Hey guys! Listen, I know I've been a little AWOL (and by a little, I mean a lot AWOL) but I promise to get the next chapter of WTHWTM before the year's done!

That was a joke you guys, but I'll really try, I promise.

This one is Elsanna, so if that's not really your forte, I'm sorry, but this one isn't for you.

First chapter is just a little introduction so sorry if it's a little slow!

Enjoy, you cute little people!

The wind was buffeting, stinging and frightening in its chill against my face as I gripped the horse with my knees. The muscles of the animal were strong and almost impenetrable against my legs, even through the saddle. Grunts and heavy breathing filled the space behind me, as well as the pounding of hooves on the heavy snow comforter that appeared out of seemingly nowhere in the field that served as a perimeter of the Arendelle fjord. Little clouds of the breath of men were conjoined with their breathing and groaning, the toil of a long journey finally wearing down on them. My second in command, Raymond Abernathy – a blond man with a rough and sharp jaw, his hair reaching just slightly below his chin which was covered by a harsh stubble – was just a bit behind me, his spotted horse heaving and clopping, having a strangely hard time heaving over the snow. My guess was that it was old, near death in Raymond's overt neglect and abuse of it. It was truly sad, how much he overworked the poor beast, when all it wanted to do was be a good and sturdy servant to the beast I called Lieutenant. It was especially overwhelming when he whipped it and spurred it into utter exhaustion at the end of the day when we set up our tents. He was a good man at heart, that I knew, but he seemed to have to heart or moral code when it came to animals…or women and children, for that matter. I waved my hand at him, ushering him up to me without moving the scarf around my mouth for fear of cracking my lips or drying my mouth without reason. With a heave, a huff and a few lashings of his whip, Raymond was beside me, his horse's eyes wide and scared, the whites plain and apparent against the black and brown surrounding his eyeballs.

"Yes, Captain," he growled, the words muffled by his own scarf.

"Do you think we should set up camp? Before the weather gets too terribly bad?" I spoke louder than usual, the most likely below-freezing air immediately barging into my throat, making it ache and burn. "It seems that the further we go, the worse it gets, no matter which path we follow."

"I'm not sure, Captain." He pulled the scarf down from the top of his lip, the skin there already beginning to contract and chap, becoming white and pale in the most disgusting way. I scowled at his blatant apathy for his appearance, even more so when we were about to request a sitting with the Queen in a few days' time. "If we stop now and continue stopping every other night, we'll arrive at a fortnight at the least." His voice was gruff, just as disgusting as his lips. Although I knew Raymond spoke sense, it took all I could to not pull him off of his horse and beat him. Our men were dying in their sleep from the cold, shivering to death while they dreamt of their home, their families, their favorite meal perhaps, and all he cared about was getting to the castle in time. Truly horrifying, I thought as my gloved fingers tightened around the reins, how a man so heartless could be so lovable. He was always adored by the women of the countries and the towns outside the castle walls, even if he was worse than a backwoods stable boy when it came to manners.

I paused before a sharp cry forced the snow and air apart, shaking the air around my ears and making the ground under me seem to shake in a furious rage. I pulled the horse to a stop and quickly turned in the leather saddle, my clothes bending and hugging me in a horrible, uncomfortable way in horrible, uncomfortable places. My eyes caught a collapsed horse and rider, the man dressed in a stone black tunic and blood red pants. His sword, which I knew was molded out of the dark steel that was too abundant in our country, was strewn across the ground haphazardly, and even from here I could see the frost that accumulated on the soldier, his weapon, and his horse. Turning the steed and urging it forward the quickest I could, I ordered the men away from the soldiers body. I hopped down from the steed, only receiving a grunt from my rough detachment from the saddle, and bent towards the body. My men formed a relative circle around me, the crunching and sifting of snow under their leather boots repetitive and monotonous. No one spoke as I languidly removed his scarf from the crackling and bordering on shattering skin of his nose and mouth. His whole face was blistered and black, bulbous, red swelling around the corners of his lips, which were white as the ice that made his tongue enlarge to the point where it poked out of the frostbitten skin. It was Richard Long, a transferred soldier from out east that was sent as a peace offering to our King. A tear pulled at my eye, but, knowing I couldn't let the tears show, I clamped my teeth on my tongue and swallowed numerous times. "It's Long," I muttered, still not trusting my own voice in front of my men though I knew they had to know. "Gather his belongings and put them in his pack. Wrap his body in his blankets to prevent any more mutilations of his body. After you're done, set up camp and set up individual fires. Keep them contained though. I don't want anyone to burn to death in this damn blizzard."

