Same italics and disclaimers as before.

Chapter 13: Switching Gears

Ali Baba groaned as he wiped the sweat from his brow. Every muscle in his body ached, actively screaming at him to go limp and begin the process of healing. But he couldn't. Despite the needs of his body, he couldn't resist leaping up and down with joy. "Finally!" he cheered, panting and heaving, "I beat you!"

On the ground, Mulan barked a laugh and crossed her legs. Lacing her hands casually behind her head, she looked up at him with a smirk. "Congratulations," she said, "You tripped up an old lady."

The elated sense of victory immediately gave way to a blasé depression. "Well when you say it like that," muttered Ali Baba.

"And only after I tagged your arm." Mulan drew her legs up to her chest and leapt up with a grunt, landing on her feet with her arms folded behind her back. "Still, it is an improvement." Her smile faltered for a moment and she stumbled forwards. Ali Baba dove forwards despite his exhaustion. He caught Mulan and could instantly feel the vibration of her bones.

"Mulan?" he asked hesitantly as he steadied her.

Her face was filled with confusion, then a bolt of determination flashed across her expression. "The temple," she whispered, pointing with a shaking, bony finger towards the garden.

"What?" Ali Baba looked where she was pointing in and focused on the darkened gazebo. He nodded and crouched down to properly sling an arm around his shoulder. Together, they hobbled slowly from the dirt courtyard to the garden. They crossed the short wooden bridge of the small koi pond, made their way up the thin path of flat stones, and entered the large, shuddered gazebo.

Ali Baba had not been in the family temple before. Mulan had only referred to it once, when she was explicitly forbidding him from entering it. He had to explain that he had no real desire to go into the foreboding garden building. Inside the gazebo was a series of raised stones, each polished to a reflective shine and chiseled with Chinese writing. The rafters of the room were lined with carved animal statues. From the center of the ceiling hung a golden incense burner, gently smoking a sweet-smelling herb. It was ornamented by a small, gilded dragon, crouching over the dish protectively.

"What is this place?" asked Ali Baba, helping to lower Mulan to her knees. He had never seen her so weak and feeble, it was the first time she'd really looked her age.

"My family temple," Mulan sighed, prostrating herself before the stones, "The graves of my ancestors and the guardian spirits who watch over their descendants."

"Are you okay?"

Mulan took a deep breath and slowly drew herself up into a sitting position. "I'm old, Ali Baba. I'm tired at best and dead at worst."

For a long few seconds, Ali Baba simply stared at her anxiously. "Well which is it?"

"Do I look dead to you, kid?"

Ali Baba bit both his lip and a biting retort. He looked around to avoid her piercing gaze. His eyes fell on a scroll at the rear of the temple. Hidden behind one of the largest stones was a painting on a thin paper. It showed a detailed image of a woman that Ali Baba could only assume was a younger Mulan. She was posing with a smile next to a tall, handsome man with slicked back black hair. In his arms was a young child, clearly annoyed at having to stay still for as long as the painting took to make. As Mulan bent down to pray some more, Ali Baba carefully slid between the graves to get a closer look at the scroll.

"What's this?" he asked, running a hand along the parchment.

"That's pain," Mulan said without looking up, "My father used to come to this temple every day to pray to our ancestors for one thing or another." From her bent position, she reached out and ran a hand along one of the closer, newer stones. "He was good man, an honorable one, but he lived in the past and suffered for it. I promised myself I would never make the same mistake. When my Shang passed, I put that picture in here, so that it can be with all other things best left to memory."

Ali Baba was quiet for a while before he made his way back to Mulan. Unsure of the proper prayer protocol, he hesitantly knelt down next to her. "When my mother died," he said slowly, "Father had a grand mural of her painted on the ceiling of the throne room so that he could see her every day and consider her wisdom whenever he looked up."

Mulan snorted and sat up. "He always was a sentimental one."

Ali Baba mimicked her snort. "Says the woman who put up her husband's picture as an idol for worship."

Mulan swiveled her head like an owl to stare at him with wide eyes. For a moment, Ali Baba was afraid he'd offended her. Then a wide smile split her face and she laughed. "You're learning in more ways than one, Ali Baba," she said, pushing herself to her feet. She placed both hands on her back, pushing inward with the sounds of a satisfying crack. "Come. Enough self-pity. Now I have to teach you how to fight with a real weapon."

. . .

Elsa was never a big fan of the throne. Not the symbolic position of power, though she wasn't particularly fond of that either. It was the actual chair itself she disliked. Hard with little back support and jagged edges to reflect the rigidity of her authority, it was as uncomfortable as it was regal. It was made all the more uncomfortable by the fact that the pudgy man standing near the foot of her throne seemed much more in charge than she did, out of sheer lack of interest if nothing else.

