7. Cold Town

Merida scowled ferociously at the road around them. They had made it off the mountain, just, but that was not going to stop her from being very unhappy about what was involved. Kristoff glanced her way and rolled his eyes, pulling her hood ever so slightly down over her forehead, much to her irritation. It felt like she was sixteen again, having someone fussing over and dictating what she wore. She hated it.

Unfortunately, unlike her mother who'd concerned herself with emulating what had been the fashion back when she was first sixteen, Kristoff had a good reason for making her look older than her years. Dark smudges under her eyes helped to make her look ancient, whereas the black to discoloured streaking in her hair made it look like it was threatening to go white or she was really in need of a wash.

Oh, Boab halp her, she really wanted a wash.

She'd been all up for fighting her way down the slopes, subtlety be darned. But when, after being forcibly cowed into the awful grass skirts by Kristoff's terrifying family, she trudged up the slope with Kristoff and his reindeer friend to find his sleigh, Merida found she was glad of the disguise. They encountered an unusually large contingent of soldiers, their numbers noticeably led by an officer from the southern isles. They swarmed the store Kristoff had left his sleigh at, its owner looking increasingly concerned as they badgered him about the Snow Queen and her whereabouts, going as far as to accuse him of harbouring a traitor to the realm.

"Now look here..." The man had said, he rose to his full height just as Kristoff and Merida peered cautiously through the window pane. She had to hand it to him, the owner, Oaken was it, had a gift. There were not many who could make a large group of armed men look intimidated while merely standing. Neither of her parents could manage it without either physical threats or raised voices... Not that her mother ever needed to raise her voice as loud as her father.

One of the younger looking soldiers was soon flung out of the door. The rest of his companions ran out after him as quickly as they could. Kristoff and Merida, stunned by the rapid development, plastered themselves against the wall and tried to make themselves small.

"Owe..." She nearly felt sorry for the lout, but his commander was clearly making a show of angering the shop owner further. She couldn't quite grasp what was said in the flow of angry words, but she was certainly relieved to see the lot of them turn back to what passed for a path if not a road in this weather.

A couple of the stragglers however stopped to look at them. For a moment, she saw one squinting hard at her face, and she recalled the posters Kristoff mentioned, the ominous wording in the note she had read...

"Hey, ice-boy, who's that old crow with you?"

Merida bristled, her hand instinctively reaching for the pommel of her sword, only stopped by Kristoff.

"This... Is my mother." Merida could have stabbed him then, but the cackling laughter of the two soldiers was soon cut short as their commander rounded them up. She got a good look at him as he strode up to them, his features eerily familiar. If the nose had been just a little bit more crooked, she could've sworn...

"Come on, men. Stop bothering the peasants."

And with that they went. Merida's heart slowed to a more natural beat as Kristoff apologised and led her into the store. The owner still looked furious, but quickly resumed his best polished customer service. She was very tempted to take him up on the offer of a free Sauna session to make up for the spectacle they had arrived to, but sadly Kristoff quickly dragged her back out, her new frock under his arm before she could even make her case.

She did have to give it to him, the frock was a big improvement on her damp or damaged rags, and certainly a billion times better than the itchy grass coverings that, erm, troll had foisted upon her, singing songs about hidden love and what a handsome boy her son was. Merida... felt embarrassed by the whole ordeal. Her natural reaction to seeing a bunch of rocks roll towards her with intent and then build up into vaguely humanoid shapes? Well, let's just say she was glad the witch only let her keep the one amulet from her ordeals back in Scotland, or Kristoff may well have been an orphan twice over... And the stone folk had been incredibly sweet, if loud and heavy, and certainly harmless compared to the monstrosities she'd fought back home.

Trolls in Arendelle were certainly a lot more pleasant than the stone monsters of Scotland.

