They gathered in the king's study. It seemed the best place for a secret conference, having played host to them often enough. The rest of the palace staff would think twice before disturbing them once the door had been drawn shut. Here they would be able to discuss such matters as concerned them all, and with a reasonable expectation of privacy.

Presuming, of course, that one of them could indeed find the courage to actually give voice to any of those concerns.

Idun and Gerda sat in adjacent chairs. The hands that lay upon abutting armrests were intertwined for mutual support, but that seemed to be the only communication they could manage at the moment. After all their years of friendship, they had suddenly discovered that they were far more deeply connected than either could possibly have imagined. Words now seemed woefully inadequate.

Agdar sat behind his heavy wooden desk, leaning forward with his elbows resting atop the hard surface. One hand was wrapped around the other, and together they hid the lower portion of his face. He spent half the time staring at a spot on the rug roughly in the middle of the room, and the other half closing his eyes completely as if trying to shut out the newly discovered reality of their situation.

Kai had claimed a chair for himself as well, but it was only sporadically occupied. Instead, he mostly paced back and forth across the far end of the study. After a few minutes of this, he would begin to feel self-conscious enough that he would try to take a seat and join the rest of the group. Almost immediately, however, his knee would begin to bounce restlessly up and down, and soon he would be up on his feet again.

Having completed yet another round of this nervous behavior, the steward returned to his seat. Then he cleared his throat, leaned forward, and spoke into the heavy stillness.

"I think Princess Elsa deserves to know."

All eyes turned to look at him then, but when he received neither support for nor arguments against his position, he felt compelled to elaborate further.

"Put yourself in her shoes. Wouldn't you want to understand? Wouldn't you want to know? You say she blames herself for hurting her sister, and that's hardly surprising. But might the guilt not be lessened if she knew that this curse should not be a part of her? That it was something forced upon her by that… that witch?"

"How would that make anything better?" Gerda asked. "It's a part of her now. Just because we know where it came from doesn't mean we can change anything. Even if we could find the Snow Queen, I somehow doubt that she would be terribly obliging if we asked her to undo whatever it was she did."

"Yes, but how many times in her life do you think Elsa has asked herself, 'Why me? Why do I have these powers? Why am I so different from everyone else?' Well, we can finally give her some answers. Not all of them, of course; we still don't know why this was done to her. But she has a right to know what made her this way."

"Do you honestly think she would be less frightened if she knew that some mysterious woman had accosted her mother, forced this magic into her womb, and then erased all memory of it ever happening? It scared me half to death when I heard it. I can't even imagine what it would do to poor Elsa."

"She already thinks of herself as a monster." Idun spoke quietly, addressing no one person in particular. "We've been trying to make her see that she isn't. Agdar especially. But if she found out that she became this way because of… because of a monster like that..."

"She needs to know!" Kai insisted. "Look at how long the Snow Queen waited before she came back and visited you a second time, Your Majesty. You yourself said that she bragged about her patience and this… this plan of hers. How do we know that she won't come back again to check on its progress? It could happen at any time. For that reason alone, the princess needs to know. She needs to be prepared."

"What good would that do?" Gerda asked scornfully, clearly unimpressed with this line of reasoning. "You're talking about a woman who can turn spring into winter, who made you forget your entire life with only a few kisses. I'm not sure the entire Palace Guard would be enough to stop her if she wanted to get into this castle. What would poor Elsa be able to do?"

"I don't know!" Kai threw up his hands before springing to his feet and beginning to pace once more. "But I simply refuse to believe that keeping this a secret from her can possibly be a good thing. None of us can really know what she's going through. Maybe if she knew the truth, it might help her in some way that we four can't possibly guess."

He stopped and turned, his quick glance taking in both the king and queen. "After all, how much sooner might we have made this connection if only everything hadn't been kept such a closely guarded secret?"

"Kai!" Gerda admonished him. "That's not fair. I was as frustrated as you were, but now we know their reasons. They were only trying to protect everyone, especially Anna." Suddenly, the woman's usually rosy cheeks went pale. "Oh my goodness! Kai… We promised Anna."

The steward grimaced at this reminder, but the queen merely looked between the two of them in confusion. "What? What did you promise her?"

It was a shame-faced Gerda who replied. "We… we've been trying to unravel all these mysteries ourselves for years now, as I suspect you've probably noticed. Well, Anna found out, and she insisted on joining us. We were reluctant to let her at first, but in the end, we agreed that she had as much right to the answers as anyone, and more than most. So we swore that… We swore..."

"We swore that there would be no secrets between us," Kai finished when Gerda could not.

Idun's eyes grew wide with panic and fear. "You can't tell her. You mustn't. If she were to find out, if she learns about Elsa's magic, then..."

"We won't," Gerda assured her, though she looked physically ill as she said the words. "I've never before broken such a promise to a friend, but I've made promises to you as well. I vowed that I would look after your girls and protect them from harm as best as I can. So now, though it will surely leave me feeling like a heel every time I see her, you have my word that she will not hear any of this from me."

"From either of us," Kai affirmed. "But I still think Elsa ought to be told."

The queen looked back and forth between the two friends, as though hoping to see in one of their faces some clue that might help to make the correct decision clear. The same debate had been raging within her ever since her head had cleared enough from the shocking revelation to be able to think sensibly about anything. Unfortunately, it had played out in much the same way. For every argument, there was a counter. For every reason to tell her eldest daughter, there was another just as compelling reason not to.

And it would be so easy not to, so much more comfortable to just maintain the status quo. Her very being had been shaken to its roots, and in such a short period of time, too. She recognized inside herself a terrible need for some stability, a solid anchor or two that would not change even amid all this turmoil. In the past, that had always been her family, which included Gerda as far as she was concerned. Now, even Gerda's role in her life had suddenly (if subtly) changed. Yet her daughters still remained blissfully unaware, and she found herself treasuring that steady innocence.

