole pond out of it!"
It was indeed a lot. But on the other hand, she had shown up to buy something expensive. And perhaps she needed something luxuriously exotic in her wardrobe, Elsa mused, as Olaf insisted on carrying the "folded water" for her.

At the cash register, Anna kept making her way through her comprehensive explanation on the procedure of buying things while the saleslady, Mrs. Kronstad herself, sorted through their purchases. Mr. Kronstad and an assortment of their children stood by, beaming proudly. Outside, a crowd was jostling for a place to peer in through the windows, eager to see what the royals were getting. Elsa felt self-conscious under the scrutiny, but Anna's endearing, bubbling excitement was infectious, and she felt her mood lift.

"…and then you give them the money, and then they give you the surplus back, and you should make sure it's the right amount. Sometimes people haggle, but in the end you have to pay what the shopkeeper says."

"It's thirty-five dalers and seventeen skillings, if it please Your Majesty, Your Highness," Mrs. Kronstad said.
Anna gave Elsa an expectant look. It took Elsa a heartbeat to realise she was supposed to pay.
With the money specifically reserved for this trip in the embroidered silk purse Gerda had placed this morning on her desk.
Where it still was.

"I don't have any money with me," she admitted, mortified. "I'm sorry. I completely forgot." Anna's face fell, but Mrs. Kronstad didn't even blink.
"It's not a problem at all, ma'am, naturally the royal family has credit at our establishment. Your Majesty only needs to sign a promissory note for the sum of the purchases, and we'll simply settle it with the palace later on, ma'am," she smiled.
Anna brightened up.
"Oh, that's convenient," she chirped. "Is there an upper limit for the purchases? Do you think the same practice will work in other shops, too?" Mrs. Kronstad's smile widened perceptibly.
"No limit, Your Highness," she said in a tone dripping with honey. "And I should believe every merchant in Arendelle would be honoured to receive your custom, ma'am."
Anna's eyes were bright with the possibilities this new notion seemed to offer, and Elsa quickly signed the note Mrs. Kronstad wrote up, before she'd think of something like buying the shop's entire stock of chocolate simply because she could.

Even though, Elsa thought, that would be amusing. She wondered briefly how high a tower a shopful of chocolate would make, if one were to pile it all up. Would it reach all the way to the ceiling in the grand ballroom? Could one build a fortress out of it?

Next to her, Anna shuffled, cleared her throat and gave a sheepish look to Elsa. She snapped out of her musings and raised her brow at her.
"Actually, I do have some money on me, if you'd still like to see how it normally goes?"
Sensing that Anna was eager to demonstrate her know-how, Elsa nodded interestedly.
"I'd love to," she said, scooting closer.
"Well then," Anna said, "I need to find something small to buy… what about those socks?" She cleared her throat and spoke in a clear voice. "How much are those, please?" She pointed at a shelf behind Mrs. Kronstad, where an impressive, colourful heap of knitted woollen socks was stuffed in a wicker-basket.
"Fifteen skillings a pair, Your Highness," she smiled. "They're of high quality, knitted by myself and my daughters out of good Alvheim wool." Anna gave a regal nod, and in an instant the basket had been brought down and the socks spread out. Anna quickly peeked at the purse she'd dug out from a pocket hidden in the folds of her skirt.
"I have enough for more than one pair, if you want one as well," she told Elsa under her breath.

They were indeed good socks, thick and soft and sturdy, traditionally decorated, so dry and warm they almost made one hope for miserable weather just to have a reason to pull them on. Anna intensely discussed the possible dimensions of Kristoff's feet with Mrs. Kronstad while Elsa absentmindedly admired the patterns, recognising some she herself had embroidered in silk on handkerchiefs and dress-hems. One pair, peeking out from under the others, seemed a little different from the rest. Curious, Elsa pulled it out for a closer look.

The pattern had a decorative snowflake motif, white on a blue base that reminded her of ice. Of her own ice dress, in fact. She supposed it was also close to the colour of her eyes. The socks were warm and thick and large, made for a man. She stared at them for a while, deep in thought, before running her finger down the length of the sole, her eyes closed, trying to remember.

They were the right size, as far as she could tell.

She couldn't get them though, or Anna would wonder – why would she want to buy men's socks?
"Oh, Your Majesty noticed that pair," Mrs. Kronstad said. "I hope Your Majesty doesn't think it presumptuous, but my Lena was inspired by you when she made up the design." She curtseyed quickly. "She tries to make the socks interesting, you see, and picks up ideas from things happening around her. I most sincerely hope Your Majesty isn't offended –"
"Oh, no," Elsa said quickly. "What a fun idea. I'm very proud to have been an inspiration to your daughter. Such pretty socks, too! I think I'll get these," she smiled to Anna, "even if they're too big for me."

