#frozen knave

It’s a summer day that lasts forever, sun gleaming on the munros and burnishing the distant lochs to flame, as Dunbroch turns out in full kilted, hairy, loudly bagpiping splendor to meet its visitor, its first official engagement since Merida became queen. It’s particularly important to give Elsa of Arendelle a proper welcome, as she is the kind of ruler who can be influential to Merida both as a fellow monarch and a woman who understands the challenges of managing a large and occasionally unruly kingdom. Merida herself stands anxiously, silver crown flashing on her tumbled red curls, as the older woman processes up from her ship, turning to graciously acknowledge the cheers of the people. She’s slim and blonde and beautiful, dressed in light blue, a contrast to Merida’s own dark cobalt gown. When she reaches Merida, she curtsies elegantly. “Your Highness, it’s wonderful to meet you.”

“And ye.” Merida’s voice squeaks a bit, and she coughs indignantly and returns the gesture. “Welcome to Dunbroch, Your Majesty.”

The two queens clasp hands, a healthy roar goes up, and once they’ve drunk a ceremonial toast of whiskey from the great silver quaich, they are escorted by a brigade of clansmen to the state table that has been prepared for Elsa’s visit. They sit, are properly saluted again, and then once the pomp and circumstance is finally through, can finally begin discussing the issues that have brought them here – namingly, the possibility of an alliance against any more aggression from Camelot (though one thinks Arthur will be keeping his fool gob shut and his fool head down for a while). There are also trade pacts to propose and fishing grounds that both Dunbroch and Arendelle have ancestral claims to, and other such business. That’s what today is for. There will be the Highland Games tomorrow to put on a show, music and revelry and, doubtless, plenty more whiskey where the first cup came from.

At last, as the sun is low over the glens, Merida and Elsa conclude their talks and withdraw while the clansmen and the queen mother, Elinor, prepare for the feast that night. They’re walking in the fields, comparing Merida’s marksmanship to Elsa’s ice magic, when they become aware of the sounds of an intense scuffle from up ahead. Exchanging a concerned glance, they speed up, hop down into the long grass, and –

Merida’s heart skips a beat to discover none other than bloody Macintosh, holding an unfamiliar young man against a standing stone with one hand and cocking his fist with the other. Said young man, with big dark eyes and prominent ears, is spluttering his utter confusion that someone could ever have put him in this position, he bein’ the outstandingly wonderful bloke that he is, until Elsa yelps, “Will? What are you doing?”

“I’m not doin’ nuffin! Not me fault Braveheart here faffed up and got his knickers in a twist – or would, if he wore any knickers! ‘Stead it was that plaid skirt thing of his!”

Macintosh turns an even more interesting color. “It’s a kilt, ye arsehole!”

Elsa and Merida exchange a long look. In a resigned tone, Elsa says, “What happened?”

“He said something impertinent.” Macintosh glares heatedly at his foe, who is apparently named Will. “Didn’t ye.”

Elsa appears to be chewing her cheek hard. “Knowing Will, I find that extremely likely. My lord, you have my apologies for any insult he – “

“He said something about the queen.” Macintosh is clearly not inclined to let this quarrel go quickly. “Said he couldna believe that curly-wig was in charge, then wanted to know if he could look at the kingdom’s treasures – I’m no stupid, he was going to steal them. Wasn’t he.”

“Will.” Elsa’s tone is awful.

“I was tryin’ to be a good visitor! Learn about their traditions, yeah?”

“Will.”

At this, he cringes. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “No harm meant, eh?”

Macintosh eyes him loathingly, as if thinking that it very much was, but at a loudly cleared throat from both the women, the two men slink apart, straighten ruffled feathers, bow to their respective queens, and stalk huffily off in opposite directions. Elsa still sounds as if she’s biting her tongue when she remarks, “I should remember it’s impossible to bring him anywhere.”