-0-

After all of the rugged, unprepared tents were set up – circular and close together, with one massive fire in the center and separate ones seen in between the tents – I set up my own, further from the rest, isolated even from Raymond and John. There was only a small fire at the center of my too-big tent, the burning wood crackling and filling the tent with a disgusting smoke smell that was almost suffocating me in the animal-skin house. Finally tired of breathing in the smoke, I opened up the back flap of the tent, the one facing away from the others' tents, and walked outside, disregarding the supposed chill that everyone else felt but I was strangely immune to. The only thing covering me was the military uniform that was issued to my upon being promoted to Captain, the jacket open to reveal a bandage covering my entire torso, and the high riding boots halfway unlaced. I brought my eyes to the blizzard that had killed so many of my men just in the past few days. I felt hatred towards it. It was all that filled my heart, even when a small black form appeared against the horrifying murder we were trapped in. I squinted my eyes to attempt to see it better, to know what it was, when my hand met the hilt of my sword in preparation of an attack. Then I realized that it was a bird, no not a bird, a hawk, a messenger most likely. My fingers gripped the handle tighter as my head rose to meet the hawk dead on. I lifted my right arm, the bird of prey landing softly and swiftly on my forearm. A tube with Arendelle's crest rested on his back, supported by harness straps around the base of his wings. I removed my hand from the steel of my hilt and removed the top of the message carrier, extracting the rolled up parchment. Thinking of the good of the bird, I bowed down to enter the tent, knowing it was warmer, even if just slightly, near the miniature fire. I set the hawk on the back of a foldable chair near the crate imitating a desk for the papers from King Joseph directing where we were to go and what we were to do. Unraveling the parchment, I noticed it was formed in beautiful calligraphy, and for a moment I was confused as to if it was handwritten or printed. Following further inspection, I realized that it was handwritten, most likely by the Queen herself, since the little port town most likely wouldn't be able to afford writing tutors to their children, and only the only noble that resided permanently in the small country was the Queen. I sat sideways in the chair, making sure not to disturb the obsidian black hawk.

"It has come to my attention that the Obsidian Army is trapped in the blizzard that permanently surrounds Arendelle, my country. I am truly sorry that you have been put under the stress and horror that the storm has most likely forced upon you. In a chance to reconcile for the suffering, I'm offering a place of refuge for yourself and your army. My castle has more than enough rooms to accommodate you and the other commanding officers.

If you are to accept this offer, I would be more than happy to provide you with board and food until you wish to depart.

Please respond as quickly as possible, in any way that best fits you,

Queen Anna of Arendelle."

I lifted my eyes and was met with the beady, unforgiving pupils of the hawk, his eyes boring into mine with a horrid knowledge of my decision, something I still did not yet know. With his small, intrusive eyes, he somehow whispered, "Now, now, you must go now, Knight, before the offer collapses." Without hesitation, I took up the message and the bird, haphazardly clasping the buttons on my overcoat and tucking the leather laces of my boots into the tongue, before I grabbed my riding gloves and slipped them on. I exited the tent and looked around. The sound of snoring and billowing, unforgiving wind was the only one I could hear. I set the hawk off without a message, knowing that my arrival would be enough of an answer to the Queen. Seeing no men wandering about, I tucked the message into an inner pocket located in the left breast of my coat and removed my left glove. A stallion erupted from the ice as I waved my bare hand, looking something akin to a blooming as it tore itself from the snow, shaking its head as if it were throwing snow off its mane. The steed was composed of crystalized ice, formed from my own fingers and thoughts, and I thought it beautiful. Mounting it, I stroked the horse's neck lovingly, as if it were my own child, since it was in a twisted and perhaps demeaning way. How was it possible that a curse born of my own blood could be possible of creating such an awesome beast, such an inspiring beauty? I sighed and pushed the thought away, fearful of what the self-depreciating thoughts could possible do to my current focus.