Reaching up to pull out a lock of hair from under the hood, she felt the softness of its icy material, the smooth silkiness of it stunningly effective at keeping her warm. She hadn't even thought of wearing the cloak Elsa had forgotten as part of her disguise until Kristoff deftly lifted it from her bag, admiring the beauty of it as he asked her where she found it. She hadn't even the time to answer when he insisted more than suggested that she put it on. It was certainly a lot less conspicuous than her bearskin cloak would have been. The two had passed many an Arendellian subject wearing similarly smooth cloaks of various bright colours, though theirs still seemed to be made of wool. Seeing now the numerous Wanted Posters describing her as they finally made their way into the town, she was glad for the disguise, even as she itched for the feel of her sword, the comfort of her bow, the weight of Mor'du to be back on her shoulders. She would begrudge Kristoff for forcing her to put all her belongings in the back of the sleigh, but he did bring her a fresh quiver full of arrows and some much-appreciated supplies. She hated to think what it must have cost him, considering his trade of choice, ice harvesting, was not exactly that profitable right now.

Her stomach growled as Kristoff pulled the reins, getting Sven to stop in his tracks and turn into a small stable.

"Eh? This ain't tha castle," Merida complained loudly, Kristoff shushing her more for her use of the Gaelic tongue than fear of being spotted. She continued regardless, secretly delighting in Kristoff's dramatic face palm at her stubbornness. "Ah thought we were going straight thar."

"Ye're the one that read tha note..." Kristoff ground out in his approximate Gaelic. "Ye tell me."

Merida rolled her eyes. It took her a moment to recall the contents of the note. She had read it out loud, haltingly, mispronouncing some of the words until Kristoff could guess what they were supposed to be. In turn he had explained what the ones she couldn't understand meant with use of stick figure drawings and hand gestures, not having the required vocabulary in Gaelic. Merida spoke the words once more in Norsk, since that would avoid confusion.

"Dear Kristoff,
it has recently come to my attention that a woman from Scotland is being sought in our land. Information gathered leads me to believe she has information I require. If it is at all possible for you to seek out her whereabouts and bring her to me, that would be most gratefully appreciated. I am willing to lift the search warrant out for her should she be willing to meet with me. Please update me on the earliest convenient day, at the usual hour and place. I fear she may be in danger should we leave this too long.
With many thanks,
Anna."

"The usual hour and place being the servants entrance to the castle's east wing, just after seventh bell." Kristoff hissed, his voice still low, as though he feared being overheard. "It's only just nearing three."

"Aye, fine, whitever. Ah still cannae believe she juist signed that Anna. Nae even Of Arendelle. Me mam would hae a fit." Merida chortled, imagining Elinor's face. Kristoff just facepalmed at her swift return to her mother tongue. She couldn't see why it mattered. They were in a stable, it wasn't like people were just going to come in and...

"Oye, Bjorgman!"

Merida just about jumped out of her skin. She turned to see a broad-shouldered man, wearing the fancy Norse clothing the towns people here seemed to favour: trousers far too tight, tucked into their socks and pulled up well over the navel, his top covered by a waistcoat with far too many buttons... He had a dark beard and, from what she could make out under his black hat, he didn't look happy.

Kristoff grimaced.
"Ah, mister Hagen, sir, good to see you." He pulled his hat off and dismounted from the sled. Mister Hagen stood at the door, leaning against the door frame, a proprietary look in his eye. Somehow Merida got a feeling she knew where this was going.

"Our agreement, Bjorgman, was for one night a week. Not two, not three..." Mister Hagen rubbed his gloved fingers together in the universal sign for payment. "You owe me some money."

"Oh, sure... Let me just..." Kristoff turned back to the sleigh, rummaging in the bags for a coin purse. He glared at Merida, mouthing the words 'dinnae get any ideas' to her before returning to negotiate with the man who obviously owned the stable. She glanced at Sven the reindeer, half expecting him to make some sort of remark. Sven rolled his eyes. Merida shrugged.

The owner was clearly not a friendly sort, ranting at Kristoff about the cost of this and that. Merida watched, bemused, but not still. Kristoff's comment to her had certainly given her some idea of what she would rather be doing. With a smirk, she signalled for Sven to stay quiet as she snuck towards the side door.

By the time Kristoff had appeased Mister Hagen and turned back around, muttering to himself about how much he hated people sometimes, she was gone.