“Will? Is he your – “

“Of a sort.” Elsa smiles softly, wryly. “It’s still new. And you – I assume Lord Macintosh is your consort? Defending your honor as valiantly as he did?”

“What? No!” Merida is horrified – and furthermore, aware that she is certainly protesting too much. “He’s a wee pain in my hindquarters. No more.”

“Mmm.” Elsa is too polite to directly contest this, but her smile lingers as they start walking again, toward the noise and glow of the great hall. After a moment, she says abruptly, “I used to be like you, you know. Thought that I had to do everything alone, and I couldn’t let anyone in, that it was my task alone. And I just want to encourage you not to be afraid. To let it go. To share the burden.”

“What?” Merida is uncomfortably aware that the flush on her cheeks must be visible even by twilight. “I – I wouldna know. Anything. About how – about how to.”

“What makes you think I did?” Elsa asks gently.  “But doing it is the only way to learn. Just something to consider. You could do worse, you know.”

Merida coughs. She can’t help but steal a glance behind them, as if afraid Will and Macintosh might have snuck up to eavesdrop, but it’s still just them. She can hear the distant sound of the pipes from the hall, and straightens her crown. “Well then. Shall we?”

Aww, thank you. I don’t know if I’ll write more for the college universe but I do have this graphic that goes with it!

This fic was sitting on my computer for AGES because I wasn’t particularly happy with it, but I ended up posting it. Thank you again, though! It means a lot that you enjoyed it and I just posted another little Frozen Knave (set in 4A) fic a few minutes ago.

They’ve been intimate for some time now but it still drives him bloody nutty when she says his name like this.

Soft and desperate, lips pressed to the curve of his neck just below his ear in a way that drives him up a wall with wanting her. She has such a natural innocence about her, clinging to him as she does it. It’s almost like he’s hers and she’s his and that’s all there will ever be for them. A perfect simplicity that usually seems too good to be true. There’s a certain intimacy to it that he’s craved for an awfully long time, maybe he hasn’t even realized quite how much.

Elsa quells a hunger, soothes an ache deep inside, eases the stinging burn of failed attempts at love that he thought would never go away.

He hasn’t quite figured her out yet, just knows that he likes it when he’s with her, his snow queen (Elsa, not the other one, he always mumbles). He doesn’t understand everything that sets her off, gets her worried or afraid or makes her run from him sometimes, talking about how she doesn’t want to hurt him.

(He doesn’t think she could ever hurt him, not really.)

She’s been a lot better than she used to be, or so she tells him, but it’s still a slow road. She has walls, just like anybody, he supposes, especially with her powers and what happened with Arendelle and all and he’s the last person can judge something like that. God knows he has his own bloody walls big enough to surround a damn palace.

Still, he forgets the rough spots, forgets the hurt in the darkness, in the warmth of the covers and her body and the feelings between them when she kisses him and says his name in that desperate little way.

A baby bit of Frozen Knave fluff in honor of the birthday girl, qqueenofhades!  GO TELL HER HAPPY BIRTHDAY. DO EET.

Three weeks.  Anna had been counting.  Every day for the past three weeks, her sister had wildflowers braided in her hair when she came down from her room in the afternoon.

Anna had asked about it, and she got a different answer every time–”Oh, I just thought it’d be a nice change of pace.” “Oh, these?  Just to brighten up the mood for that dreary meeting with the nobles this evening.”  “I like the smell” “Why don’t you go see how your new husband is getting on?  You don’t need to fuss over me.” 

“Something is going on,” She finally announced over her sandwich at lunch.

I am frozen knave trash and I regret nothing.

The first time she says his name, he’s chained to two guards and her nose is in the air, high and mighty priss Queen of Arendelle that she is.