•••

They left the shopping to be delivered to the palace under Olaf's excited management, and wandered leisurely down the street, exchanging occasional greetings with the excited Arendelle townsfolk curtseying and bowing at them.
Trying to appear nonchalant, they chattered somewhat loudly about Kronstad's simply charming selection of wares of such good quality, until they just happened to walk past Oskarsen's bakery.

"Oh, I've heard they have the most delicious pastries, Elsa, let's go in!" Anna's excitement was very believable, she was a natural actress. As they stepped in, a mouth-watering scent of fresh bread and confections greeted them. The cheerful jingle of the little bell above the door announced their arrival.

Oskarsen's bakery aimed to be a quality establishment. The display counter was filled with delicious-looking pastries, expertly decorated, and behind them on a shelf were basketfuls of different breads. The interior strove for refined sophistication, and there was even a little coffee parlour adjacent to the main shop, where people could sit in great comfort on plush sofas, enjoying refreshments and socialising. Through the decorated doorway, Elsa could glimpse mahogany tables, a great potted ficus, a bookshelf, curtains and tablecloths of fine lace, lovely blue-striped wallpaper and golden picture frames. There were even a couple of birds twittering in a cage somewhere; an elegant touch. The parlour was so cosy it resembled a private sitting room much more than a coffeehouse, no doubt intentionally. After all, it aimed to be a place where even respectable women could visit on their own, unchaperoned.

"Unheard of," Gerda had tutted when relaying the gossip to Elsa that morning while fixing her hair. "Such a strange notion, decent women loitering about the town on their own, getting into all sorts of trouble. Well, at least it's not an alehouse," she'd sighed. Elsa had hummed noncommittally, but privately she agreed with Anna's view.
"It sounds like a grand idea!" Anna had declared. "It's such an unfair notion, thinking that women should huddle in living rooms unless they're babysat by a man. There's so much interesting stuff to see and do in the world!"

Normally, women socialised mainly at each other's houses, in private gatherings or at the esteemed cultural salons hosted by the grand ladies of society. In public establishments of leisure like theatres, taverns or even coffeehouses, women appearing brazenly alone tended to be considered loose, and naturally places wishing to uphold a decent reputation discouraged unchaperoned women from frequenting them. In order to lure respectable women into their parlour for a coffee and a pastry, the Oskarsens did their best to make it seem as if the patron was just visiting at Mrs. Oskarsen's own home. There was even a little sign above the door that read Vigdis' Salon.

"Who's Vigdis?" Anna said. Someone coughed politely behind them.
"That would be me, Your Royal Highness," a cheerful voice said. The sisters swung around to find a slightly plump, merry-looking woman standing behind the counter, next to an imposing but excitedly grinning man. The couple somehow blended into the bakery, so seamlessly and naturally a part of it that they hadn't noticed them at first. Elsa noticed their clothes were rather fine, like they'd dressed up. They had to be-

The man bobbed a quick bow and cleared his throat.
"With your permission, Your Majesty and Royal Highness, may I present my wife, Vigdis Erlingsdatter Oskarsen," the man said, imitating a lofty, courtly tone.
She gave a calm curtsey, not too deep, as if she was of high nobility and not a common tradeswoman. Proud, Elsa thought. Proud and confident.
"And may I in my turn present my husband, the baker-master Søren Oskarsen, Your Majesty, Your Highness. It's an honour to receive you. Welcome to Oskarsen's," she said, in a tone thick with warmth – and heavy authority. Elsa got the feeling that it was Vigdis Erlingsdatter Oskarsen who was actually in charge, and not the baker himself.

Elsa and Anna gave them dignified nods.
"It's a pleasure to be here," Anna trilled. "Everything looks so lovely and delicious!"
"Indeed," Elsa said. "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance. It is such a joy to meet the good and honest people who keep Arendelle running, for without people like you, industriously working for the good of this nation, what would become of our country?" She threw a glance around the room, making sure that apart from the eager Arendelle townsfolk outside the windows – intensely pretending they were just minding their own business and not trying to peer in to see what the royalty was up to – they were alone. Nevertheless, she lowered her voice a tad.
"Truly, I am grateful, exceedingly grateful, of your continuous efforts."
The Oskarsens nodded in understanding.