The air was still, sharp. Elsa's eyes fluttered open, gradually adjusting to the bright ice surrounding her. She was still cradled in Marshmallow's large arms, the snow golem sat against the wall, seemingly dozing too. She glanced towards the balcony, spied the darkening sky outside. It felt like another day wasted. Melancholy pulled at her heart strings as she tried to remember yesterday, today, what had occurred...

She sat bolt upright as she recalled the foreign princess, Merida, the soldiers, the news that Anna... Anna was...

Her head spun, she had sat up too quickly.
"Darn it..." She muttered, frowning, holding her hand against her forehead.

She felt a burning in her chest, a desire... Yes, she remembered now. She needed a plan. Sat there in her snow golem's arms, it occurred to her that she needn't make it overly complicated. She smirked, though her brows were still stuck in a scowl.

Closing her eyes, she breathed in. Sharp, clean air, odourless but for the tang of her ice, dove deeply into her lungs. She reached into her heart, feeling for the spark, the anger that was born there after hearing of her sibling's illness. This was not an emotion she could ignore. It would not be bottled up.

Elsa gasped. It hurt, but she had it. The feeling, the drive, it was hers. She fixed it in her mind, and opened her eyes. In the wall before her, she could see how starkly they shone, the hue of her ice palace's partitions having darkened to match the midnight hues outside. She examined her reflection, deciding quickly that her sky-blue crystals, her open dress were not the look she was aiming for.

She ignored how thin she looked as she spun her arms around, tried not to dwell on how pronounced her ribs were as her magic unravelled her dress at her command. Not wanting to see herself uncovered, she surrounded herself with blizzard, hiding the reflective surface from sight. Behind her, Marshmallow stirred, but otherwise stayed still. She could sense her creation's watchful eyes on her. Well, she might as well give the snow golem something to look at, shouldn't she?

With slow, deliberate swings, she fashioned herself a new dress. Dark, austere. She made the ice thicker this time, like velvet. No slit on the leg this time, no. Instead beads of ice shaped like teardrops came to pattern her top, the hems: little stars in the darkest of nights. The blizzard lessened, so that she might contemplate her work. Her breath hitched. The reflection was a little hazy, but she was taken back to that dreadful day, the one when Anna had last knocked at her door. This would not do. Elsa... Elsa didn't want to look like she was in mourning, she...

She remembered the pain in Anna's voice that day. The broken quality of it as she asked after Elsa, begged for her sister, and wept. Elsa had wept too that day, quietly, huddled in a ball, keen to not let her voice be heard.

Elsa was done being quiet. She was done crying. No more tears. She had promised herself on that day in July, when she had thrown away her crown. Apparently, despite all that, she still held the title of queen. Maybe it was time she reminded people.

Her eyes looked a little red as she lifted her hands to the sky, but they stayed dry as her magic erupted once more. Along her shoulders, across her back, it spun. White crystals churned out long strands of fluff, forming a royal collar of ermine-like fur. A cloak, long and heavy, draped down behind her. She reached up to her head, pulling at some of the loose strands of her hear, pushing them up, encasing them in dark ice to match her dress. What was a queen without her crown?

There, she thought, admiring the finished product. Now I'll show them what the Queen of Ice and Snow can do.

Behind her, Marshmallow made a strangled noise, uncertain how to react. Elsa paid no heed to its echo in her chest, to how cold and heavy her heart felt. She marched down the stairs to her door, hand against railing keeping her upright as Marshmallow, confused, followed.

She stepped outside, the freshly fallen night matching her new outfit.

On the slope below, she could hear the faint sound of marching. She grinned.

"Oh halp me boab," Merida moaned, her voice a whisper. "Oh how ah missed these!"

Her teeth crunched on the flesh of the apple in her hand. Its juices, meagre but present, coated her tongue in the most longed-for flavours. Its flesh, bruised and damaged by cold, was still a welcome texture as she chewed, an ecstatic smile on her face.

The fruit had cost her a lot more than she would have liked, but considering the circumstances, she wasn't going to begrudge the merchants the dramatic mark-up... even if it would normally have been the time of year where apples were aplenty. It felt good to be back in town, amongst people, even if it was in a disguise that made her feel like a miser, and people looked at her coin with great suspicion. One advantage of her having to hide out in the mountains was that she had no opportunity to spend the last of her travel money. Kristoff had refused it, asking for pelts instead. To avoid suspicion, he'd explained. Merida had left it at that. Which meant that now, she had options.

