Chapter One: Frozen to the Bones, I Am

The nightmare was a familiar one to Elsa, but that didn't make it any less frightening.

She was alone in the castle, her own room, she thought. Her breath misted before her eyes and she wrapped her arms around herself as she cast her gaze about the empty room, cold seeping into her bones.

Wrong…

She never got cold. Even when she'd scaled the mountains north of Arendelle in the middle of a raging blizzard, she'd felt warmer than she'd ever been. Free. This was different. Not just a physical cold, but dread. Dread creeping up her spine as she set foot on the cold stone floor and pulled open the door of her room, ice splintering from the frame and shattering on the ground. She stepped out, icy filaments stretched across the hall to her right, only the way left clear, the way to the throne room.

The way to Anna.

She set a careful foot on an ice-encrusted patch of stone, breath catching in her chest as her foot nearly slid out from under her.

Wrong…

She never slipped, not even when she'd fled across the fjord on the night of her coronation. She found a tapestry, fabric clenched in her fist as she made her way down the hall, temperature dropping with every step, breath fogging her vision as she made her way to the place that all her nightmares had started.

The throne room was nearly unrecognizable. Jagged crystals of ice bloomed around her like a forest, frozen fractals clawing their way skyward. She walked among the frosty pillars, her own visage reflected back at her a thousand times, her own gift—curse—thrown back in her face. In the mirror's eyes she saw guilt, longing, loneliness. A decade of isolation taking its toll.

"Elsa?"

She gasped, turned, eyes wide in panic and horror. Anna. Plain as day, green eyes glittering with mirth, mouth quirked up in an amused smile.

"Anna? What are doing here?" She couldn't be here, shouldn't be here.

Her sister was silent for a moment, striding up to her amongst the towers of ice, "What kind of question is that? I'm your sister."

"You can't be here! You need to get out of here!"

"Why?" Anna smiled indulgently, tilting her head, "Afraid you'll freeze me again?"

Wrong…

Anna would never do that, never throw that in her face. Elsa backed away, hands fisted in the gossamer fabric of her ice-woven gown, but Anna kept pace with her, that smile still set on her face.

"It's okay," She said. Her voice was stinging now, anger and bitterness ringing with every word, "You'd never do anything to hurt me, right Elsa? You'd never hurt your only sister." Already her fingers were icing over, hair lightening, whitening with every step, a viral frost spreading from her heart like winter's plague. In that same contemptuous voice, she sneered, "Why would you ever do such a thing, Elsa?"

"Stop it, Anna, please!" Elsa screamed as she slid to the floor. Head bowed,knees buckled, tears falling as she fought to deny what was before her. Anna was alive, healthy, thriving! This was only a dream.

Don't feel, don't feel, don't feel.

"MOTHER!"

A new voice cut through the gloom. A despaired plea.

Anna was gone. The ice was gone.

In its place was a new sort of hell. It was a throne room, yes, but a different throne, different stone under her feet. The room was bathed in a dim red color, light flickering from spent torches and guttering hearths, embers glowing in the darkness. A corridor much like the one she'd come through led the way out, flickering light beckoning.

She stepped into the hall, arms around herself at the sight of it. It must have been richly adorned once, tapestries and paintings covering the walls with stories and scenes unknown to her. But that was all gone now. In its place was nothing but fire and ash.

Wall hangs burned brightly, flames licking up the walls and to the ceiling. Along the side of the hall, the ashen wrecks of fine furniture sagged, scorched and broken. What may have once been well-made woven carpets from south of the Mediterranean were now little more than ash and cinders. Black marks marred the walls where beautiful paintings had once hung, their frames empty and charred, only fragments of a mural left where the paint had peeled away.

"Mother, where are you?!"

That voice again—a man's she was sure now—rang out from deeper within the dream. She thought about running, fleeing, but something stopped her. The anguish she'd heard in that voice rang too strongly within her, and she heard it still in her ears long after it had fallen silent. He was like her.