"Don't mention it, Your Majesty," baker Oskarsen said, pulling himself up to his full, impressive height. "The Oskarsen family has always been of good stock, loyal and true. I met your father once, ma'am, God bless His Majesty's soul, and my great-great-grandfather smuggled weapons in the floursacks for the loyalists in the Galtefjelle Scuffles, some 170 years ago." He gestured to an old picture on the wall above the counter, depicting a man driving a cart full of sacks in the night, and puffed out his chest. "I know what's right and who belongs on the throne. You can always rely on us, Queen Elsa."
"I thank you, Søren Oskarsen, and your family, with all my heart, for everything you've done," Elsa said solemnly. Baker Oskarsen hummed and blushed with gratification.
"It's my wife Your Majesty really should thank," he said modestly. "It's her and her quick mind who figured out what to do." Mrs. Vigdis beamed.
"Thank you too, then, Vigdis Erlingsdatter Oskarsen," Elsa said earnestly.
"I only did my duty, ma'am," she replied. "I couldn't just stand there and look away. Vile stuff, it is, and fighting dirty, trying to ruin a woman's reputation like that. It makes me want to spit, beg Your Majesty's pardon."

A shiver skittered through Elsa, drying her mouth as it went. Suddenly, the culprits trying to defame her solidified into real people existing somewhere around her, their presence heavy in the same streets she walked, no longer mere ominous but ethereal shadows.
"Did you see them, then," she asked.

Mrs. Vigdis nodded and leaned closer, conspiratorially.
"When I first saw them, ma'am, I was standing next to the window in our back workroom, kneading the oatbread dough for the day – it's very nice, ma'am, I put honey in it – and I saw movement in the street. I had the lights low, I like to work that way, so they didn't spot me there."
She spoke in a low, urgent voice, and for some reason the hair on Elsa's neck stood on end. "Two men, one a bit on the tall side, enough to knock his head on the upper bread shelves there, and the other much shorter and thin. Could have been just a boy. They had hats on, normal clothes, nothing uncommon. But the way they moved, all sneaky, putting posters up at that hour, I said to myself, Vigdis, those men are up to no good. And I told our Johan to go and see what it was about and bring it to me at once if it was interesting."

She glanced at the crowd behind the windows, pulled back and gave Elsa a meaningful look.
"May I suggest to Your Majesty our famous kanelboller? Or maybe a slice of the blueberry pie, the berries were picked just yesterday," she said loudly, moving down the counter to pick up the pastries.
"The boller, yes, they look excellent," Elsa said, managing a stiff smile.
"Blueberry pie for me," declared Anna, who had so far been listening quietly, rushing to look at the pastries in the glass display with a wide, brilliant smile – and conveniently obscuring Elsa from the window. "Oh, but they all look so good! I just can't decide! Does that one have marzipan?"
"Indeed it does! Your Highness has a keen eye! Søren, show Princess Anna the pastries." Mrs. Vigdis' smile faded once her husband's bulky frame was between her and the windows, and she leaned back in. "Well. I'm just glad I sent Johan, who's married since last spring, and not our Lillian, who's just twelve, Your Majesty understands." Elsa nodded, her mouth pressed to a thin line.

Next to them, Oskarsen and Anna had launched into a lively and loud discussion about all the different kinds of tarts the bakery provided. Every now and then, Anna waved cheerfully at the people in the window, eliciting delighted, muffled squealing and more jostling.

"Once I saw the – picture," Mrs. Vigdis spat the word from between her teeth, "I told Søren that the bread could wait, that this was important. He tried to grumble about his duty to the customers, but I told him that he had a bigger duty to his Queen, and he listened. Well, ma'am. We sent the boys out, and I put the girls to work so we had some bread to sell, and I told them all that I'd whip the poor fool who'd blabber about this black and blue, pardon me, ma'am. We've been paying particular attention to the goings-on of the town in the mornings ever since. It was Johan who first noticed the second pamphlets being spread, though the crooks ran off before he got a good look at them. It was closer to daybreak, and there were more than before, so Søren asked Mr. Kronstad for help. We humbly beg Your Majesty's forgiveness for telling them," she sighed, and Elsa nodded graciously, "but Einar Kronstad's a good and reliable man, and his boys too, they know to keep quiet. Especially as I've impressed to them the utmost importance of confidentiality, ma'am, and promised – beg Your Majesty's pardon – to castrate the boys myself should they ever discuss the pamphlets, even with each other."