Which was all the more reason she didn't trust her own judgment in the matter. Not all easy choices were wrong ones, but history recorded far too many tragic mistakes that had been made only because they seemed like the simplest things at the time. Whatever she decided, she needed a better reason than that.

"What do you think, Agdar?" she asked, turning to look at her husband.

She might as well have asked the desk, for all the response she received.

"Agdar? Agdar!"

At last, the king moved, but he did not jump or start as she might have expected him to. Instead, he slowly unfolded his hands and, momentarily disappearing behind them, rubbed wearily at his face. When he lowered them again, his elbows did not return to the table. Instead, his hands dropped lifelessly into his lap. His eyes did not meet hers, but instead continued to stare at nothing in particular. His face, she thought, looked positively ashen. She suspected that she looked no better.

"Do you remember," he said in an oddly disconnected voice, "the final days of my father's reign?"

Idun blinked in surprise at the apparent non sequitur. "I… Well yes, I suppose I..." She stumbled to a halt when she realized that Agdar's eyes had finally drawn their focus back inside the room. More to the point, they were not looking at her. They were fixed, of all places, upon Kai.

The steward nodded. "I do, Your Majesty."

"All of it? You were there in the room, weren't you?"

"I was."

The queen turned to Gerda, wanting to see whether she had also been thrown by this abrupt turn in the conversation. Instead, she saw her friend scrutinizing Kai's face with a fierce shrewdness. She returned her attention to the two men, only to find them continuing to exchange a look whose meaning was wholly lost on her.

"Agdar, what is this all about? What does that have to do with anything?"

The king's leaden gaze finally turned upon his wife. She watched him visibly struggle with himself until he finally managed to piece together enough words to answer her questions. "I once told you that I felt like there was a curse upon my family, one that I had unwittingly brought upon you and the girls. You refused to believe it."

Idun shuddered. "I suppose we were both right. There was a curse, but it was never yours, was it?" Somehow managing the impossible feat of feeling even more miserable than she had up until that point, she lowered her head and spoke to the floor in a hushed voice. "It was mine."

She felt Gerda's fingers tighten around her own in an attempt at providing some small comfort, but she lacked the energy to squeeze back. That was why it took only the slightest pressure of a finger to lift her chin upwards, so that she once again found herself looking her husband straight in the eye. There, she saw every iota of her own fear mirrored back at her… and something more.

"Don't be so sure," he said.

• • •

"This must not be allowed to continue. We cannot sit idly by while Arendelle is dragged into a senseless war."

"We have hardly been idle, but there is only so much that we can do."

"Then we need to do more!"

"What? Tell me, what exactly would you propose? The ranks of both the navy and the infantry have been steadily swelling. Between the latest conscription that's just been ordered and the offers made of reduced sentences to those serving time at hard labor, nearly every ship in the fleet will be filled to capacity."

"Filled, yes, but not with soldiers. We're being given no time to train such raw recruits. We'll barely have time enough to equip them. Most of them will have never wielded anything more dangerous than a chopping axe or a pitchfork their entire lives. These won't be fighting men. They're fodder for a slaughter."

"We don't know that for certain."

"We know nothing, because that is precisely what we have been told! Secret orders, hidden plans. Only one man truly knows what this is all about, and he grows more paranoid and uncommunicative with every passing day. Unless we do something and do it soon, he will surely lead this kingdom to utter ruin."

"Watch yourself. Even here, you ought to be more careful how you speak of the king."

"The king is mad."

All around the dimly lit table, bodies shifted uncomfortably at this brazen declaration. Few present would disagree with the assessment at this point, but it was still discomfiting to hear it stated so matter-of-factly.

"You still have not answered my question. What would you have us do? However… unorthodox his behavior may have been of late, the fact remains that he is still the king, and his word is law."

"We have skirted both word and law in the past. How many times have we quietly interceded to repair the damage done by yet another failed negotiation? How much of our personal fortunes have we spent to ensure that trade continues to flow and that our people do not go without? How can we possibly step aside now and allow this to happen?"

"We were able to do those other things because they could be managed quietly, discreetly. Much can be accomplished behind closed doors where even the king cannot see. But unless you have a brilliant plan that has completely escaped the rest of us, I fail to see how we can stop this without a blatant and brazen act of defiance."

"Surely, none of us here is suggesting any such thing. That would be treason! Even you would agree that is a step too far, would you not, Oppegard?"

All eyes turned to the gray-haired man who had been arguing most strongly for action. In return, his steely gaze swept back across every face there gathered, stopping briefly at each one to make sure that the depth of his conviction was made perfectly clear.

"If that is what's necessary."

A fist slammed down onto the table. "And you call the king mad? We might as well sign our own death warrants and be done with it. It would save considerable time."

"Perhaps, but it would not save the lives of those young men who will soon be sent off to die in a hopeless fight against an unknown foe. It would not save families the pain of hearing that they will never see their husbands, their fathers and sons again. It would not save the soul of this kingdom."

"You have so far failed to present us with a plan that would do any of those things either, I might note."

"I thought that was why we had called this meeting: to try to find a solution and to do so quickly. We have already allowed ourselves to put this off for far too long, worrying at the problem like some enfeebled old woman who just realized she dropped a stitch in her knitting. These endless debates cannot be allowed to continue. We must either choose to act or else declare ourselves complicit in the tragedy that we have all agreed is about to unfold."

"Well, there is no talking reason with the king, that much is certain. These days, there's hardly any talking with him at all. He says just enough to deliver his orders, then he slams the door. And he refuses to see anyone he himself has not summoned."

"It seems to me that we can do nothing unless we know where the military stands on all this. If they support the king and his actions, then our options may be so limited as to not even exist."

"Rest assured, we do not. Even the most belligerent among the senior officers do not appreciate the way we are being kept in the dark regarding these matters. No good commander will lead his troops into a battle he does not believe he has at least a chance of winning. As it stands, we have no way of knowing. We can make no plans, no strategies. There are few ways more certain to antagonize military minds than that."

