Disclaimer: I don't own Rise of the Guardians or Frozen.
A/N: I don't know what this is, but I think I like it. Multi-chapter?
Title: Absence
Summary: The memory sparkles and glitters like a dying star, and there's the familiar sense of "I know you" but all that remains is nothing but the smoldering embers and a feeling of irritating forgetfulness.
Pairing(s): Elsa/Toothiana
Warning(s): femslash, maybe dark stuff . . . yeah, I think that's it, AU
Xxxx
Chapter One
The mountains know Elsa is a stranger and sense the fear she tries to keep contained; they pull her higher and higher up their rocky faces, but there is nothing but the startling, crystal whiteness of the snow and the emaciated shadows of trees. It is not the cold that makes Elsa's heart stutter, but the darkness that consumes the shapes of the trees and snow drifts like a ravenous beast. She moves slowly and cautiously, like a frightened deer that no longer knows the paths it once tread. Once, and only once, she turned to look over her shoulder, and her kingdom was a carefully placed smear of dark paint against the velvet backdrop of a warm summer night, blotted with lemon-colored lights that promise familiarity and comfort.
But not for me, Elsa thought as she turns to face the blackness that looms before her, never for me.
She hadn't looked back sense then, and the rush of freedom was still coursing through her veins, but it was now dulled by the distinct throb of fear. She'd discarded her cloak long ago, watched it as it had rippled and wavered like a torn flag of surrender and continued her trek. Her glove was emancipated along with her cloak, and the feeling of the wind and electric magic coursing beneath her skin was addictive and breath-taking. The release of her power was blood-boiling and brought a euphoric rush that made Elsa laugh and giggle, her smile straining as the muscles twitched and strained beneath her cheeks.
She'd get better; she'd practice; she'd live free—for the first time in her life, she'd be free.
Something moved in the splattering of trees, and Elsa's head whipped to the side, searching it for . . . what she didn't know. She knew of the beasts that lived in the mountains—wolves, bears, things of that nature. Maybe she hadn't been in a sane state of mine when she took off running across the lake that froze beneath her feet, but there hadn't been time to think, and Anna's voice had been ringing behind her like a bell, and the mountains had promised safety away from the people of her kingdom, away from Hans and those old men with balding heads and fat stomach and accusatory eyes. There'd been no time for thinking, but now there's nothing but the whispering wind and, star-studded night sky, pressing silence and copious amounts of time to think and wish for better planning.
Elsa moves to draw her cloak around her but releases exasperated noise when she grasps cool air. The cloak and door had served as a defense mechanism that Elsa had used far too many times, and now she felt naked and vulnerable without them. A growl rumbled through the air, and Elsa felt the spark of magic pulse through her body; she shook with the effort to contain it.
"Calm down," Elsa's voice is small even to her own ears, "don't panic; just stay calm and don't panic; don't lose control."
A twig snaps like a breaking bone and Elsa runs.
The wind scratches at her face and hands; she thrusts her hands forward blindly and the magic curls and explodes, forces the snow to take nonsensical shapes as she fights enemies that cling to the dark shapes of the trees. Behind her, something rushes forward, something that snaps its teeth and whines. When Elsa turns to look over her shoulder, she stares into yellow eyes swirled with orange and red.
The hulking figure looks like a horse, but there's something wrong with it; it's black shape constantly moves and shifts, as if it can't decide whether it wants to stay in the form of a horse or take on another shape. A strangled scream escapes Elsa's throat as the face of the creature contorts and transforms into first her father's face lined with disappoint, then her mother's round features emerge frozen in a terrified expression, and finally Anna's twisted features that show nothing but horror.
Elsa waves her hand blindly and screws her eyes shut, forcing the images away. The creature lets out a startled yelp that sounds like three voices in one, but Elsa doesn't look behind her to see if the creature has fallen. She waves through the skeletal limbs and snow mounds, pushes them aside and makes them harder and sturdier, attempting to erect a wall. She hears them shatter like crystal as something heavy collides with them.
Elsa lets out an uncharacteristically girlish squeal as her foot catches on a fallen branch. She throws her arms forward and crumples onto the snow. The wind escapes her lungs in a hot burst of air, and her head connects with something hard barbed with sharp edges. She rolls and the world becomes a blur of velvet sky and white snow. When she finally stops, the world continues to move in a spiral, and the stars embedded in the sky twinkle and fade in and out of focus. Elsa groans and squeezes her eyes shut.
Through the ringing in her ears, Elsa can hear the soft sound of hooves against snow, and the smell of something pungent and heavy fills her nostrils. Blackness washes over her as the creature stoops to bend its head low so that she can feel its hot breath against her neck. Elsa tenses and then—
"Get away from her!"
The darkness breaks, the smell dissipates and a rush of wind moves over Elsa's form. She struggles to open her eyes, and something and iridescent streaks across her field of vision. She hears the creature scream (not whine or yelp but scream), and there's the distinct sound of something ripping through wind. There are other noises, too—deep and rolling yet fierce and defiant. They're the distinct explosions battle cries.
"Jack! North! Over here!"
Elsa struggles to sit up, but something feathery soft comes to gingerly rest on her shoulder while something with long tendrils combs through her hair. A voice—soothing and soft but leaving no room for argument—says:
"Shh, don't worry. We've got you now."
It takes Elsa a moment to realize that the tendrils are actually fingers, and the thing on her chest is actually a hand. Her cheek comes into contact with feather, the satin ends gingerly tickling her cheek and nose. They smell of sweet things like candy and flowers, and Elsa allows herself to fall into the darkness—her power settling into her bones with a soft quiet.