A queasy feeling crept around Elsa's gut, weighing like lead and burning with bitter nausea, when she thought about the apprentices snickering amongst themselves about the pictures. Who knew, maybe they had stashed one of the pamphlets, and were passing it around? Mrs. Vigdis scrutinised her intently.

"Don't let it get to you, ma'am," she said suddenly. "There's always people like that, ma'am, bitter people who think a woman is too lively, too strong-minded, too something, and they'll call her indecent to shut her up." She cocked her head and smiled crookedly. "But if being decent means being quiet and humble – well, you can never be a decent woman, Your Majesty. You must rule, you see. You are the leader of Arendelle, ma'am, it's your duty to protect her interests and crush her enemies, and you can't do that if you can't bear being a bit scandalous." A twinkle lit in her eye.
"I'm afraid, Your Majesty, that people in charge can't afford maidenly decency," she smiled. "No triumphs to be won that way."
Surprised, Elsa stared at her for a moment, before answering her smile.
"It seems you speak from experience, Mrs. Oskarsen," she chuckled.

Mrs. Vigdis' smile widened.
"Oh, indeed, ma'am. When I met my Søren, he was a fine strong man with skilful hands and a lot of promise, but no real prospects. My father owned two farms, and he'd gathered me a dowry so impressive he wanted to set me up with the better tradesfolk, not a country baker like him," she nodded towards Oskarsen. "But as soon as I talked with him I knew he had real talent and was the man I'd marry." She laughed happily. "And that's just what I did, though he took some persuading and the local girls didn't like it one bit – and neither did my father! But then it was too late to complain, and Søren learned how to do confectionery fine enough for anyone, and the dowry fixed us up quite nicely," she grinned. "So you see, ma'am, sometimes in life you encounter the thing that's right for you, it appears out of nowhere and you just know, and you simply have to have the guts to go after it – even if you have to be slightly indecent about it."

She laughed again, so heartily her thick chain necklace jingled as it shook with her bosom. There was something about Mrs. Vigdis, something jubilantly good-natured and overpowering that gave the impression she'd succeed in whatever she set out to do. Elsa found herself feeling somewhat jealous of her confidence, but the weight in her gut had melted away.

Anna noticed they were done with the serious talk, and instantly decided on a slice of chocolate-orange cake with ginger. She insisted on taking care of the promissory note in her turn, and signed it simply "A", with a grand, decorative flourish.
"I've heard it's how the royalty on the continent signs things, initials only," she whispered to Elsa as they made their way to the table. "Quite grand, don't you think?"
"Very elegant," Elsa whispered back while Mrs. Vigdis was bringing their refreshments over on a silver tray.

•••

"Oh, by the way, what were the Galtefjelle Scuffles," Anna asked under her voice, picking up her spoon, once they were alone. "I feel like I should know."
"You should," Elsa sighed, smiling. "The king died without an heir and the different branches of the family started to argue about who should sit on the throne. The Galte branch was exceedingly relentless and refused to accept the legitimate heir, going so far as to take up arms. There were some battles on their lands up in Galtefjelle, and it was close to developing into a full-on civil war, but the loyalists in the area managed to subdue them and our great-great-grandpappa ascended to the throne at age 16 as Magnus VIII." Elsa poured some milk in her coffee. "There's a portrait of him in the green salon, I believe. Young boy on a horse in full armour, among a crowd, with a dark and stormy mountain landscape behind him and a golden crocus glowing on his palm?"
"Oh, him! Wow. How awful, for a family to fight itself like that." Anna sank the spoon into the cake and lifted a piece indulgently to her mouth.

"Ooh, it's delicious," Anna sighed as soon as she tasted her cake, the spoon still on her lips. "This is so nice, Elsa, the whole trip, we have to do this again!"
"It's a wonderful day, isn't it," Elsa smiled, stirring her coffee. She took a small sip, glancing at the townspeople through the lace curtains, and gave them a friendly nod of acknowledgement. "Hmm, I think there's a hint of cardamom in the coffee, it's delightful."
"What about your kanelbolle, " Anna asked. Elsa broke a small bit off the side and popped it into her mouth.
"Mhmm," she nodded. "Fantastic and fresh."
"As good as Gerda's blueberry tarts?"
Elsa smiled at the reference to her favourite of the dessert tasting Anna had organised a week earlier.
"Different. Both are excellent. I'm not quite ready to declare the blueberry tarts dethroned yet," she grinned. Anna smiled back, stirred some sugar into her coffee, leaned back into her plush armchair and gazed out of the window, sipping her coffee and smiling at the citizens.