"All the same, I pray we are not actually considering a military coup d'état. Oppegard speaks of saving this kingdom's soul, but it seems to me that such a thing would crush it every bit as completely."

Oppegard nodded. "On that, we agree. Such a course would indeed be folly. I think it is enough to know that, whatever action we may take, we at least will not have Arendelle's soldiery arrayed against us from the outset."

"So neither reasoned negotiation nor an overthrow by force are viable options. What does that leave us?"

Every man sought for answers upon the faces of his fellows. Inwardly, each turned their own considerable knowledge and experience toward devising a workable solution. Even so, a full minute passed in stymied silence before a gruff voice made itself heard from the corner of the room.

"The king could abdicate the throne."

Bitter chuckles rose from the group at the jest, and many heads turned to acknowledge the speaker's wit. Their smiles faded quickly when they took in the grim stoicism upon the man's face.

"You can't be serious!"

"Abdicate? What on earth could possibly cause the king to renounce the throne?"

"We can't even talk him down from this current course of insanity. What makes you think we could possibly convince him to do something as radical as that?"

"I didn't say it would be easy," said the man from his seat near the wall. "Nor did I say it could be accomplished by talk alone. I merely offer it as an alternative since no one else here seems to have one. And because I didn't think you would be particularly receptive to the idea of assassination."

It took a considerable amount of time for the scoffs of indignation at that second suggestion to die down enough that normal conversation could resume.

"Wexel, there isn't a man here who doesn't hold you in high esteem for your particular skills, and I'm fairly certain none of us would be terribly eager to challenge you to a sword fight. Conversely, however, when it comes to the art of political maneuvering, perhaps you ought leave such matters to those with more experience in that particular arena."

"Who invited him here anyway?" one voice grumbled, apparently at a slightly louder volume than its owner had intended. It was loud enough to draw a response, at any rate.

"I did."

"Forgive me, Your Highness," the careless speaker replied contritely. "I meant no disrespect."

Prince Agdar nodded his acceptance of the apology. All space around the table had already been claimed by the time he had arrived, and though more than one man had offered to vacate his seat to the prince, he had politely declined. Instead, he also sat against the wall, his chair right next to Wexel's.

Honestly, he preferred it this way. Having known the subject of this meeting in advance, he had come fully expecting a lengthy and tedious discourse to play out between the various parties involved, and they had not disappointed him in the slightest. He did not particularly relish the idea of finding himself in the middle of such a debate, so he was more than happy to sit on the periphery and simply let it unfold. Once they had all managed to exhaust themselves by repeating the same arguments they'd already made countless times before, then there would be time enough for him to play his part.

It looked now as if that time was nearly upon them. At least, had it not already been so, Wexel appeared to be determined to usher it in quickly at this point. His much more limited supply of patience for such lengthy deliberations was clearly almost spent.

"Besides, you shouldn't be blaming me for the idea," the master swordsman grumped. "It was Oppegard's in the first place."

A new chorus of vocal displeasure made its way around the table, its focal point coming to rest on the man who had already been commanding a significant portion of the attention so far. Raising a hand, he spoke in a subdued voice, which had the desired effect of causing all other speakers to fall silent in order to hear his explanation.

"This was not the way I had hoped to introduce the idea, but I will not deny it. Wexel speaks the truth… though that bit about assassination was entirely his own invention."

Agdar glanced sideways at his mentor, who was sitting with his arms crossed and scowling at the rest of the room. Though the swordsman could be deathly subtle with a blade, his words tended to have more in common with the blunt intent of a falling anvil. That was largely why the prince had asked him to come along to this covert assembly. He'd had the feeling that Wexel's ability to state simply and with perfect candor the hard truths that everyone else avoided might well be needed to break though the inevitable dithering. And he had been right.

Like Oppegard, though, he wouldn't have minded if the subject could have been delayed a little longer. It seemed inevitable by now that, in the end, it would have to come down to this. Still, despite resigning himself to it, Agdar nonetheless dreaded having to hear it confirmed as their agreed upon course of action.

This time, the room was filled with whispers, mutterings, and the general sounds of quiet confusion until one of the men nearest to Oppegard looked straight at him and asked, "So your idea… is for the king to simply step down?"

"I don't foresee there being much simple about it, but yes. That is the best – indeed, the only – idea I've been able to come up with. When a king is no longer fit to rule, either physically or mentally, then it is his duty to cede the throne to his heir."

"I suspect we shall find that you and King Ragnarr have very different definitions of both fitness and duty," scoffed another. "As such, I feel that I need to ask again: what would possibly possess King Ragnarr to do such a thing?"

"I will," said Agdar.

This announcement took the room so completely by surprise that it was not enough for the men seated immediately in front of him to simply turn and look over their shoulders at him. Chair legs scraped across the floor as they pushed back from the table and stared at him in disbelief.

"I do happen to share Oppegard's feelings regarding fitness and duty, and as heir to the crown, the responsibility must fall to me to see to it that Arendelle is kept safe from all threats, even those that may sit upon its throne. That is why for years now, I have done all that I could to aide you in mitigating the damage that my father's volatile temper would otherwise have wrought. But it is only recently that another option has finally become available to us."

The prince wanted to close his eyes, pause for a deep breath, physically steel himself for the next words that he had to say. Unfortunately, he could afford to do none of those things. Now, as never before in his life, he needed to appear strong. He needed to be strong. So instead, he took a cue from Oppegard and bought himself a precious few seconds by meeting the eyes of every man whose face was turned in his direction.

"I am now twenty-one," he said at last, "and by the laws and traditions that govern this kingdom, that means that I am now of age to be able to take up the orb and scepter and rule as your king. No regent will be required, so no one but myself will need to step up and confront my father.

