Disclaimer: I don't own Frozen, or Giselle for that matter.

A/N: Wilis make an appearance in the ballet Giselle, where they are the vengeful ghosts of women who are betrayed before their wedding day.

-:-

Your sister is dead.

Every word tore at her and laid her soul bare. She remembered that look of despair on Hans' face as he'd called out to her, saying words that didn't matter on their own but when stringed together carried an unsurpassed potency. Your sister is dead.

Elsa stood on a balcony of her ice palace, staring out at the ink-coloured sky and ignoring the wind which screamed of cold she could not feel on her skin. Her impassive face reflected a heart of stone, unyielding, unmoved by insignificant feelings, because feelings had played an instrumental role in Anna's death; that realisation helped her do what she had never managed to before.

The people of Arendelle will never accept an unpredictable murderer as Queen.

Hans's voice had taken on the trappings of grief as he'd told her to run. In the light of the revelation, her guilt and grief had overwhelmed all rationality, and she had run, faster than she had ever done so in her life. Later, as she'd paced along the corridors of ice, she had berated herself for being a coward, and was that foreign prince even telling the truth?

Her lips compressed very slightly as the tendril of doubt coiled about her and forced her down a darker line of thought that she could not –

Of course he was telling the truth. She had dealt the blow herself.

Cold blue eyes surveyed a landscape of unyielding trees and endless snow. They blinked and then suddenly there was a flicker of – something. But it disappeared.

Your sister is dead.

Your sister is dead.

The pale hands clenched slowly into fists.

-:-

Unsure of what to expect, Hans unlocked and pushed open the door. A wave of chill air swept over him and the first thing he saw was a grey mass of ice in front of the dead fireplace. Sword drawn, he cautiously approached, trying to suppress that growing feeling of anticipation in his heart. The Snow Queen's other creations had taken on a life of their own – it would be incredibly stupid of him to let his guard down now.

He soon realised that the ice resembled the figure of a person, one who, perhaps at the time of its demise, had collapsed in front of the fireplace as it attempted to support itself and hobble to – the window?

A smirk curled his lips as the implications became clear. Oh, Anna, you noble fool.

Hans sheathed his sword and strode over to the fireplace. Once there was a healthy fire going, he strode out of the room, locking the door behind him.

The armoury would have tools more suitable than a sword for breaking ice into smaller pieces – it wouldn't do to have people asking why Anna had collapsed in such a position if she had supposedly died in his arms.

-:-

What remained of Anna's body was given a burial as best as it could.

When asked why it was in pieces, Hans plastered on a look of bewildered sorrow and said, "I don't know. I found her like this." His voice trembled a little, but he continued, "Perhaps when the Snow Queen ended the winter, the magic . . . destroyed her."

Of course, his statements were met with occasional scepticism. Some asked how those shapeless chunks of ice could ever have been the princess, but then a piece still vaguely resembling a hand was found, together with something else that could have been a braid, and that was that. It was easy to believe that the Queen, in a fit of unbalanced emotion, had done the unthinkable.

And then, the face was found.

It was a blunted image, the features blurred from the melting process. But it was still whole, and still recognisable – anyone who saw it would agree without the slightest doubt that it was the princess. The symbolism of the find was not lost on the court, which erupted in confusion and shocked whispers. It was, of course, unseemly to turn to a foreigner to take the lead – even treasonous, in the eyes of some traditionalists – but no one would step up to fill in the power vacuum.

Besides, the prince had proven to be responsible, managing the country with reasonable competence and patience, nudging people to believe what they wanted to believe. There was nobody left who was willing to brave the consequences should something go wrong in this delicate time.

A few suggested searching for the Snow Queen, but still-fresh memories of a roaring blizzard and biting cold discouraged them almost immediately.

No one wanted to end up like the dead princess.

-:-

Elsa woke one night to ripples of cold wind blowing within the palace walls. She felt the chill in a way she had never felt it before, and the breeze tugged gently but insistently at her, making a few strands of her hair come loose of its braid. Come, it whispered in her ear. Come to us.

She tried to resist, a shade of apprehension touching her heart. But the breeze, while cold, was still bearable and the voice did not seem malevolent. Not like – whose? A vague memory scratched at the surface of her mind but she dismissed it when the breeze intensified, swirling around her back, nudging at her. Ultimately, she relented, telling herself that she could defend herself better than most.

(And what was there to lose anyway?)

The wind blew and she followed as it led her down into the forest, going deep in, where the trees became densely packed such that the weak moonlight could only be seen faintly through their wizened, snow-covered branches. But she did not feel threatened. An unforced sense of peace had settled on her and she took each measured step without hesitation.

At last, she came to a large clearing where the moon could be seen clearly, illuminating the icy ground with its pale glow.

The breeze vanished. Elsa surveyed the clearing, gaze settling on a pond on the far end. She took her first step into the clearing slowly, warily, and almost started when she heard a slight rustle to her left.