She adjusted her hold on the paper bag full of bread and fruit, her first purchase in weeks, pulled her hood down a little as she rounded a corner with soldiers chatting, and made her way to what looked like the appropriate clothing store she had in mind.

"Richt... Lessee... Whit's that ghastly thing called again?" She muttered to herself as she discarded her apple core into the harbour. She heard it thunk against the ice below. "Eck, ah cannae believe ah'm seeking out a darn wimple. Ghastly thing."

Merida was never ever going to mention it to her mother. Elinor had fought tooth and nail to get Merida wearing the blasted thing when she was sixteen, and Merida had made a point that she was never ever wearing one again... but if it meant she could wash the gritty charcoal out of her hair, it was a sacrifice she was willing to make.

The purchase itself? Well...
Nothing could have prepared her for the gruelling exercise of trying to explain to the shop clerk what she was after, what it was, and no, not a shawl, not a bonnet, not even a veil. Her Norsk was halting, clumsy and slow. The clerk's speech was rapid, their vocabulary too concise for Merida's weak mastery of the tongue. She had to force herself not to use Gaelic words, not to just repeat herself slower and louder. When at long last the clerk pulled out of a drawer in the back a suitable looking item, Merida nearly offered up a prayer to the god of the church she'd been pointing at through the window. Apparently only nuns even considered wearing these torturous items in this country. Gee, thanks, mother...

So with a quick drop of silver coin... and then the same again when the clerk gave her a raised brow and a hand gesture that clearly indicated that nuns here were willing to pay far too much for a ghastly head glove, Merida pre-emptively squirmed out of a fitting session and back out onto the streets outside. She hastily pulled up her hood once more, glad that the lighting inside the shop had been dim, and set about looking for the way back.

"Yeesh, a' tha streets look tha same." Merida frowned. She normally had such a good sense of orientation. Icy cobbles passed underfoot as she turned around the corner of another row of houses; their identically carved roof edges, normally beautifully painted, were encrusted in ice and snow so thick it was hard to tell them apart. Frustrated when retracing her steps led her once more to the stall she'd found the bread at, but no closer to the actual stable, she decided to take a detour towards the most obvious landmark and find her way from there... The stable had to be near the castle, after all, if she had understood Kristoff correctly... Or at least it would be on the road from the castle that led into the mountains.

Her euphoria at being able to explore the town of Arendelle faded, leaving in its place a dull lethargy and home sickness she couldn't quite fathom. The city hadn't changed since her exile into its mountains. It still had the same eerie feel about it that had welcomed her over a month ago. With its mostly empty streets, the few inhabitants that dared to go out were grumpy and wrapped up warm, prone to arguing with one another over the correct making of a log fire or glancing sadly up at the seat of power. When she first arrived, Merida had assumed the prickling feeling along her spine had been from getting closer to the source of the winter curse. Now she sensed that it was something else.

Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed one of the townspeople pulling a guard aside, pointing a finger in her direction. Merida frowned, glancing down at herself. Crumbs. A strand of her hair had spilled out of her hood, and had noticeably shed most of its coal covering. Remembering all her training as a huntress, she made sure to keep the gesture slow and calm as she adjusted the incriminating piece of hair back under her garment, slowly lengthening her stride so that she might reach a suitable blackspot to lose any followers from. Thankfully, she didn't hear any shouts of alarm, though it did sound like the guard was walking in her direction, the clinking of his sword belt drawing nearer.

Merida's hand itched for the bow she didn't have.

Instead, she deftly and quietly hefted herself up on the nearest windowsill, dropped her parcel in the empty flower basket, and used both hands to climb up the drain pipe and plaster herself down on the top of the roof. The snow beneath her felt damp, slightly melted by the warmth seeping through the tiles. She held her breath.

After the count of ten, she saw the guard pass below, scratching his chin. He glanced left. He looked right. He shrugged and then turned back. Merida held her breath ten more seconds before releasing it in a wary sigh. How she had not caught cold yet, she did not know, but was infinitely grateful. Just as she was thankful that none of the snow had fallen off the roof under her weight. She shifted, keen to get back down and off the blasted coldness of it, and a large patch slid off the roof to land below with a wet thud. She cringed. And then blinked.