"In fact, I would ask that none of you put yourselves forward in support of my bid. Denounce it even, if you must, so long as you do not hinder it. Should it fail, I will doubtless be executed for high treason. In that event, Arendelle will be in greater need than ever of good men to look after her. That means it is of vital importance that this conspiracy remain secret and safe, for the good of all."

"Prince Agdar, you… you cannot be serious! The kingdom needs you. You are the one who must be kept safe, far more than any of us. Without an heir..."

"What good is a far future heir to people who will soon be suffering in the here and now? If I do nothing, if I allow my father's madness to go unchecked, then every death it brings will be tallied amongst my sins as well. Every hour of suffering it causes will weigh upon my conscience, even if his remains unbothered. I will not wait until all the damage has already been done. I will not dedicate my entire reign to rebuilding from the ashes he would leave behind, not if I can quench the fire today before it even has a chance to catch."

"Even so, Your Highness, I fail to see how you have any more hope of getting your father to step down than the rest of us assembled here might. It is hardly a secret that the two of you have a… a rocky relationship at best. Forgive me for saying so, but it seems highly unlikely that he will follow any council you might try to offer."

A small twist of the lips flickered upon the prince's face. It was nowhere near enough to be called a smile or even a smirk, especially considering the sadness that its brief appearance managed to convey. The heavy emotions behind it showed through all the clearer in his voice when he spoke again.

"Even a blind man will go where he must when all other avenues are closed to him."

• • •

The door to Ragnarr's chambers burst open with such ferocity that the hinges strained as the door was slammed to the furthest limits of its arc. Storming out into the corridor, the king looked up and down its length in search of someone upon whom he might take out his wrath. That the passage was completely empty only made him all the more incensed.

His already wild eyes flashed with a furious fire. He had ordered that two of his senior advisors were to attend him. They should have been at his door an hour ago. Now there was not even a messenger available to deliver his anger, along with a demand for their immediate presence. He seethed. He was surrounded by incompetence and stupidity. Once this current crisis had been properly handled, some corrections would clearly need to be made among the palace staff. He would take great pleasure in seeing to those personally.

Right now, though, it appeared that there were other issues of a more mundane and irritating nature that he would first need to handle himself. He stalked off down the hallway, determined to set an example of what happened to people who disappointed him. Whether the subjects of this object lesson would be his errant advisors or some other hapless servant was largely immaterial to him. The proper exercise of power required those who did not have it to respect those who did. By demonstrating to all how forcefully and decisively he wielded his authority, any burgeoning disrespect would soon come to an exceptionally swift end.

Any yet, as he stomped through the palace, he encountered no one – not a single soul to act as a recipient for his rage, nor any to act as a witness and carry the message on to others. He did not come across so much as a maid dusting the woodwork or an errand boy speeding through the halls. It was as though the castle had suddenly and inexplicably been deserted. The oddness of this managed to penetrate even through Ragnarr's anger so that, when he reached the entrance hall, he came to a halt and simply stood there. Vexation remained clearly visible on his face, but it was now playing second fiddle to plain and honest perplexity.

Only then, with the noise of his heavy footfalls finally stilled, was he at last able to make out the faintest of murmurs, barely audible even in the silence of the unnaturally empty palace. He began to follow it, though this required him to stop after every few strides – the thumping of his boots provided more than enough noise to drown out the faint sounds. Eventually, though, he was standing outside the door to the Grand Ballroom, certain that the quiet drone was coming from within.

His scowl returning, he grasped the knobs on each of the double doors, swallowing them within his massive fingers. Twisting them mercilessly, he jerked both doors open in a single, violent movement.

Scattered along the walls of the huge room stood the two men he had been looking for, but they were hardly alone. Among the faces that turned his way, Ragnarr recognized each and every one of his counselors, generals and admirals of the Arendelle armed forces, and what looked to be nearly the entire complement of the Palace Guard. These last had been standing at ease, but they snapped to attention upon his entrance. Bows and quiet utterances of, "Your Majesty," served for all the rest.

All save one.

Agdar looked at him across the length of the room. He stood upon the raised dais at the far end, beside the throne rather than seated upon it. One hand rested atop its tall back, however, and it did not move as its owner held the king's eyes.

"Father," he said without preamble, "the time has come when something must change."

A sneer curled Ragnarr's lip. "Is that so? And what, might I ask, would that something be?"

The prince shrugged. "I will leave that up to you, but know that things cannot remain as they are right now. Your recent behavior has finally driven me to intercede on behalf of the kingdom and its people.

"For months now, you have been steadily positioning Arendelle for what can only be a war, yet you will tell no one the identity of our impending enemy. You have been terrorizing all in the castle even more than usual, yet you will explain to no one the reasons for the anger that has caused you to move us into such an aggressive posture. You demand answers from advisors while keeping their hands tied and their eyes blindfolded. You are putting the security and stability of the entire kingdom in jeopardy, yet no one save you knows why.

"This must end."

"I am the king!" Ragnarr roared, his booming voice filling every corner of the hall. "I do not have to explain myself to you. I do not have to explain myself to anyone!"

Agdar's voice, in stark comparison, remained calm and completely unruffled. "You do when your actions have become more those of a madman than a monarch.

"This would not be the first time Arendelle has known war, and I would dare to speak for all here when I say that each and every one of us would be willing to sacrifice ourselves for the good of its people. What we will not do, however, is throw our lives away without good reason, nor the lives of those we have sworn oaths to protect.

"If such a reason exists, then you need only tell us, Father. Explain the danger, that we might finally know what we are up against. Make us understand this grave threat that looms over us all. Assure us that every life lost in the battle to come will buy the freedom of hundreds more whom they shall leave behind."

The sneer upon the king's face grew into a look of far deeper revulsion. "It's always words with you, isn't it? Such fine and noble words they are, too. If only the rest of the world prized them as highly as you do, we would be a far wealthier kingdom than we are. But they do not. They only value power and money, and if you have enough of one, you can get the other. If there's anything I know, it's that talk will get you nothing."

"Then you are a fool."