The birds chirped in the long, contemplative silence. Elsa could almost see her sister's thoughts shift their course towards graver matters, sensing the mood turn sombre.
Here it comes, she thought when Anna finally drew breath to speak.

"I wish you'd show me the pamphlet, though."
"Out of the question," Elsa sighed. "I've told you."
"I can handle it, you know. I'm not a child, you don't need to shelter-"
"It's not that."
"Isn't it?" Anna turned to look at her, still smiling, but her eyes were serious. "Elsa, I want to help. I shouldn't have gone away with Kristoff, that was selfish – I wasn't thinking, I should have been here for you," her voice was earnest. Elsa closed her eyes.
"But I'm here now," Anna continued. "I'm here, and we're going to face this and make it through together. Elsa," her voice pleaded, and Elsa looked at her. "Let me carry some of the weight. You don't need to shut me out to protect me any more –"
"It's not that," Elsa repeated, placing her coffee-cup back on the table. "I know you could face it. I can't. I don't want you – I don't want anyone to see those images of me. I want them to vanish. I want to obliterate them from existence."
Her hand resting on the table had curled to a fist, and under it an ice crystal was spreading out on the mahogany.
Anna reached over and took her hand.
"I wish you'd let me help you," she said seriously.
"You are helping, Anna," Elsa breathed, squeezing her hand back. "Just by being there, you help so much you can't imagine. Your support means the world to me." The sisters smiled at each other, and for a while Elsa felt something extraordinary and warm flowing between their bodies, like some of Anna's indefatigable optimism was slowly seeping into her.

But then they let go and leaned back to their chairs, and Anna's thoughts twisted her mouth.
"He's seen it though, hasn't he," she said sullenly.
Elsa clicked her tongue out of exasperation, without meaning to.
"He's my steward. He needs to know to be able to deal with it properly, to manage the affairs of the state-" Anna huffed audibly and rolled her eyes, "with me," Elsa stressed. "Under my supervision."
"Elsa," Anna said earnestly,"he tried-"
"Tried to kill me, yes, I know," Elsa finished in unison with her. "I know, Anna, he came after me with a sword, he planned to have me assassinated to steal the throne, he locked you in the chess room to die – I haven't forgotten. I'm highly aware that he's dangerous."
"Are you really?"
"Yes."
"You've made him your personal steward. Personal! You're meeting him alone every day, blithely handing him just what he wants, he's meddling with the deepest state secrets, at the heart of power-"
"Anna, I have him under control."
Sometimes, Elsa wondered if she had herself under control, but that definitely wasn't something to bring up now.
"That's why I dare to employ him," she continued." He's most useful to me, to Arendelle, where he is; by my side. I need his skills at the fray, counselling me about the difficult decisions, not transcribing some budget ledgers or rotting in a cell or shovelling dung. We've been over this," she sighed, rubbing her eyes. "I need his help."
"That's what he's gotten you to believe," Anna huffed. She crossed her arms, gently shaking her head. "I should never have left you alone. You had to face him on your own, inexperienced, outmatched, susceptible to his worldly charms and ruthless manipulation…"

"I'm not a wide-eyed patsy," Elsa interrupted, piqued. The expression on Anna's face ground up sparks of irritation within her. "Don't give me that look. I'm aware he's a scheming traitor. That's exactly why he's so useful to me – to us."
Anna gave her a withering look of doubt.
"Don't you see, Anna? Politics is a hard and cruel game. We, both of us, are too sheltered and gentle to play it well, but he's not. He's experienced with scheming, deceit, corruption, political machinations, manipulation; all the dirty tricks," Elsa ticked them off with her fingers. "He's devious enough to outmanoeuvre most anyone. He's crafty and cold-blooded – and that's exactly why I want him and his expertise in cut-throat deception on Arendelle's side."

Anna bit her lip, reluctantly nodding her head.
"Yeah, you have a point," she muttered. "I'll give you that. But I still think it's not worth the risk. He's like an unpredictable, capricious beast – he acts gentle, he's got you convinced, 'ooh let me help and protect you' – but the moment you really trust him, he'll kick you in the face," she grimaced. "I worry about you becoming too reliant on him," she said, shaking her head. "I feel like you're cuddling a scorpion and trying to convince me that it's cute and harmless when it's readying its teeth to bite you in the neck."
"Scorpions sting, they don't bite," Elsa said absentmindedly. "They're Arachnids, but of a different order than spiders."
"Irrelevant," Anna said serenely. "You know what I meant."