Looking across the street, she could have sworn... Her eyebrows raised. She shook her head. Merida smiled. Well, that was nice to see. Someone out there had thought to make a snowman. It was small and lumpy, with coals for eyes and buttons. A line was carved into it for the mouth, an indentation made for some prominent front teeth, and a couple of twigs had been shoved in to signify hair and arms. Merida chuckled, swinging down from the eaves to retrieve her shopping on the way back down to the ground. A moment ago she could have sworn it had moved, but now she was moved.

In the months since the wintry storm had interrupted their annual summer festivities, the Princess of Dunbroch had not seen a single snowman built. In her native land the unnatural weather had summoned forth fey creatures and supernatural monsters, forcing mothers to keep their young children inside, much to the dismay of her younger brothers. In Arendelle she could only surmise that the suddenness of it had left people too uneasy; with the politically tense situation, the southern isles soldiers milling about, the Prince ordering paranoid spot checks, and the apparent demise of their ruling family, the frightened silence of the town all made sense now.

"Hello, Man of Snow." Merida said, smirking as she crossed the street. She made sure to speak Norsk, her recent close encounter making her wary of being overheard by some unseen party. She kneeled next to the snow sculpture, frowning as she noticed that the Snowman's mouth was drooping. She'd thought it had been smiling earlier. She leaned in and gave it a hug. Even a sad snowman was enough to give her hope. Maybe her brothers had made one similar back home, chittering between themselves about how it might never melt. She shook her head, missing the hugs the triplets would give her. She had work to do if she wanted to get back home. Still, it didn't feel right to leave the lonely snowman without saying something more. She leaned back on her haunches, tilting her head, observing it abstractly. "Smile. Spring is... not here yet."

Oops, maybe her hug had dislodged him somehow. She adjusted the snowman's torso with her hands, before her gaze caught on something glinting in the distance behind it. She forgot herself a moment, Gaelic spilling forth in a whisper.

"Whit's that?" She wondered, standing to go and inquire. Stepping around the snowy creation, she walked down the narrow alleyway, hairs rising on the back of her neck. She adjusted the hood of the ice cloak, frowning. The wall she was walking alongside now, it... Ah, yes, it was the harbour wall nearest the castle, leading around to the public square at its entrance. Guards stood shivering at the mouth of the bridge leading to the gates. The square itself was mostly empty, maybe one or two citizens staring out forlornly over the frozen waters of the harbour, the ice-breaker ships used to bring in soldiers from the southern isles ugly protrusions among the marooned ships around them. Gingerly, Merida hopped down the ledge separating her alleyway from the road winding towards the square. The glint that had caught her eye... It... It couldn't be, could it?

It was. She stopped at the outer edge of the square, hugging the stairway of one of the more imposing buildings surrounding it. They had an ice sculpture of a man, stood in such a way that no one heading to the castle could miss it. Was this some vanity project of the Southern Isles Prince who was currently regent? But no, there was nothing regal about this statue. The man was depicted in a pose of suffering, back arched, fists clenched, crying out to the sky. His feet were bare, toes curling into the podium on which he stood. Ornate white shapes covered the blue sheen of the ice, intricate patterns of snowflakes, all various sizes. The artist surely knew how to summarise the harshness of the snow queen's winter curse. It was chilling.

A hand landed on her shoulder. Panic seized her, her arms whirling around in the blink of an eye. She barely heard the words uttered before her fist connected with the jaw of the man behind her. She couldn't make sense of them as she grabbed the front of their coat, ready to deliver another punch. In that moment, instinct took over, only for her to pause, recognising the person wavering in her hold.

Kristoff Bjorgman let loose an impressive sounding curse as Merida rapidly let go.
"Sorry! Sorry, sorry, sorry...!" The apologies spilled forth, a frantic cadence of the Gaelic word, followed by a swear of her own. "Shite, man. Dinnae scare me lik' that."