She pushed on, edging past the flames as the heat laved against her pale skin. What greeted her in the next hallways was still more fire, hotter and redder, a rhythmic crackling sound resounding through the corridors as it devoured the papered walls. She stepped forward tentatively, only to jerk forward as she heard the sound of splintering wood above her. Stumbling forward, she fell to the floor, turning to see that the ceiling had crumbled behind her into a pile of burning beams and broken stone. No way back.

"Mother, I'm sorry! Please don't leave me!"

It was him again, the man. Just ahead, it almost seemed. His voice broke and a wretched sob echoed through the halls, the sound once again hanging in Elsa's mind as she hurried away from the wreckage. A door at the end of the hall was the only way forward. She hesitated for a moment as she drew close to it, pausing with her hand raised, as though to knock on the door. If it weren't for the flames licking at the walls she would have laughed at her own absurdity.

Mindful of the flames, she brushed the back of her hand gingerly against the metal handle of the door. Warm, but not too hot. It would be safe to proceed. Steeling herself with a breath, she pushed open the door and stepped inside.

It was definitely a bedroom, though one gutted by the same fires that burned outside. Here, however, they still burned readily in the corners, the rest of the room's furnishings reduced to ash. The small flames cast flickering shadows on the walls, twisted images of things burnt and lost. If she hadn't been specifically looking for him, she would have overlooked the Stranger entirely.

He knelt in the center of the room, head tilted upward, shoulders slumped, face streaked with soot and tears as a cloud of ash drifted up and away from him, as though carried by an unseen wind. His eyes held no more tears, however, fixed upward in an expression of forlorn sorrow. Hands limp at his side, he held his gaze for a few moments longer before bowing his head.

"I'm sorry," He whispered.

Elsa took a step forward, then another, more sure of herself. Quietly she knelt down beside the man, "Are you alright?"

He blinked, his gaze focusing and finding hers, dark eyes meeting her own clear blue, "You…you're real, aren't you?" He said in half a whisper, as though he didn't believe it himself, "You're no shade of my dream, though I doubt I could imagine one as beautiful as you…"

Elsa felt her cheeks redden—she didn't even know that could happen here—and opened her mouth to reply, but stopped when she felt a hand on her shoulder, cold fingers against her skin.

"There you are!" Anna's voice rang, tinkling as though ice were creeping up her throat, "Were you trying to run away?"

Elsa shuddered, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to will away the frost encroaching up her arms, turning to face her sister when another hand stopped her. Warm and comforting against her cheek, the Stranger's palm turned her gaze back to him as he shook his head, eyes never leaving hers.

"Don't," He uttered, voice stronger now, "Don't look at her. She's not real, she's just a shade of your dream. You don't have to give her power."

His voice faltered as he tried to find the words to go on, but she placed her own hand over his, "We'll be alright."

He nodded, smiling at her, "I'm here, I'm real."

She smiled back, the nervousness she felt drying up at the reassurance in his voice, "I'm here, I'm real."

The nightmares did not visit her again that night.

0000000000

Elsa awoke alone, as she always did. In the few moments it took her eyes to focus, she palmed the sheets of her bed. Warm. She hadn't frosted the bed over again. It happened when she dreamed: she made the cold outside match the cold she felt within, ice creeping along the walls and ceiling at times, until she stirred in the morning to a cold and empty bed.

But this time was different, wasn't it? There was that man. Already the details were slipping away from her conscious mind. Dark hair, dark eyes, a voice that reassured her, made her feel like the nightmares would all just go away.

Who was he? Just a figment of her imagination? No, he'd refuted as much, hadn't he? I'm here, I'm real. He'd said that, and the conviction in his voice had showed that he'd meant it. It was something to keep the nightmares away at least.

She broke from her thoughts as she heard a knock on her door, the rhythmic staccato of the sound leaving no doubt as to who it was: Anna. Only she knew that knock.

"Elsa?" Her voice floated past the door, high and clear and joyful, nothing like the tinkling reproach of her dreams, "You up yet?"

She took a moment to shake away the thoughts of her dreams, looking down to straighten out her sleeping gown, "Yeah. Come in, I'm decent."

Anna pushed the door open, and Elsa let out a quiet sigh of relief. No ice. No frozen heart. Her sister looked at her, taking in her appearance, noting the sigh. Her face fell, "Nightmares again?"