A muttering buzz spread around the room at the prince's brash statement, but he did not let it distract him from this contest of wills. "Words are power. Without words, we would each of us know nothing. They are how we teach and how we learn. They can be the key to building alliances or breaking them. They form half of the foundations of trust, which is born from the making of promises and the keeping of them. From honesty and trust comes loyalty, and there are few qualities more important in a leader than the ability to inspire allegiance in those he asks to follow him.

"Perhaps it is your distaste for words that has left you so bereft of loyalty, both given and received."

"The people follow me!"

"They follow you because they fear you, not because they believe in you. Fear is easy to cultivate, which is why it is such a dangerous tool to rule by. All it takes is for the people to find something else that they fear more. Once that happens, you will soon enough turn around to discover that the only ones still behind you are your enemies with their knives."

"Is that what you are then? A traitor come to stab me in the back?"

Agdar held both of his arms out to the sides. "Hardly. I stand before you, face to face, to tell you the truths you need to hear if only you are willing to listen. You must choose the change that will be made here today. You can explain yourself and your reasons for this mysterious marshaling of our forces. Convince us that your actions are justified, and you will have the full support of Arendelle behind you.

"Or you can put an end to the mobilization. Stand down and let things return to the way they were. Keep your secrets if you must, but do not spend the lives of our people for a cause you cannot be bothered to make them understand."

"And if neither of those choices suit me?"

"Then you will relinquish the throne. You will be allowed to retire peacefully, to go about your life as you see fit. If you can find men willing to follow you into battle against an unknown enemy, no one will stop you. But should you make any attempt to reclaim the crown, to sow dissent or to incite trouble of any kind, then the justice levied upon you will be swift and decisive."

Father and son stared fixedly at each other across the length of the hall. Then suddenly, Ragnarr began to laugh.

"You call me a fool? Why should I take any of your ridiculous choices when another far simpler solution is available to me? Guards! Seize the prince and lock him in the dungeon. There, he will await trial for his crime of treason against the throne." A wicked grin spread across Ragnarr's face as he glared at his son. "I would expect to a very long wait, if I were you."

"No!" Agdar cried out, raising his voice for the first time. He thrust a hand out toward the members of the Palace Guard who stood nearest to him, as though to stay their movements.

The shout was not one of fear, however. Rather, it was one of command. He was not terribly concerned with the possibility of his own arrest. Indeed, his outburst and broad gesture had been entirely meant to distract the king from the fact that not a single member of the Guard had moved in response to his order.

The final outcome of this confrontation was still far from decided, and there were as yet no guarantees that it would end in his favor. If it did not, then he wanted no others to suffer unduly as a result of his own personal hubris. He had made too many friends among the Guardsmen during his time training with them. To ensure their safety, he would do whatever he could to keep them out of this.

"No," he repeated. "If you will not be made to see sense, if you will reject every one of the perfectly reasonable choices I have presented to you, then it appears I am left with no further choices of my own. If treason is to be my crime, then I wish to earn it.

"I challenge you for the right to rule Arendelle."

The ballroom seemed to explode as the raised voices of nearly every individual around the perimeter suddenly collided in a tumultuous roar. It was impossible for Agdar to make the slightest sense out of the cacophony, so he did not even try. Instead, he simply continued to stare at his father while he waited several long minutes for the noise to finally subside. During that time, he was relieved to see that no one was foolish enough to run out onto the parqueted floor in an attempt to intervene. Or at least if anyone might have been so inclined, they had been wisely restrained by their more level-headed neighbors.

Ragnarr also waited until the noise had finally dropped to the level of mere whispers. This made it all the more impressive when he stretched his huge hands out before him and cracked the knuckles. In the near silence, the sound was like gunfire, his smile like a rabid dog's.

"I accept your challenge. Name the weapon."

The sound of steel sliding free from its sheath rang out. The king's grin grew even more feral.

"Someone fetch me my sword."

There was no need for the two combatants to wait, however. Agdar had considered it a near certainty that it would come to this, which was why he had concealed his own saber behind the throne. The fact that he had not simply worn his sword belt from the outset was the only true concession he had made to the hope that his father might be made to see reason.

It had been an incredibly slim hope, of course. That was the reason why a member of the Guard was already walking across the floor toward the king, scabbard held out in front of him. Agdar had seen to it that his father's blade would be on hand and ready for this moment. He'd even approached Wexel to ask him to perform this delivery when the time came. It had come as something of a surprise when the veteran swordsman had refused. He had declared that, after seeing the depravity the king had inflicted upon his own son down in the dungeons, he could no longer trust himself to come that close to Ragnarr while holding a weapon of any sort in his hands.

So it was that Fritz was now extending the sword, hilt first, toward the towering figure of the king. The brave soldier had immediately volunteered for the task upon Wexel's refusal, and Agdar had been extremely grateful for the gesture. He'd grown fond of Fritz during the time they'd trained together; he was probably the closest thing to a friend his own age that the prince had. The man's gesture of fealty to the old king ought to secure his safety should this gamble fail, even if it was in truth an act of loyalty to the treacherous son.

The metallic rasp as Ragnarr drew his sword put an end to the very last of the spectators' murmurs. Once the lone Guardsman completed his retreat, all else became ominously still – except for the prince, who stepped down and slowly advanced toward his father.

There was no ceremony, no formal salute or other such customary rituals. There was only the flash of razor-sharp steel as Ragnarr threw himself into the attack.

Agdar parried the flurry of blows. To say he did so easily would have been a discredit to his father's own considerable skill with a blade, but he nevertheless managed to block every slash, deflect every thrust, all without leaving himself exposed to the next attack. Still, for the duration of that first engagement, he was unable to press any attack of his own. The king's advantage in strength made it difficult for Agdar to properly turn aside the blows in order to create openings, even when his counter-strikes landed perfectly. It was all he could do to maintain his own defenses until an opportunity presented itself. Then, with a lunge and a hop, he managed to skip behind the king's back.