Missing scene from 4A

Elsa glances around the quiet room of the Storybrooke police station, eying the disorganized stacks of paperwork, pictures, and books from the library in a keen effort to avoid making eye contact with the man in the cell. She isn’t sure who he is. A criminal, surely. Emma couldn’t possibly imprison a man without decent reason, but she also likes to hope that neither would she leave her alone with a madman. (Not that she can’t protect herself, but after all that’s happened lately, does anybody truly lack enough excitement to wish to be in another situation where they have to?)She glances up briefly, pretending to be looking elsewhere, but she fears they both known where he curiosity truly rests. He doesn’t appear to notice her at first, so she looks again. She hasn’t had exposure to many criminals, but from her experience, he certainly doesn’t seem like a murderous, sister-betraying prince or an evil sorcerer. This time, he catches her looking at him for the briefest of moments, and smiles. Elsa looks away immediately, but her suspicions that he will attempt to speak with her are confirmed when he clears his throat. “Oi, you come here often?” She glances up quickly, startled. “What did you say?” “Ah, come on, I think you heard me just fine, love. What brings a proper lady such as yourself to these nasty parts?” “To a prison?” she scoffs, wrinkling her nose. She stands, tipping up her chin with what she assumes conveys a regal sort of grace and authority. “I’m helping Emma… why?”“Prison? What, this?” he shakes his head in mild amusement as a smirk pulls at the corners of his mouth. “Nah. This isn’t prison. Trust me, love, I’ve seen me share of dungeons. This itty motel here?” he looks back at his cell, grinning, and then turns back to face her fully. “It’s practically a bed’n’breakfast. Sometimes I even get me own snacks the sheriff hasn’t tried first. Real classy place.” Elsa huffs, rolling her eyes at his nonchalance, intrigued, yet still wary. She takes a hesitant step closer, tipping her head. “Then why are you here? You don’t… seem dangerous.” “Eh, not really, I guess.” He shrugs his shoulders. “I can hold me own in a fight, but I wouldn’t just start som’fin for no reason. Nah, got meself a bit drunk. Apparently knocked off in a library.” Oh. Well, that very well explains it, she supposes. “So you’re a drunk?” “Never said that,” he says, a bit too quickly, and she doesn’t miss the hint of defensiveness to his tone or the way his eyes narrow. “Now that I think of it, there might’ve been something about a few dollars taken from a register too.” And that truly explain. She deadpans, placing a hand on her hip, no longer concerned with her safety so much as annoyed (and perhaps a little bit amused). “And you’re a thief?” “Always been one, always gonna be one probably. It’s the only thing that’s been sure in me life. You wanna eat, you buy or steal it and buyin’ ain’t always a choice when you got nothin’ in your pockets but strings and air.” His candor surprises her and suddenly, she finds herself actually feeling sorry for this man and whatever circumstances have led him to this sad place in life. Hers has been no simpler, quite a bit more complicated than most people’s actually, but at least she and Anna have never had to worry about food or shelter.“I’m sorry,” she replies gently. “No one should…” She takes a step closer. “Nobody should be made to survive like that, be forced to-”It’s hard to put it into words. She doesn’t quite understand the concept of not having food, at all, or of being forced to steal and never losing the habit, but she does understand the feeling of helplessness. That she knows far too well. She can imagine how terrible it must have been. She pictures a shorter, ganglier Will Scarlet with the same cropped hair and big brown eyes and wonders if he’s done this since he was a child. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, love. Now I just feel bad.” He grins, looking anything but saddened, as he leans against the bars. “I’m sorry.” She looks down, blushing timidly, afraid that she has offended him, wondering at the same time why she should be so worried about offending a thief that she really has no proof is indeed a good man. (And yet… she feels that he must be, somewhere deep down.) “So, you never answered me question. What’re you in here for?” “Hey, this guy bothering you?” Emma’s voice interrupts them, and Elsa quickly turns and smiles broadly at her friend, shaking her head, a bit relieved that the conversation is over, yet simultaneously disappointed. “Not at all, I was simply continuing to look through the books when he only said hello.” “Good,” Emma replies, rolling her eyes in the thief’s direction. “Keep it that way.” Elsa meets the thief’s eyes, smiling at him, even if she isn’t entirely sure why she does it.