"I really don't know how much clearer I can make this without resorting to drawing pictures," grumbled Prince Fritz, scratching his nose with one hand while the other was firmly tucked in the pocket of his jacket. "My father, King Gustav, third of his name-"

"Fifteenth of his line, hopes that I see his gesture of aide as an offer of peace. Yeah, got that part," interrupted Elsa, resting her head in her palm. She'd been dealing with Fritz for the better part of two hours, starting, as he had told her, after noon, and was quite frankly done with trying to stay polite. Anna had refused to even meet him, Ajax was overseeing the construction of barracks outside the city walls, Merida was taking the fledgling army on a training trip, and Calypsa was hunting down Merida's triplet brothers, leaving Elsa to tackle the issue of a pseudo-annexation alone.

Well, almost alone.

"I think we all just need to take a deep breath and calm down," said Olaf, his chipper smile never faltering in the presence of overwhelming animosity, "How about we walk through the whole thing one more time and really take our time with it to make sure everyone understands it, okay?"

Fritz shifted uncomfortably, giving Elsa a fleeting sensation of satisfaction. "Does all this really have to be witnessed by…whatever he is?"

"Yes," said Elsa firmly, "Olaf is a, uh, one of my, um, royal advisors."

There was a moment of silence before Fritz folded his arms skeptically. "He is?"

Olaf looked up at her with wide eyes. "I am?"

Elsa stared down Fritz. "Yes," her voice chilled by both her powers and how little she cared about how obvious it was she was lying, "He is."

"Whatever," said Fritz. Elsa blinked, trying desperately not to let her utter frustration show on her face. He hadn't even cared that she lied to his face. And was being intentionally obvious about it! "The point is, we're here to help. So, if you could just lift the quarantine on my ships, the soldiers that we're giving you would be extremely grateful."

"You'll forgive me if I don't take Southern Isle royalty at its word," snapped Elsa.

"Understandable in context but overly paranoid in execution."

Olaf rubbed his twig arms together. "Oh, those are some very big words!" he said, "Okay, Elsa? I think you can let his soldiers leave their ship."

Elsa narrowed her eyes at Olaf and the little snowman gulped. She immediately leaned back in her throne. The last thing she wanted to do was scare her friend. "I just want to make sure we don't let a platoon of soldiers run amok through my city unless we know they won't eventually turn on us. We have a history of that when it comes to these people." She directed the last comment directly to Fritz, glaring at him pointedly.

"Okay," sighed Fritz, staring dully back at her. He looked back and forth between her and Olaf for a moment. "Okay," he repeated, "Apparently I haven't been making myself clear. Let me speak clearly." He took a few steps forwards, even going so far as to step up the two stairs to the throne's platform. "Queen Elsa," he said, his voice measured and slow, "I really could not possibly care less about whatever choice you make. My men are here, I've met with you, I've delivered my father's message, and now I'm just waiting for you to accept his gift so I can return home. If you don't, that means I get to laze around here for a few months until you get so completely tired of me that you'll let my men out just to get rid of me."

Unbeknownst to her, Elsa's fingers were leaking ice across the arms of her throne. Olaf noticed and looked at her nervously. He couldn't tell if Fritz was aware how much danger he was in or just was sort of ambivalent to mortality. "Your entitlement is revolting," Elsa snarled.

"As is your empathy," said Fritz, his voice raising abruptly, "You know, I'm actually kind of disappointed. When I heard about your, ah, unique upbringing-"

"Careful," Elsa interrupted him softly. The ice under her hands flared and crept across the floor. Fritz kept his eyes firmly fixed on hers. For the first time, she saw a legitimate emotion in his face; anger that drew from a place of frustration and hate.

"I thought we'd be similar. But for whatever reason, you actually care about the people you rule."

This caught Elsa off-guard and her ice briefly halted it's journey around the room. "And you don't?" she challenged.

Fritz snorted. "Of course not!" he chuckled, "I'm the second youngest of my brothers, only older than Hans. Neither of us are destined for the crown. He foolishly tried to change that by vying for a different throne. Meanwhile, I learned to accept my lot in life. I was born lucky enough to enjoy the benefits of high birth without the drawback of actually having to rule." His anger had dissipated, but Elsa got the sense that his reserve of hate wasn't so much emptied as ignored. "I'm not my brother," he said softly, "I'm not any of them. I don't desire power or wealth or influence or knowledge or anything. I just want to do my job so I can go home. I left the book I was reading in my room by mistake and I'm dying to know how it ends."

Elsa stared at him for several seconds of silence. Her ice wasn't thawing, but it wasn't expanding anymore either. Still, there were now jagged icicles hanging from the rafters and snow was accumulating in the corner. "Alright," she finally acquiesced, "I'll concede that I can…probably trust you. Due to lack of ambition if nothing else."

"Gee, thanks."

"Your soldiers, on the other hand, are a different story entirely," Elsa quickly interjected, "Each and every one of them will be thoroughly vetted before they're allowed to leave their ships. Including the crews and dignitaries!"

Fritz rolled his eyes and waved his hand. "More than fair, I guess."

"Then we're all okay with that?" said Elsa.

"Sure. Can I go back to bed now?"

Elsa stared at him. "It's four in the afternoon. And you woke up two hours ago!"