Taking advantage of the temporary opening, the prince spun on one foot, whipping his saber around in a sweeping arc as he reoriented to again face his father. Ragnarr's sword was there to meet his own, but Agdar's quick footwork had at least shifted the momentum in his favor. Now it was his turn to go on the offensive, pressing his opponent with a series of feints, cuts, and stabs. The king blocked them as ably as had his son, but Agdar refused to stay still. With each attack, he closed in, determined not to allow Ragnarr to take advantage of his longer reach.

This is not fencing, he told himself. Wexel did not teach fencing. He taught soldiers. He taught them how to fight, how to wound… and how to kill.

Agdar continued to press. He could not afford to be put on the defensive again. As illogical as it seemed, blocking could be deadly. Real bladed combat was not the elegant dance that it was so often romanticized to be. It was swift, savage, and brutal. Every move needed to be aggressive. Blocking a blow was not enough. One needed to take control of the opponent's weapon, displace it in order to expose an avenue for a counterattack. Ordinarily, he would have felt no compunction about getting in close and physically grappling for such control, but he knew that he would be hard pressed to win such a contest with a man as powerful as his father.

As the conversation of their blades dragged on, as the two combatants advanced, side-stepped, retreated, Agdar began to realize that if he had any hope of winning this battle, he would need to do so quickly and decisively. He was able and fit, but his father's superior strength meant that he was having to work twice as hard just to remain on a level with his opponent. He would not be able to sustain such an effort indefinitely. Nor could he win through sheer skill alone. In order to have any chance at victory, he would have to be audacious. He would need to take a risk – the right risk, but it would still be all too easy for it to backfire and cost him everything. If he continued as he was now, however, defeat was all but certain anyway.

That was why, the next time Ragnarr gave back a step, Agdar did not immediately drive forward into the gap. Instead, he quickly shifted his weight onto his back leg. Sliding his leading foot forward and extending his right arm to its fullest reach before him, he pushed off and lunged at his father.

His thrust flew wide of its mark.

"You always leave yourself open after a lunge," the bigger man jeered. With that, he whipped his blade up, stepping into an attack meant to sever his son's arm entirely from his body. It probably would have succeeded too… had Agdar's arm still been there.

For the prince had retreated a mere half step, pulling both his leading foot and arm backward. But as his right hand had withdrawn, he had brought up his left instead, and as they passed each other, the sword passed as well.

The king's sweep connected with nothing, but the prince's slashed wickedly across the back of his father's hand. There followed a bellow of agony. Fingers spasmed, and the sword fell to the ground with a clatter. Ragnarr dropped to his knees, scrambling to reclaim his weapon, but one solid kick from Agdar sent it spinning wildly off across the ballroom floor.

Ragnarr looked up along the length of the blade whose tip now hovered menacingly before his face. He sneered. "I would tell you to finish it, but I know exactly the sort of coward that you are. You won't kill me. That wouldn't be noble or just or any of those other ridiculous notions you seem to value so much. You are weak, and nothing will ever change that.

"You will let me live, and when you do, I will make you regret your arrogance. You are but one man, a princeling with ideas well beyond his station. But I? I am a king and the rightful ruler of Arendelle!"

"You are no longer Arendelle's king," Agdar stated calmly. "You are now what you always have been: a cruel and vindictive man who deludes himself into believing that he understands the nature of power. And yet here, after all is said and done, you will come to find that you have none."

Ragnarr's speech became the snarl of a cornered predator. "I have power enough. I will take back this kingdom before the crown even has a chance to get comfortable upon your head. Then I will teach you some respect. I will show you the meaning of suffering. My loyal supporters will rally to me, and then… then you will see!"

The expansive hall echoed with the sounds of laughter.

This time, it was not Ragnarr's.

"Loyal supporters?" Agdar guffawed. "You are twice the fool I took you to be. Who do you imagine these supporters to be, hmm? Have you not listened to what I have been telling you? You have none! And of loyalty, you have even less.

"The only men who would willingly follow one such as you are those who would seek to advance their fortunes by carving off their own little slice of your tyranny. You have systematically removed all such men from power for fear of the threat they might present to your own. You can try courting them again, if you like, but I think you will discover that they only cared about flattering you when they thought you had something to give them in return. Now that you no longer have the power of the crown with which to barter, I suspect they will find you... considerably less interesting."

Despite himself, Ragnarr glanced quickly around the room at the faces that surrounded them. He identified every high ranking military officer, every member of his senior staff and even several of the more junior ones. As far as he could tell, none of importance were missing, and yet not one appeared even the slightest bit sympathetic to his plight. None stepped forward in support of their king.

His eyes returned to the man who stood over him. "You are a thorough traitor, I will grant you that. You have turned them all against me."

"You did that yourself, Father."

"I am not your father," Ragnarr spat. "I have no son, no heir. You are nothing! From the moment you were born, you have been nothing, except a plague upon this house. I refuse to recognize any legitimacy behind your claim to the throne.

"Even if the faithless have deserted me for the moment, in time, you will make enemies. I will be there watching, and I will draw them together, unite them against you. Powerful alliances have been made from far less. Then, when the time is right, I will see you brought low. And on that day, I assure you… I will not be such a foolish coward as you have been."

Agdar stepped back, withdrawing the point of his sword from his father's throat. The deposed ruler began to rise, but with a gesture from the man who had bested him, Ragnarr quickly found himself surrounded by members of the Palace Guard, all with their weapons drawn and at the ready.

"I had hoped it would not come to this," Agdar said with genuine regret in is voice. "Yet once again, you have whittled away my options until I can see no other alternative. My conscience may have kept you alive, but it does not compel me to keep you in Arendelle. Now that you have made clear your intention to foment sedition and rebellion, I cannot allow you to remain in this kingdom."