Elsa sighed, picked up her coffee cup and looked out of the window again. Despite her outward assurances, the uncertainty was constantly gnawing within her, the heavy doubt stalking at her heels and clawing at her heart. Anna's persistent warnings rang true whether she wanted to hear them or not, it was quite likely that he was indeed just trying to get her to lower her defences through acting sweet.

And if he is, it's working, she thought glumly. She could profess shrewd statements of her distrust till the cows came home, but the truth was that if there was a trap, she'd long since stepped into it and was very much relying on him. She hadn't even realised how bad it had got before Anna's incredulous shock had shaken her head from the clouds. Since then, she'd made several attempts to get her unsound attraction to him under control, but it had broken completely free of its reins and was rampaging through her heart, ignoring her feeble orders. Worse, she couldn't bring herself to admitting the situation to Anna, and instead hid her weakness and lied about remaining unaffected by Hans. Unwittingly, Elsa started to stir the spoon in her coffee, as if spooling her thoughts.

She simply didn't want to let him go, reason be damned.
She enjoyed his presence and longed for it every moment she was away from him. Even now, in this long-awaited, wonderful moment of relaxing and treats with dear Anna, her thoughts went to him, on what he might be doing back at the castle.

Thinking of him suddenly alighted the memory in her mind, it coursed through her with a thundering rush, and she could almost smell his scent, feel his touch, hear the sound of his comforting voice, and the memory of the intoxicating security he had made her feel swelled and vibrated within her.

They had planned to start the preparations for re-assembling her Royal Cabinet, and possibly for a Grand Assembly of the estates while they were at it, Arendelle was long overdue for one. She had relocated their meetings to a smaller study in the lower floors a week earlier, both to make Prince Hans climb fewer stairs in his still recuperating state, and to keep him out of Anna's path. The secluded location of the room had added a strange, thrillingly illicit feel to her daily private meetings with Hans, making her feel every morning like she was on her way to some clandestine, improper rendez-vous.

When she'd entered the room, she'd known at once. Captain Arnesen had been there, hunched over something with Prince Hans, and when they'd turned towards her, Elsa's blood had ran cold and heavy with the realisation of what had happened. Arnesen had quickly excused himself, a hint of sympathy behind his stern, polite visage. Prince Hans had stood in the middle of the floor with the folded pamphlet in his hands, evenly facing her with lips pursed so tight they'd vanished, a mix of grimness, frustration and worry darkening his colourfully bruised features.

Wordlessly, he'd offered it to her. She'd hesitated for a heartbeat, steeling herself, before she'd walked up to him and opened it with shaking hands.
It was somehow worse than before, much worse; this time the obscene snow monster bore a distinct resemblance to Olaf, and it had made it all so much more personal and repulsive a growl had risen from her throat as she'd crushed the pamphlet in her hands, her disgust freezing it into a solid chunk of ice. In frustration, she'd thrown the ice-chunk into a wall, biting her lip to keep back the tears stinging in her eyes. She wouldn't cry about this, they wouldn't make her cry. She'd buried her face in her hands, forcing her breathing to stay steady as the frost had churned in her, fierce and angry and jagged, mixing with a deep sense of humiliation and shame.

It's too much, she'd thought. It wasn't fair to defile Olaf like that, he'd done nothing to them, he'd done nothing to anybody. She had been so overwhelmed by her emotions she hadn't heard the footsteps behind her.

She had sensed his touch before she felt it; his presence materialising behind her, the tense anticipation as he'd hesitated – and then he'd placed his hand on her, and the way its weight had settled against her shoulder was extraordinary, with a new, immense feeling of closeness, as if the hand would have belonged there or grown rooted to her body. Hans' touch had been electrifying and soothing at the same time, and it had calmed the frost jerking within her like an unsettled horse. The sudden blooms of relief and longing and giddiness had blended in with the shame, and the whirlpool of emotions had sent Elsa reeling.