Fritz matched her glare once again. "And I got dressed, ate, and then came down here to get yelled at for an hour. Can you think of anything else for me to do?"

After a long pause where she considered him carefully, Elsa gave Fritz a nonverbal dismissal. He offered her a short, polite bow before turning and strolling out of the room. There was a loud sigh and Elsa realized Olaf had been holding his breath. "Did I…did I help?" he asked anxiously.

Elsa gave him a smile. "Yeah, thank you Olaf. I think we'll be able to keep the peace for a little bit longer."

"Yay!" cheered Olaf, doing a backflip that involved the different sections of his body switching places, "Now are you going to clean this place up? You're sorta the only one who can."

Elsa blinked. "What are you…oh." She looked around the frozen throne room, finally noticing the thin layers of ice that covered almost everything. "I…I didn't even realize that was happening!" Thank goodness nobody else had seen. Despite their general acceptance of her, she knew deep down that all of her subjects secretly feared that she would lose control of her powers again, something she shared with them. It would incite a national panic if they knew how little it took to distract her from keeping herself in check.

She closed her eyes and tried to focus on feelings of love. Her sister's sacrifice flashed through her mind, but there was something wrong. When Elsa pictured Anna reaching out to intercept Hans's sword, she also imagined her turning her head. "You know what you need?" the imaginary Anna told her, "Someone to love."

"Don't I love you?" muttered Elsa, her eyes still shut.

Imaginary Anna laughed as imaginary ice raced up her imaginary body. "You know what I mean."

Elsa's eyes snapped open with a start. "I'll, ah, I think I'll just let it melt," she said, standing and brushing herself off, "I'll mop it up later."

Olaf cringed. "O-okay."

"Oh!" gasped Elsa, "Olaf! No, no, I'm sorry! I'd never mop you up!"

"I know!" Olaf reassured her. The nervous smile didn't leave her face. "But why can't you just thaw it now?"

"I…I don't know," Elsa confessed, "I feel kinda confused right now. I tried to use my love for Anna but…I guess maybe my frustration got in the way? Or maybe pity? Fritz just got under my skin. It's not a big deal."

"Okay." Olaf was smiling at her, but it was clear he believed her about as much as she believed herself.

. . .

Salam climbed up the rocky terrain with a series of grunts. His hands had quickly become cut up and rough from all the clambering. He briefly wished that he had more time to observe the increasingly lovely scenery, but he had his mission and needed to complete it as soon as possible. As he slowly climbed higher, the wind began to pick up and he braced against the chill. At one point, he reached a particularly windy cliff and, as an experiment, he raised a fire-covered hand. He'd expected it to blow out in the strong breeze, but was surprised when the fires only grew, almost beyond his control.

Quickly, he extinguished the fires. Their roars vanished just in time for Salam to hear a small gasp. He looked over his shoulder at a large boulder a few yards behind him on the cliff. "Who's there?"

After a moment of silence, the boy he'd met in the forest stepped out from behind the rock. "Hello!" he said cheerily.

"Mowgli?" Salam frowned, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm following you!" said the jungle boy, "So I can see how you carry the red flower!"

Salam stared at him. The boy was scrawny and despite the smile on his face, he was clearly already cold, wearing nothing but his loincloth. "You're too cold," said Salam, "Turn back and go to your trees. The army is heading south so they should leave you alone."

"Can they carry the red flower as well?"

"Not in the way I do, no."

"Then I will follow you."

"You cannot."

"Why?"

Salam cocked his head to the side. "Where I am going will be much, much colder than this. You will not be able to keep warm."

Mowgli shrugged. "You can keep me warm!" Salam almost laughed, but his thought process was interrupted by a low growl. From behind the boulder sauntered the large black cat he'd encountered on the road. It snarled at him, baring its large fangs. Salam felt no fear. He'd killed much larger and deadlier things than the panther. "Bagheera says he can't stop me and if you don't let me come and keep me warm, he'll eat you in your sleep."

Salam glanced at him but didn't take his eyes off the threatening cat for more than a second. "You speak the tongues of animals?"

"Of course! Bagheera was the one who found me wandering the jungle and he gave me to the wolves to raise as one of their own." Mowgli said this like it was a simple, commonplace fact. Salam decided to just accept it as such.

Salam grunted and stood up. He folded his arms, looking down at the feral animal. "I do not sleep."

The cat hissed. "He wants to see you prove that," Mowgli translated, "Also, it's not like you can stop us from following you." The wind rustled the boy's shoulder length black hair and he shivered in the breeze. Salam sighed, lowering himself back down to Mowgli's level. With a flick of his wrist, he held a small fire near the boy's face. Immediately, the child relaxed and sighed in warm relief.

Bagheera raised himself out of his battle-ready crouch and stepped between Salam and Mowgli. He growled deeply. "Bagheera says that I'm going to follow you anyway. The least you can do is keep us warm."

Salam closed his eyes and turned around. "Follow then. But do not impede my mission."

Mowgli grinned and patted Bagheera. With a yip, he climbed onto the panther's back and together, they followed Salam across the rocks.

. . .

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