He sighed. "Ragnarr, former King of Arendelle, from this moment forward and until the end of your days, you are hereby banished from all the lands and waters of this kingdom. There is a ship docked in the harbor, due to set sail for Lisbon within the hour. These men will you escort you to it immediately. You will be required to make the voyage in the brig, and I will detail several members of the Royal Navy whose loyalty I know to be beyond reproach to act as your guards while at sea.

"Once you have made port, you will be free to leave unimpeded, to do with your life what you will. Know, however, that Arendelle has many friends on the continent – despite your best attempts to alienate most of them. Should you attempt to rally support to destabilize this kingdom, we will hear about it, and we will act accordingly. I assure you, it would be in the best interests of all involved that we not be forced into taking such measures."

Agdar had allowed his face to fall back into its well-worn expression of calm impassivity while he'd rendered his verdict. Here at the end, though, a small flicker of emotion managed to slip through his guard. There was a sadness in his eyes and the rest of his features seemed to sag under a great weariness. He looked upon his father now not with scorn, but with pity.

"I truly hope that someday," he said, "you will finally find your way to the sort of peace and contentment that our people have sorely lacked under your rule."

Then, with a look that took in the entire squad of Guardsmen, he stepped out of the way and gestured toward the doors. "Gentlemen."

The small knot of soldiers urged Ragnarr forward and, despite the glower he turned in their direction, he had little choice but to move along with them. Every pair of eyes followed his progress across the great hall. So it was that, when he came to an abrupt halt in the middle of doorway and turned around, his powerful voice addressed all who had assembled therein.

"The day will come when you will regret your actions here today. I almost hope that it does not come by my own hand, for then you will see how tragically misguided you were to replace me with this puffed up buffoon. If there is any justice, then let me live to see that day – to see the cold winds of hell blow down from the north and freeze you all to the bone. When she comes, then you will understand. Then you will all share in what you call my madness. Then you will wish you had heeded your king.

"And then, you will die."

Stunned silence held the room for several beats. Then one of the guards prodded Ragnarr forward, and the entire group moved out into the hallway and disappeared from sight.

Allowing himself one last lingering look at the space where his past had stood, Agdar finally turned around to face the new future that lay before him... and nearly jumped out of his boots when he discovered that Wexel had quietly walked up behind him.

"Well done, Your Majesty," the sword master said with a nod.

"Thank you. But please, save the title until after the coronation."

By then, all the senior advisors (most of whom had been in the clandestine meeting that had led to this fateful day) had gathered around them as well,. "I need a message sent to the naval garrison," Agdar said, raising his voice above the hubbub. "Tell them that the ship to Portugal is leaving on schedule. They will know what to do."

"At once, Your Majesty!" replied a man with auburn hair and a rather large nose, who promptly turned and hurried out of the hall at a trot. Agdar restrained himself from once again correcting the premature usage of the new title. He supposed he would have to get used to it soon enough anyway.

Instead, he focused on the men surrounding him, all of whom were talking at once, each seemingly convinced that they were the one to have Agdar's sole and undivided attention. Finally, he raised his hands for quiet and, somewhat to his astonishment, found his wishes obeyed.

"King Ragnarr," he declared, "has ceded the throne for reasons of ill health that have been adversely affecting his judgment for some time now. For those same reasons, he has chosen to relocate south and live out his retirement in warmer climes. This is the message that I want spread throughout the kingdom. Is that understood?"

"But… but why?" someone asked. "There were far too many witnesses here for the truth not to slip out eventually. Besides, the fact of the matter is that you, Sire, are a hero to Arendelle and its people for what you have done here today. You should be celebrated."

"All the more reason to stick to my story, then. I am no hero. I merely did what had to be done, and assure you, I took no great pleasure in doing so. Yes, other versions of these events will be told as well. Some of them will be true and others will not. This will happen no matter what we say.

"But there are those out there who would see internal strife like this as weakness and would seek to exploit it. Therefore, I would choose to at least have most people believe that Arendelle and its royal family remains strong and undivided. Even if we are only able to confuse the story a little, I hope that it may be enough to make our enemies think twice before they act rashly."

The men around him murmured quietly to each other, but most appeared to be nodding at the wisdom behind his chosen course of action. Agdar only wished he knew whether they truly agreed with him or were simply following old habits of agreeing with whatever the current ruler might say. Well, he would sort out the honest men from the sycophants soon enough. There were already a handful he knew he could trust implicitly, and he would consult with them later in more private surroundings.

Right now, however, he had a kingdom to set in order.

• • •

The two women both stared at Agdar as he brought his tale to a close. Kai, on the other hand, had averted his eyes and was instead gazing dourly at his feet.

"Good intentions have led me to keep so many secrets," the king said after a brief pause, "and sometimes, the results have even seemed to vindicate my decisions. Of course, that only made it easier to justify doing the same thing again the next time, and the next, until eventually I looked back and realized that I'd taken to hiding things without a second thought. I wonder now when it became so easy, but I find that I honestly cannot remember."

"Agdar," Idun breathed, reaching her hand out to touch the side of his face. Before her fingers could make contact, however, he pushed himself to his feet.

"It doesn't matter anyway. At least, it doesn't matter right now. That wasn't the reason I felt you needed to know this. You had to understand what happened that day, because you needed to hear the last words my father spoke before he was sent into exile.

"'The cold winds of hell will blow down from the north and freeze you all to the bone. When she comes, then you will understand.' At the time, I thought it was simply his last attempt to control us all with fear, or perhaps just another symptom of whatever had caused him to become so terribly unhinged. Nothing else made sense, to me or anyone else who was there.

"At least, not to anyone that I spoke to."

Agdar swung around and again fixed his attention upon Kai. Without looking up, the steward nodded.

"Yes, the thought occurred to me back then, but I did not want to believe it. So many years had passed, and though it was not something that I could ever forget, it was still something that I was more than eager to put behind me. I had grown up and moved on. Only Gerda knew, after all, for I feared that if I ever tried to tell anyone else, they would think me quite mad."