"No," She shook her head, "I thought I was having one, but then…" Elsa considered the strangeness of the previous night's dream, and decided that the only thing she really could say was the truth, "I'm not really sure."

Anna eyed her for one long moment, "You're sure you're okay? You've been working yourself really hard lately."

"I'm fine, I promise," Elsa said, trying not to dismiss her out of hand.

"You're really sure—"

Elsa sighed, "If I start feeling unwell, I'll take the rest of the day off, how about it?"

Anna considered it for a moment, then nodded, "Alright, I'll allow it," Brightening up, she went to the windows and drew open the curtains, Elsa wincing slightly as the morning came crashing through the windows, "Do you think it'll snow?"

"Anna, it's June."

"I mean up in the mountains. Kristoff's off selling ice, remember? He said they''d be stopping in the mountains for a week to harvest more ice to store for the rest of the summer. He likes it when it snows. Reminds him of the time we met three years ago…" She gazed off dreamily for a moment before she realized what she'd said, "N-not that we'd want to repeat that! I mean, why would we? Not that it was bad, or your fault or anything, it was my fault—or his fault—"

"Anna!" Elsa held up both hands as her sister managed to stem her babbling, "It's alright, I get it."

Anna giggled sheepishly and tugged at a stray hair, not meeting her eyes, "Right, sorry. Are you, uh, ready to start the day?"

Elsa smiled in return, "Let's try to get something done before dark, okay?"

As Anna nodded and started to drag her from the room, Elsa remembered something, the last fragment of her dreams. It was something the Stranger had said. That last moment she'd seen him, she thought he'd said one last thing:

"I'll be here if your dreams turn black again. Find the light in the darkness."

0000000000

Kristoff Bjorgman was having a good day. His group had finished selling off the rest of their ice, he had the day off, and he was spending the rest of the evening just relaxing with the boys at the tavern. They'd have to head out to the Arendelle mountains the next morning if they were to harvest enough ice to replenish their stock for the rest of the summer, but tonight was for them to unwind and have a good time. He saw some of his workmates ogling the waitresses and rolled his eyes. There was a time he'd have done the same, but…things were different now. He smiled warmly as his thoughts turned to Anna.

"Now that's the smile of a man daydreaming about a pretty girl."

At the sound of a foreign, slightly accented voice, he turned to see a dark-haired stranger seat pull himself onto the barstool beside him. He was dressed head to foot in dark clothing, a dark cloak drawn around his shoulders, though the place seemed quite warm enough. His pants were of some tough, resistant-looking fabric, the fading at the knees telling Kristoff that this man was no stranger to hard work. His gloves looked to be of fine make—good leather, if a bit worn—but the fingers had been destroyed (not simply cut off, it was too clean for that.) Still, the stranger's hands seemed undamaged, as he rubbed them against his chest, where he wore a toughened vest over what seemed to be a fine silk shirt. Strange combination of clothing on a man who looked as though he hadn't slept indoors in a week.

Kristoff's smile faded and he raised an eyebrow, "Do I know you?"

The stranger smiled genially and raised a hand, signaling the bartender, "Two whiskeys, if you please. The best you've got."

The bartender eyed him, "You got the coin?"

He nodded, dipping a hand under his cloak. There was a clinking sound as he withdrew a single gold coin. Holding it between his fingers with an amused grin, he offered it to the other man, "Real enough for you?"

Kristoff turned to the bartended, Elias, as he took the coin. He'd known the man for several years, and he knew that he had a sharp eye for telling false gold from the real thing. Elias' eyes grew wide at the imprint on the gold, "This is…"

"Carthaginian gold," The stranger said, "Mined in Anatolia and forged in Carthage itself. You won't find finer coin anywhere north of the Mediterranean."

"Our currency is just as valid as yours," Kristoff retorted as Elias hurried off, practically floating as he eyed the gold coin with a grin.

The stranger regarded him for a long moment, breaking his gaze only to thank the bartender as he returned with the drinks. Sliding one over to Kristoff, he spoke, "I suppose you're wondering exactly what I'm doing here."

