Chapter Text
Arendelle, early September
The applause that filled the rink sounded loud enough to lift the roof off the building, Victor mused. On the ice, Mila--flushed, triumphant, and aglow in pale blue and silver costume—dipped into a graceful curtsy. The girls from the Arendelle Junior Figure Skating League, the snowflakes to her Snow Queen, followed suit.
Finally, the roar subsided into scattered claps and Mila and the junior skaters made their way off the ice.
“Over to you, Vitya,” Mila said breathlessly as she passed him at the barrier.
Victor raised a hand in acknowledgement and turned to his fiancé. “Ready, my zolotse?”
Yuuri’s smile was answer enough, but he glanced at the third member of their routine, who glowered at both of them.
“Stop dawdling, old man. Let’s get on with it.”
The words were typically ungracious, but Victor noticed that Yuri’s eyes held a gleam of excitement. He was looking forward to this just as much as Victor and Yuuri were.
And why not? Victor thought with no small degree of pride. This particular exhibition piece was among the best he’d choreographed, though he’d had input from the other two.
But then everyone had worked to make this skating gala special. Most of the company of “Victor and Friends” had reunited for the occasion: a celebration of the new Queen Sigrid’s coronation, just before the figure skating season officially began. And they had agreed to another show once the season was over—every year, as long as Arendelle wanted to see them. The proceeds would go towards financing the new sports center in the capital. Judging from the volume of the applause, the venue was full, not just with Arendelleans, but with an encouraging number of world tourists.
Currently on the ice, Olaf—skated by Karina, the youngest of Yuri’s Angels in Arendelle—was doing a small dance in anticipation of the next number. The snowman made an exit as the announcer’s voice came over the speakers.
Their cue. Victor caught Yuuri’s eye, they kissed their rings for luck (ignoring Yuri’s gagging noise behind them), and made their entrance, stroking up to take their positions at center ice. Victor standing, Yuuri kneeling at his right, Yuri at his left.
Victor thought he heard an appreciative murmur at the image they presented: himself as a Frost King—resplendent in white and silver— and the other two as his attendant spirits, in contrasting shades of blue.
The thrumming introductory notes of Vivaldi’s “Winter” played over the speakers, and as they built to a crescendo, the skaters broke position and began to move.
Victor had conceived of the program as an exercise in perpetual motion, punctuated by crisp twizzles, alternating straight-line and circular step sequences, lightning-fast spins, and the occasional explosive jump. Sometimes, he led the other two over the ice, at others, they separated into pairs, and once they struck out individually, to perform their trademark jumps to the same musical beats.
Drops of quicksilver splitting apart and reforming, the King and his attendants leaping, gliding, and gamboling through a winter landscape. Towards the end, artificial snow drifted down from the rafters, as the trio came together, assuming their starting position once again.
It took all of Victor’s training as an athlete not to pant visibly at the end, and he could hear Yuri’s harsh breathing to his left, even over the rapturous applause. His Yuuri, predictably, was not even winded.
There was a brief encore lap for each of them: Yuri leaping fiercely into a trio of Russian splits, Yuuri in his favorite spread-eagle flowing into a triple Axel, Victor launching into the vaunted quad flip that he and Yuuri now shared.
They united at center ice, taking their final bows towards each corner of the venue, saving the royal box for last.
Queen Sigrid of Arendelle—beautifully dressed as befitted her new station—sat applauding enthusiastically, flanked by her fiancé, Karl Magnusson, on one side and Grand Duchess Vanessa on the other.
And behind them, doubtless unseen by nearly everyone else, a trio of women: two fair, one red-haired, ranged about the new queen’s chair.
“Vitya,” Yuuri murmured beside him.
And Victor knew that his lover saw them too. “Da, lyubov moya. They’re here.”
He raised his hand in greeting to all four generations of Arendelle’s royal family, saw the ghostly trio smile in response.
Then they were gone, melting away… like snowflakes. But instead of a lingering chill, Victor felt a warm glow suffuse him. Family. An ancestry to be proud of, a new connection to cherish, and finally, a solid foundation to build upon… with the one he loved most.
His hand found Yuuri’s, their fingers interlacing. “Partiamo insieme,” he murmured under cover of the continuing applause. Let’s leave together.
Yuuri smiled, his brown eyes brilliant. “Ora sono pronto,” he replied. I’m ready.
And he squeezed Victor’s hand in return.