"I suspect my father felt the same way," Agdar agreed. "He basically said as much to me once. No doubt that was why he tried so hard to conceal the reason why he was mustering so many troops and readying Arendelle's navy. After all, everything began after his return from his diplomatic mission in the far north. In Lapland."

The king closed his eyes, a pained expression upon his face. When he opened them again, they immediately sought out his wife. "Do you see now? Do you understand? At last, everything my father did during those final months begins to make sense: his secrecy, his paranoia, his obsession with the kingdom's military strength.

"He was preparing to take Arendelle to war… against the Snow Queen!"

Idun saw it upon her husband's face again, the same gray look that had appeared there when she had first told him of the memories that Grand Pabbie had freed from deep within her mind. He almost seemed as though he was dead and simply had not realized it yet. Then again, perhaps he had.

"He was ready to go to war against the Snow Queen," Agdar repeated again tonelessly. "And I… I…

"I stopped him. Saints forgive me, I stopped him. I was so sure I was doing the right thing. After that, it all happened so fast. The coronation, our wedding, the news that I was going to be a father. And then, not even a year after I took the throne..." He glanced down at his wife's midsection, remembering the precious cargo it had carried then – and what they now knew had happened to it.

"I am so sorry. By all that is holy, please let my sins be forgiven. I was right. I was right all this time. It was all my fault, this curse that lies upon our child. If I hadn't acted, if I had only let things play out the way they were meant to…" He swallowed.

"I made a terrible mistake."

Idun was on her feet, already closing the distance to her husband, when the knock came upon the door. Everyone in the study froze where they were, heads turning in their startlement. All on the palace staff knew better than to interrupt the king when he was in conference behind closed doors for all but the most serious of emergencies. Yet no call accompanied the knock, no announcement to explain the urgency or even who it was that bore the message.

A second knock came, quieter this time and seemingly more unsure of itself. The occupants of the room exchanged wary glances with one another. Finally, the king nodded to Kai. With a small, instinctual bow, the steward turned and crossed to the door.

"Yes, what is it?" he began before he had even reached for the knob. "I'm afraid this is not exactly the best time for an interruption. Unless this is terribly important, perhaps you can simply leave a message with me, and I will see to it that His Majesty gets back with you later." By now, he had arrived at the entrance. Grasping the handle, he turned it, opened the door, and peered out into the passage beyond.

"Oh! I'm… I'm sorry. I... I can… I didn't mean to… I can… I can come back later."

No one seemed to breathe at the sound of that ever so hesitant voice. At last, though, Kai managed to find his own again. "Of course not, Your Highness. Please forgive me. I'm certain your father would be more than happy to see you now." He stepped back, drawing the door open as he did so.

Into the room, her steps and body language both uncertain, walked Princess Elsa.

She came to an anxious stop the instant she got far enough inside to see all the faces that were now staring back at her. She looked from one to the next, her eyes wide and her breathing coming hard and fast. Her right hand began to flex, the fingers curling into a fist and then stretching out once more, as she struggled to keep her panic in check. The tension that had filled the room mere moments earlier was still palpable, and it certainly did nothing to make her difficult task any easier.

What did help were the smiles that finally came her way, first from her mother, then from Gerda. The two now stood side-by-side. The older woman had wrapped an arm about the queen, whose eyes were already glistening with emotion. Elsa managed to return a faint smile of her own, but it was to her father that she turned when she spoke again at last.

"I… I've been thinking a lot about what you said, Father, and I… I think I'm ready. At least, I'm ready to try."

Agdar blinked in confusion and surprise. "Ready? Ready for what?"

Elsa drew a deep breath, pulled back her shoulders, stood a little straighter. "I'm ready to start earning your trust again. I'm ready to learn the lessons that I'll need to learn if I hope to someday lead this kingdom. I'm… I'm ready to leave my room… though maybe not for too very long, at least at first."

Another small movement drew Agdar's eyes downwards. The clenching motions of his daughter's right hand had distracted him enough that he hadn't noticed it earlier, but now that it had caught his attention, he found that he could not pull his eyes away.

For in her left hand, its top barely visible between fingers that gripped it ever so tightly, King Agdar of Arendelle could just make out the form of a very familiar white chess piece.

"I'm ready," Elsa finished with a determined tilt of her chin, "to find out what it means to think like a queen."

THE END

of

Book Two

–––

The story continues…?

A/N: Writing a period drama with a cast of half a dozen canon characters and a handful of OCs; creating interesting stories for them when they all spend most of their time stuck inside a single castle; adding generations worth of history to Arendelle; attempting to tie Frozen into both "The Snow Queen" and Tangled; all while trying to remain faithful to the original movie continuity. Yeah, turns out that's really freaking hard.

It's now been over thirteen months since I began publishing Echoes. After churning out two books, ninety chapters, and more than 450,000 words with really only one missed update, I'll be perfectly honest with you. I have been fighting burn-out for several months already, struggling to drag this story across the finish line that I've had in mind for Memories all along. Now that I've finally made it, I really need a vacation.

It doesn't help that I have no clear notion of the shape of Book 3 in my head. Or that, having now finally paid off all this setup with the Snow Queen, I'm unsure how to properly advance it until after the events of the movie. At the very least, I need time to try and sort all that out. I also just need some time when I don't have to feel pressured to write every single day of the week. All of which means that the Falling Snow saga is going to pause here for a while. For how long, I really can't say; I have no way of predicting what it's going to take to recharge my batteries after completing this leg of the marathon.

But before that happens, I want to take a moment to stop and thank each and every one of my wonderful and amazing readers for your support and encouragement over the past year. Without all of you, this story would almost certainly have fizzled out a very long time ago. Considering the size of its following, the number of reviews it has received is absolutely astounding! I am awed and humbled by the interest you have all shown in this rambling headcanon of mine. My sincerest thanks to each and every one of you. I mean it. You're the best!

So. No goodbyes among friends. Just think of this as "Until we meet again…"