"Merida..." He hissed, grabbing her shoulders to calm her down. The statue, she reflected, had really unsettled her. She could hear bells ringing: one toll, two, and then three. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Getting us... food?" She shrugged, offering up her shopping package. Her hood slipped back. Rapidly, she caught it with her spare hand. She decided to emulate Kristoff's phrasing, weakly pointing to the square behind her. "What... the hell... is the statue?"

Grumpy, Kristoff peered over her shoulder, his eyes taking on the dull sheen of sorrow, the angry clench of his jaw slackening. He looked away before answering, his gaze dropping to the ground, but his hands not slackening in the hold of her shoulders.

"That..." Kristoff said softly, "is no statue. That's the man that the Snow Queen killed."

"Wha?" Merida breathed. Her head snapped back around. Surely that can't have been an actual man. The statue was pure ice, through and through. She could swear it was made from the ice that formed in running streams on the coldest nights, deep magical blue. But looking at it again, Merida could tell that the details were too uncanny, too many, for this to have been manufactured. Her heart sunk. "It cannae..."

She thought back to the frail woman on the mountain, the fae-like beauty that struggled to eat a bowl of nuts. Her hand went to her chest, remembering the blow that Elsa of Arendelle had landed on her. She remembered the fear, the recognition full of dread in the Snow Queen's eyes. She had known then what she had done. She had known that... that...

A flutter of fear and regret had Merida gritting her teeth. She breathed in, taking deep sharp air into her lungs, before letting it back out in a deep sigh.

"Prince Hans had the poor sod put on display there as a warning to the people of how dangerous our Queen has become. Disrespectful to the dead man if you ask me..." Kristoff said quietly, rubbing at his jaw. It was sure to bruise. Merida felt small. It felt like she couldn't do anything right today. "Come on, let's go back to the stables. We'll talk more there."

The wind rose as they began their trudge back. The sky, already darkening with the imminent arrival of dusk, darkened further as dark ominous clouds swirled above. Warily, both Kristoff and Merida glanced up before looking meaningfully at each other. The few other people in the streets quickened their pace. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

"That... is not good." Merida muttered.
"No kidding." Kristoff quipped, hastening his steps in turn.

The first showering of hail and snow hit as they reached the stables. Merida hadn't been far off when seeking it out earlier. She'd only missed the one turn. Sven leapt towards them as they hurried through the doors. His tongue quickly sought out their faces, much to Kristoff's dismay as half the charcoal left on Merida's face got wiped off. Merida laughed, Sven's enthusiastic welcome helping to return her spirits.

They settled in for lunch, wind howling and snow hammering at the door outside. Someone chuckled. Merida glanced up to Kristoff, eyebrow raised. That was a very odd sounding chuckle for him. He was giving her a confused look. Not him then. Warily, Merida glanced at Sven. The reindeer glanced at them, seemingly cheerful as he chewed his dried grass. She frowned. What was that white thing behind him? She leaned forward, her vile charcoal stained hair leaning forward with her. She would be sure to wash that out after lunch. She stilled as the white mass moved. It peered out from behind the reindeer, taking the discarded purple ice cloak around with it.

Her hand automatically reached for her bow. She griped the comforting wood of its shaft. Kristoff had claimed that separating her from it was like trying to chop her arm off. She couldn't disagree.

That strange chuckling sound was back. Merida's eyes widened.

"What the...?" Kristoff stood up, his open sandwich flopping in his hand.

"Hi," said the white mass. Merida recognised its charcoal eyes and buck tooth smile. It was the snowman from earlier. "I'm Olaf."

It waddled up to her, chuckling again. The purple cloak dragged along behind him. His left stick arm raised itself in an impressive imitation of an arm, a finger like protrusion pointing towards her.
"And you're..." His voice wavered a moment, a strange hint of emotion colouring his joyful tones. "Not Elsa."

Unfortunately for Olaf, Merida's first instinct, developed over months of fighting the creatures Elsa's curse had awakened in Scotland's haunted hills, was to strike any sapient unnatural beings that approached her. With a cry she swung the wood of her unstrung bow. Olaf's head flew off his shoulders.

Not that he seemed to mind.

(A chapter nearly as cold as my flat. Brr. Feedback would be lovely!)