"It's not you", his voice had murmured softly by her ear, the proximity of his strong body warm and inviting at her back.
"The picture. It doesn't show you, just an idea, an illustration of an imaginary character they fear and don't know. They've just attached your likeness to it."
His thumb had been making circles on her shoulder-blade, the sensation dizzyingly intimate, and Elsa had felt so weary and weak, and she had been pulled towards him by some gravitational force, as natural and inevitable as the tide or the changing of the seasons – and without quite knowing how it happened, she had turned towards him and was pressing her face into his chest, breathing in his familiar scent as he held her and his voice boomed from within his ribs, enfolding her in a precious sense of security. She had leaned into the feeling, trembling, a sob had escaped her, but whether it'd been of distress or relief, she couldn't say – and then his other hand had been resting on the small of her back, pressing her to him, and she would have gladly stayed like that forever.

"But it's not really you, Elsa," his voice had said, low and gentle. "Remember it. Don't let it touch you," he'd muttered into her hair.
Elsa sighed, contentedly relaxing against him, his heartbeat thumping in her ears, and suddenly a sharp little cough returned her on the little settee in Vigdis' Salon, trembling with the memory, the thundering heartbeat was her own and the touch caressing her back was the plush velvet covering of the seat.
She gave a shuddering sigh, and someone coughed again. Elsa noticed Anna was staring at her in a curiously fixed manner, her hands folded across her chest.

"What?"
"You've been stirring that coffee and staring into space, sighing dreamily, for quite some time now," Anna stated flatly.
Embarrassed, Elsa removed the spoon from the cup and took a sip, thinking of a response.
"Have I? Excuse me, Anna, I, uh, got lost in my thoughts."
"Thinking about scorpions?"
"State matters," she responded sharply.
"Oh? It looks like political affairs are a lot more pleasant than I've been led to believe." Elsa shot her an indignant look.
"Don't be cheeky," she said. "I was just - just mulling over the situation."

Anna studied her silently for a long while, her eyes darting across Elsa's face, examining her.
"Prince Hans can be very charming," she said slowly. "I know from bitter experience, he can seem like the man of your dreams, he can appear to be perfect if he wants to, handsome and dashing and kind." She leaned closer with an intense look.
"But it's all a lie. All of it. Behind the pretty facade, he's nothing but hatred and bitterness and cruelty."
Elsa felt the beginnings of a blush tingling on her cheeks, and hoped it didn't show.
"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, Anna," she tried. Anna was having none of it.
"Especially when you're a bit inexperienced with the world, and he's the first handsome young man you've spent any time with – well, naturally you're vulnerable, more susceptible to his lies, easy to sweep you off your feet," Anna sighed, slightly shaking her head.
A rather sharp remark appeared tingling on Elsa's tongue, something about how Anna really wasn't one to lecture her about being careful with one's feelings and decisions regarding new people, but she steeled her jaw and bit it back.

"I'm worried, that's all," Anna finished. Cooped up alone with him every day like that, under his influence, with no-one to protect you from his wily, seductive tricks -"
"He's not seducing me," Elsa snapped without having the time to soften her tone. "If that's what you're implying."
"I'm only trying to look out for you," Anna said, taken aback. "I'm just saying, it's not like you have any experience with how totally vile men can be regardless of their charming smiles and handsome, reliable appearances." She wrinkled her brow in realisation. "Actually, you haven't even met any handsome men apart from him and Kristoff, have you?"
Elsa cocked her eyebrow at her, irritated and uncomfortable.
"Are you insinuating I'm so daft I'd go and fall head over heels for the first strapping man I see, the instant there's a bit of flirtation? Despite knowing he's a murderous traitor?"
"Well, no, but I'm sure meeting some new people would do you good," Anna said innocently. "Widen your perspectives a bit, to see he's not the only gorgeous dreamboat in the world."

Anna lifted another piece of cake into her mouth. "You know, he doesn't seem all that fantastic once you meet a man of real quality. I understood that once I'd met Kristoff," she said through the cake. "In fact, I'm sure that if you'd make the slightest effort to meet someone new, you'd instantly find a much more suitable man," she grinned at her mischievously.
Elsa pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Anna, please. I am not romantically interested in Prince Hans," she lied with conviction. "I'll admit I find him very handsome," Anna's brow shot up, and Elsa tried to backtrack clumsily, "but I'm not keeping him around because I think he's extremely attractive and charming, or anything like that, I have other things on my mind. It's because he really is good with politics, truly."
"I'm sure the world is full of men who are downright fantastic with politics, and also have the added benefit of not having tried to kill us," Anna remarked dryly. "I really, really think you should start looking for a different steward."
"I don't want a different steward. It takes time to get used to someone and build up the trust, especially with my powers-"
"Trust?" Anna's voice was alarmed.
"No, no, not that kind of trust," Elsa hastened to cover her blunder. "I meant a kind of ease, uh, strictly professional – the accustomed familiarity which improves the efficiency of the workflow." She could feel the smile she forced out falter on her lips.