"That would be a start," Kristoff took a look at the alcohol in front of him. Elias wouldn't have spiked it or anything like that, but he was generally suspicious of apparently wealthy strangers offering him drinks. It had saved his butt a few times.

"Drink it, it's not gonna kill you," The other man said. Kristoff relented and took a sip—it was their finest—and the stranger continued, "I need passage to Arendelle."

"Oh?" This was a new one, "What makes you think I can help you with that?"

"You're the only company making heading there for the next month. I could charter a ship, but…let's just say I don't have much confidence in merchant ships. I asked around the members of your company, and apparently you're the one calling the shots."

Kristoff grimaced. It hadn't been his intention to take over the company, but when the owner had retired, he'd figured it was a good idea to have the new head be someone someone competent, even if they'd never run a business before. So the old man made the Official Arendelle Ice Master and Deliverer the new company head. Now he oversaw an operation of over forty men and had to manage…finances. While he appreciated the old man's faith in him, sometimes he wished he'd had a few more years as just a harvester. He still worked out in the field with the men, but it was more limited. He had other duties now.

"So what do you say?" In his recollections, he'd almost forgotten the stranger entirely.

Kristoff mulled it over, taking another sip, "Taking you on would stretch our provisions and take up space we could use for ice. Why should I trade that for you?"

The man grinned, "I have a rather unique set of talents. I do a lot of traveling, but take me on and I can guarantee that this expedition of yours will be the most comfortable you've ever had."

Kristoff had no idea what the guy was talking about, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I suppose you could say I'm a fire-tender. I tend fires. It's in the name."

This day was getting stranger and stranger, "Why would I need someone like that? We can make fires on our own."

"Yes," The stranger nodded, "You could. And your cabin would still be uncomfortably cold, and the beds would still chill you to your bones."

"And you're saying you can, what, make a snowy mountaintop feel like this tavern?"

"No, Mr. Bjorgman, I'm saying that I can make your cabin feel like a day at the beach." Kristoff just stared at him, skeptical, "Look, how about we make a deal. Take me with you tomorrow—it's no loss, you're not carrying anything yet—and give me one day to prove my talents to you. If you're satisfied, all I need are lodgings and food, and I can keep the place toasty warm."

"And if we're not?" Kristoff stressed the plural. It wasn't just his coin he was betting, it was everyone's.

"Kick me out, I'll make my way down the other side of the mountains to Arendelle, and we never have to speak again. I swear it to the Lorn Mother."

Kristoff had to admit he was impressed. Not everyone would have the guts to pull a stunt like this one. Groaning and imagining how Anna would call him a softie for this one, he reached into his bag and pulled out a ledger, dropping it on the bar with a thump and turning to the employee payroll, "Alright, man, I'll wager on you."

The stranger seemed surprised for a moment, then broke into a grin, "Thank you for this, Mr. Bjorgman. You won't regret this!"

"You can call me Kristoff. Might as well get used to it if you're bunking with us for a week. Now, what's your name?"

The stranger winced slightly, knocking back the rest of his drink, "Hanno."

"Hanno what?"

He seemed uncomfortable, "Just put me down as 'none given'. I haven't seen my family in years."

"I'm sorry."

"Not your fault," Hanno waved his hand dismissively.

"You're not a criminal are you?"

"No!"

Kristoff grinned, "I'm kidding. You're in."

Hanno smiled back, dark eyes flashing with mirth, "Thank you, Kristoff. I know you took a gamble on me. I promise I'll hold up my end of the bargain." He held out a hand, which Kristoff gripped in his own.

"Welcome to the company of Kristoff Bjorgman, Hanno."

Hi, me again. New fanfic and all that. I know I have trouble finishing stories, but this one has been bouncing around in my head for weeks demanding that I write it, growing and maturing all the while. What could I do but comply?

Simply put, I fell irrevocably in love with this fandom from the moment I first saw the movie. I only hope I can live up to the shadow of its greatness.

I guess the only thing left to do is beg for reviews, right?

…nah, forget it. You guys are cool already. (Get it?)