1: Youth, Tragedy

The fire could be seen even in Arendelle.

It had been two days since the first mariner reported the cause of the redness of the eastern sky. The man had been old and raving and untrustworthy.

The whole of the Svalbard Archipelago bursting into flames? Not likely.

But the wizened sailor had been telling the truth. Somehow, against all logic, it was true. Terribly, terribly true. King Agnarr could hardly believe it.

Fifteen thousand people had burned to death; their blackened, smouldering bodies and ashes flecked with bits of bone had been proof enough of the disastrous fire that had taken place on the neighboring islands.

Agnarr sighed and ran a hand through his rust colored hair. He put down the parchment scroll detailing the damages and casualties. It was his eldest daughter's eighth birthday; grief over Svalbard had little place in his mind.

"Daddy what's that?" A blonde girl, dressed in a smart dress of blue jumped up and down excitedly while pointing at the eastern horizon. She had good reason to be curious. "Why are there two suns?"

The precocious child was correct. The evening horizon was especially beautiful today; for the world glowed from both west and east. Two sunsets today, although one would continue burning for hours into the night, lit up the sea and whitestone buildings with shades of purple shadows and hints of lively coals.

King Agnarr didn't know what to say. Could he tell his daughter of the fire that ravaged, and continued to ravage the small neighboring islands? Of the burned husks of families huddled together? It was his duty to do so as a monarch. Elsa was his heir, and it was Agnarr's duty to prepare her for the Crown. But in the end, Elsa was only eight and there was no real reason to shatter her worldview of knights and flowers and goodness.

"It's… It's a special type of firework I had made for your birthday. Isn't it beautiful? It'll burn for a few days more I think… " Agnarr asked hesitantly.

Elsa laughed, her voice the sound of windchimes and a gurgling forest streams. "I love it Papa!" She gently prodded her red-haired younger sister and pointed to the heavens. "Look Anna! The sky is on fire!"

The redhead looked up from her slice of cake to the second sun that had been pointed out. Her eyes went wide in wonder. "Wow…"

Agnarr sat across from his two daughters and wished with all his might that he might live in this moment forever. His daughters here so young and innocent and untroubled by the evils of the world, how could he ever tell them of menacing world outside the walls of the castle?

The King's wish did not come true.

There was only one living person left on Svalbard. One couldn't really call him the survivor of the fire, he was more of an accidental arsonist.

The boy lay in the midst of the charcoal ruins of his previous life; supernaturally unharmed by falling buildings and licking flames. His clothes had burned to dust long ago, and his normally tan skin was further darkened by black soot and his messy mop of black hair was prematurely greyed by ash. He was tall for a seven year old. Tall but thin. His chest heaved up and down in exhaustion, ribs imprinting themselves against the walls of his chest, malnourishment obvious.

Anger surged through his veins in a violent rush of blood. The fire hadn't been his fault. Not his fault. Not his fault.

He sat up, so quickly that his head spun and his vision swam, and screamed to the heavens. "I didn't mean to!"

The fire. By god, the fire had been out of control. When that boy had stolen his food, the anger reared its ugly head and expressed itself through heat and violence. Now fifteen thousand people had paid for his inability to control himself.

He could still remember the smell of boiling fat and hair turning into ashes and muscles contracting from the sheer heat of his blaze. His fellow street urchins and beggars had begged him to stop it. Hell, even the policemen and nobles who had spat and kicked at him so many times had beseeched him to stop the fire.

"Please, Richard stop it! I'm sorry, we're sorry! Please— Oh God be merciful please save me help"

But Richard couldn't save them. He couldn't even save the pretty girl who had worked at the bakery and slipped him some bread time to time. They had died because of him.

Richard, last of the poor Calcifer family, fell back to the ground. His furious screams morphed into the formless wailing of a young boy wracked with guilt.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry I couldn't save you…"

The fires burned even hotter. An ocean away, two girls enjoyed the view, oblivious of the horror of the world.

King Agnarr sat his daughter's bed, tucking her in for the night. Seeing the his two daughters have so much fun together had been cathartic to his aching soul. But he knew, deep down he knew, that the day where Elsa would have to learn of the tragedies of life would come sooner rather than later.

"Father?" Elsa asked from under layers of bedding, trying to pull the king's attention.

Agnarr smiled sadly and turned away from Elsa. "Yes?"

The princess blushed cutely and snuggled deeper into her blankets, warm and cozy. "Thank you for that firework today. It was really pretty; me and Anna both liked it lots! And it's still going on right now!" She pointed a dainty hand toward the window, referencing the red glow of the eastern sky.

"You're welcome Elsa. It's the least I can do…"

AN: A Frozen fanfic that I don't know if I'll continue or not. Probably after my other writing projects.