She looked toward the direction of the noise, but saw no one. But when she looked back to the clearing, it was suddenly filled with figures dressed in white, so pale that they seemed to glow under the moonlight. They drifted around, not paying attention to her, speaking in voices that seemed to echo from a place far away. Upon closer scrutiny, Elsa realised that the figures were all female; the light of the moon seemed to grow brighter and colder in their presence, the trees taller and more forbidding.

A feeling of sadness rose in her chest unbidden, the emotion not yet alien to her heart. And yet, it was not her own sadness; rather, it was a sadness that enveloped the clearing like a faint mist, permeating its every corner. It could be seen in the faces of the women and the downward tilt of their heads, felt in the cold emptiness of the air in spite of their presence, heard in the soft whispers and rustles of their movement. But it was a sadness interlaced with a faint current of anger, and an inkling of who they were began to form in Elsa's mind.

Myth had spoken of them, the stories passed down from generation to generation, and not long ago, a writer had taken it upon himself to compile these hushed whispers into a written record. The tome had been in the library of Arendelle's palace, and Elsa, having turned to books to pass the time during her solitude, had read it more than once.

"Wilis," she breathed. It had never occurred to her that the myth was true – she had not disbelieved it per se, for after all she had spoken with trolls, but she had treated it as any other myth: half-believed, half-sceptical. The whispers and rustles paused for a moment at her murmur, then resumed like nothing had happened, and she knew then that she was right.

If that was the case, if these women were wilis, then according to the legend they could be very dangerous. But Elsa did not fear them. Her newfound serenity did not falter; they did not feel dangerous at that moment, and if the myths were to be trusted they would not harm her.

Slowly, carefully, she took a step into the clearing and prepared to enter the crowd. The breeze must have brought her here to meet them for a purpose, and there seemed to be nothing else she could do to find out what that was. As she came close enough to almost enter the crowd, a long white sleeve fluttered against her arm, and she felt that same mild chill as the wind before. The women did nothing to stop her advance, though she knew with an unshakeable certainty that they were well aware of her presence. Their lack of reaction and hostility emboldened her to take another step, and another, and soon she was weaving her way through the pale figures, unsure of what to expect.

The crowd thinned, and she realised that they were gradually parting and opening up a path for her to make her way to a lone white figure standing in front of the pond. She, unlike the rest, was looking directly at Elsa with piercing eyes. The tiara on her dark head and calm assuredness of her gaze proclaimed her the leader of this group.

Elsa mulled inwardly over the purpose for all this. But she continued walking until she was at a respectful distance from the woman, and bowed in the manner reserved for foreign heads of state in their home territory.

The woman, to her mild surprise, returned her greeting with an unexpectedly deep bow. "Queen Elsa," she said, in that same faraway voice that came from between her lips and yet seemed to echo from somewhere else. In spite of this, Elsa noticed that her voice carried a firm note of authority.

She raised her head to meet the dark gaze. The woman's face was unlined, with features that carried the sharpness of youth. And yet the eyes, inscrutable, enigmatic, spoke of great age. They bore into Elsa without judgement, merely absorbing the details. Elsa returned the stare unflinchingly, but something in the woman's eyes – something alien that she could not quite place – made her more uneasy than she cared to admit.

The sides of the woman's lips curled up slightly into a smile, and she spoke. The words echoed oddly in Elsa's ears, and if asked to reproduce them later she would not be able to remember the precise words used, but suddenly, she understood.

It was a whirl of images, of sensations and sounds, where crimes, heinous, heinous crimes were brought to light in this haunted clearing, and the faint undercurrent of anger became a surge of vivid, red-hot fury that burned and fed on past injustices. She heard bells, laughter, tears, pleas, and seemingly random images of churches and crowded streets flashed before her eyes. A barrage of emotions – from euphoria to despair, wistfulness to rage – tore through her mind, and she realised that she what she heard was the echo of female voices; the images she saw were snatches of scenes centred around women. And all that was melded together by a collective wrath against – well she knew the legend didn't she? Everyone did.

She was staggering from the weight of it all, almost buckling but for her desire to retain some scrap of dignity in front of the Wili Queen –

And then the deluge stopped.

Somehow she'd managed to remain on her feet, though her knees suddenly felt much shakier than they had a while ago. A wary look around showed a ring of ice spikes impaled onto trees unfortunate enough to be within firing range. In spite of this, the woman before her was unperturbed, as were the rest of the wilis, though they had all stopped to watch with an unsettling stillness and intensity.

"So you understand?" The woman's voice was soft but clear.

Elsa met her gaze with a mixture of suspicion and residual anger – though the anger was not directed at her. "I do," she said, trying to infuse her voice with an undercurrent of authority. "But I will not fight battles which do not concern me – especially those which are impossible to win."

The wili's expression did not change, but something about the glitter of her eyes suggested a tinge of satisfaction. "I would expect nothing less, Queen Elsa. However, before you conclude thus, perhaps you could take a look at the members of our ranks." She inclined her head to the side, and an invisible grip tightened on Elsa's throat as she turned her gaze to the crowd.

One heartbeat. Two heartbeats.

"Anna?"