Anna was sitting up straighter now, arms crossed, scrutinising her with narrowed eyes. Elsa had to focus to calmly look her in the eye. She felt her nervousness nearly condense into snowflakes in the air, and struggled to keep herself calm. She tried to hide her nerves by taking another sip of the coffee. An ornate clock ticked loudly on the wall.

"Promise me," Anna said slowly after a while of heavy, thick silence, "super sister promise me that you won't marry him."
"What?" Elsa sputtered into the coffee-cup, so shocked a burst of light snowflakes appeared around her, glistening beautifully as they merrily twirled in the air around them. "I'm not, Anna, of course I'm not going to marry him, good lord. Don't be absurd," she stammered, a blush creeping up her neck. Anna kept peering at her.
"I mean it. No matter what happens, no matter how he'll act or what he'll say, promise me you won't marry him, or in any other way place him in a position where he'd be somehow eligible for the throne should we die," she said, seriously.
"Oh, that's what this is about," Elsa sighed, trying to chuckle. "Anna, I told you many times, I have him under control. We have a deal."

"Deals can be broken," Anna said, her jaw tight. "Being in a position of authority like a steward is already bad enough, people might get used to him being in power. Especially since you have no official suitors, he's the only suitable bachelor around, you're both unattached and alone together every day - there will be rumours." Elsa startled at that.
"And what if," Anna continued, getting carried away, "after months or years of impeccable behaviour and subtle flirting over budget and foreign policy, one day he'll quip about how even the depth of the Arenfjord pales in comparison to the depth of his feelings for you, or how even the combined value of Arendelle's gross national product is nothing compared to the value appraisal he places on your presence, and it'll be the most romantic thing you ever heard because your experiences are so woefully limited, and you'll imagine yourself in love," she said, desperately. "What then?"
She shot Elsa a dramatic look.
"Then there will be accidents," she hissed, "and he'll be the only one left".

Elsa groaned audibly.
"Oh, for the love of God," she sighed. "Prince Hans won't be in a position to rule over Arendelle ever again, Anna, I promise you that. If it worries you so much, we can have it enacted into a law. How about that? You could have an engraved bronze plaque in the throne-room," Elsa drew a rectangle into the air with her fingers, "It is hereby decreed that Prince Hans Christian Frederik Gustav of house Westergård-Aldenburg-Halsten-Lyksborg of the Southern Isles shall never again be appointed the ruler of Arendelle in any capacity, regardless of the circumstances."
She gave Anna a conciliatory grin. "Would that ease your mind?"
Anna gazed at her with a queer kind of incredulous suspicion before opening her mouth.

"How," she asked slowly, "do you know his full name?"
"It came up when we made the agreement," Elsa said. Judging from the way her face tingled, the blush had definitely become visible now. "Naturally I remember the names of the people I work with," she muttered with false nonchalance, dearly hoping Anna wouldn't test her and ask for anybody else's name. Anna kept gazing at her for a heartbeat longer, biting her lip, until she rolled her eyes with a huff and picked the cake up again.
"The plaque and the decree in it would make me feel better, thank you," she said with a smile and cheer. "For the time being."

Elsa decided to cut her losses and only smiled back in return.

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–

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*aln (or cubit in English) was an old measurement of length, essentially based on the length of a man's forearm – a generous half-metre. The exact length varied in different countries and cultures, but in Sweden during the 1840s it was 59.38 cm as decreed by king Carl IX in 1605, so in this fic it's around 60 cm for Arendelle.

Lena sold Elsa around 12 metres of fabric, which is a lot, but on the other hand full ballgowns do indeed need a lot. She's a crafty tradeswoman, but she doesn't fleece her family's customers.

** the real-life money systems were changing around A LOT at that time, and after some research I gave up and made up a new system for Arendelle in this fic. It's sort of loosely grounded in history but absolutely not accurate in any way.

The money goes something like:

1 speciedaler = 2,5 daler

1 daler = 48 skillings

I found one online discussion giving example wages for different professions for Norway in the mid 1800s, ranging from 1039 speciedaler / year for a Deputy undersecretary of State to 176 spd/yr for an artisan craftsman, to 77 spd/yr for a lumberjack and 36 spd/yr for a farmer. I'm using them as guidelines for wages in my ficverse.

*** kanelbolle is a type of cinnamon roll.