It was her. It could only be her. That red hair, those eyes that had once danced with vitality and mirth . . . they were unmistakeable. And yet –

Like a person in a trance, Elsa stumbled towards the pale figure. Her sister did not wear white. Her sister had never worn white. And those eyes were solemn, the skin so pale, too pale, the hair such a faded red, and she couldn't see those customary freckles. She stopped in front of the shade that resembled her sister and whispered again, "Anna?"

The girl smiled faintly and said, "It's me."

It was definitely her voice. Elsa reached out with trembling hands. "I can't believe this," she murmured. She did not quite know where to place her hands and hesitated, finally settling a hand lightly on Anna's cheek. It emanated that same not-unpleasant chill, but while it lacked the warmth of life, it was solid, it was there, it was real.

Anna stared at her, smiling more broadly and a shadow of her past spark flickered in her eyes. "Hey, Elsa."

"Y-you're alive?" It was a desperate hope, a final, futile hope.

Anna's gaze became infused with pity. Silently, she shook her head.

And having the confirmation of her hideous, awful crime right in front of her was the last straw. Forced apathy completely thrown aside, Elsa felt the guilt engulf her in a smothering wave and her throat constricted painfully. Her vision blurred. It was hard to speak, but she had to get the words out, had to attempt in some way or form to offer up penance, for doing this to her innocent, guiltless sister who had suffered so painfully, so needlessly. She'd only ever wanted to help.

The next few moments were filled with apology, with admissions of guilt, self-recrimination, and expressions of grief. The moments after were filled with a growing anger and sorrow, questions and answers, and then after came –

"So it was him."

Anna hesitated. "Yes," she said quietly, but with anger colouring her voice. "It was Hans."

Then her expression softened and she stared at her older sister imploringly. "I can't believe I couldn't warn you in time – I was so afraid he'd kill you too, and now. . . now you're in exile."

"Mostly self-imposed," admitted Elsa, shame blossoming in her chest. "I – I ran away. Like a coward. A selfish coward."

"But you can change that," a voice cut in smoothly. Elsa turned to face the queen, who had till this moment been politely ignoring everything they'd been saying. "Queen Elsa, I need hardly tell you this, but I feel it appropriate for the current situation: it is hardly controversial to say that a monarch must place duty above self, though to unnecessarily whittle oneself down is, of course," and here her lips curved upwards in a smile, "counterproductive."

A flush rose to Elsa's cheeks. "I know that. I've always known," she said, the words coming out a little more harshly than intended.

The woman's eyebrows rose. "And yet, here we are."

There was a long, pregnant pause.

Elsa drew herself up to her full height. "What business is my kingdom to you?" she asked coldly. "You rule here in the shades of trees, far removed from Arendelle and any surrounding settlements. Our kingdoms do not share overlapping interests."

The woman was unfazed by her confrontational tone. "You speak as if you were still queen," she said with a mocking lilt in her voice. "Do you rule from your palace of ice, Your Majesty? But no – " she cut across an outraged protest from Elsa, "you do not know, do you? That the foreign prince is ruling almost in your stead. Which brings me to the subject of the prince in question."

The temperature in the clearing seemed to plunge, as Elsa's eyes burned into the Wili Queen's pale face.

The wili gestured fluidly with an elegant arm. "You've seen what has become of your sister. You know who the perpetrator is. In spite of what you might think, your powers are part of what makes you strong, Queen Elsa."

A hungry look flashed across her face.

A sense of foreboding started to cloud Elsa's mind, though she crushed all evidence of it out of her voice. "You would have me commit murder?" she demanded, allowing an appropriate amount of moral outrage to colour her voice.

The moonlight illuminated the upward, almost arrogant tilt of the woman's chin. "I would say that it is a duty you owe your kingdom, Queen Elsa, but it would be a falsehood if I were to say it was my primary argument. You know what we are. You know what our curse is, a curse that we bear not as the result of our own actions – but as that of others'."

Elsa remained silent, though her eyes were still fixed coldly on the woman before her.

"You are strong," said the woman, "strong with your powers, and strong without. Your ice powers might not affect us – but they will affect him. Ask your sister how she died," she continued quietly, her gaze intense. "Now she labours under an undeserved curse for eternity."

"Melodramatically put, but true," quipped Anna, though her expression was sombre.

Elsa turned to her sister slowly and gazed at her for a long while. Then she turned back to the Wili Queen with a rigid jaw. The entire clearing was now blanketed in silence, with everyone fixated on her.

A quick glance around told her that one of the trees had suffered more grievously from her onslaught than the others. Elsa stared at it for a long while, her forehead creased in thought, before taking a long, deep breath, and making a hurling motion with her arm. The ice grew to cover the entire tree, and all its branches were ripped violently out of the trunk with sickening cracks. Another sharp gesture severed the trunk from its roots, and a small blizzard pushed it such that it fell backwards, out of the clearing. Exhilaration rushed through her veins, as she looked at the fallen remains of the tree.

She cleared her throat.

"Give me time," she said, turning back swiftly and staring into the woman's ancient gaze. "I will need to formulate my plans."

The Wili Queen smiled very slightly as she inclined her head.