I put my legs into a surprisingly comfortable area of the steed and ordered him forward quietly, conscious of my men behind me, who were trained to wake at even the softest sound. The horse – Life of The Death, I decided to name him, in respect for the storm that had taken so many of my men – surged forward through the snow and ice, somehow aware of the wariness that pervaded my mind about the situation. A grunt escaped Life's throat before he again shook his head. His eyes, mere holes in the collection of shards that composed his head, met mine and it were as if he were smiling with his eyes, as if he were projecting his feelings into my mind's eye, making sure I knew that he knew me, because he was an extension of me, even if I thought the magic that created him was a curse. He turned away and kept his pace, more like a horse in the wintry weather than my real horse was.

After we were a suitable distance away from the camp, the campfires nothing but specks against the fog that was created by the horror that was unadulterated nature, Light of The Death began to gallop, unhindered by the snow that reached his knobby knees, cutting through the sparkling white powder like it wasn't even there, like he was racing through a field of wild flowers in the pastures of the west countries. After just a few minutes, we reached the woods surrounding the fjord, the bulb of wind that I conjured around me protecting me from the thorns and swift branches that threatened my skin as Light of The Death sped through the wood, intent on getting us to the castle before the moon hit its peak in the now clear night sky. Emerging from the forest which was strangely empty of all wildlife, we crashed into the city, Light of The Death silent against the cobblestone of the worn streets and eventually the bridge leading to Arendelle's castle.

Once reaching the gates, Light of The Death vanished and I was standing, alone and cold and wet (from my body heat against Light of The Death), poised to knock on the grand oak doors which were decorated by beautifully scripted crocuses, it's native flower. Before I could tap the strong wood and alert the guards of my presence, the one on my right opened just enough for a maid with a face in the shape of a heart and eyes of chocolate and hazelnut to poke her head out, look out behind me, eyes wary of any who might see. "Enter, Sir, and please hurry, none must see you. They might think the wrong thoughts." Nodding, I entered, bringing my arms close to my body to avoid touching the door, not wanting to cause any inconveniences to the woman. I was unclean and did not want to dirty her, the Queen's, I mean, property and belongings.

I followed the maid throughout the halls of stone, various walls covered with portraits of past rulers and miscellaneous gardens, lakes, fields, cottages, and the like, which were purely exquisite and masterfully crafted. As she led me along the expensive-looking rug, most likely from Corona, Arendelle's sister country, I took the chance to prepare myself for an audience with a queen. My promotion from private to sergeant, from sergeant to officer, from officer to lieutenant, and from lieutenant to captain was staggering in its speed, truly knocking me senseless once I gained my sentience completely. I did not even believe myself fully prepared to deal with the political duties that were required of Captains and Colonels and Generals. I had no proper training when it came to working with the royals, it was only when working with spineless boys who wielded wooden swords that I was ordered to turn to men with crossbows and swords of steel, iron, and sometimes obsidian that I was acutely aware of what I was doing and trusted my mouth and tongue. When I was turned to deal with the Kings, Queens, Princes, Princesses, Dukes, Duchesses, Lords and whomever else, I was a stuttering, heaping mess of pig feces. I would shake in place, wring my hands and wrists, pick at my lips and refuse to make eye contact. Of course, I was superb when it came to strategy and training and tactics, but talking in front of a group of higher-ups… I was… mediocre to say the least.

It was too soon when we arrived at the standoffish gates that were engraved with intricate designs of summer and flowers and the sun and every possible thing that you could associate with warmth and heat. My heart grew warmer even at the sight of the silver strewn willow trees and the sapphire and amethyst crocuses that grew at their base and they reminded me of my home, my true home, not King Joseph's country of Galaway. My home, where it was always warm, even in the horrendous winter, brought me comfort to the deepest cave inside, easing my hands away from the bloodied skin on my lips and slowing the shaking that infested them so soon before. The memory of tackling boys and proving myself with long, swift twigs and sticks of oak or ash reminding me of the pain and suffering I was forced to endure to get to the place I was now. I remembered the feeling of the knotted wood as the maid knocked and pushed the right door open, poking her head into the ray of light that was revealed and was blinding to my eyes that had gotten used to the darkness of the hallway. After a few mumbled words and a soft, simple hum, the woman moved to the side and fingered the door open just an inch or two wider. "You may enter, Captain," she breathed, though I don't recall disclosing my rank. I nodded in thanks before squeezing past her and into the doorway, still conscious of my uncleanliness and the pristine condition of the castle. Upon entering the long room, more like a hall, I realized it was the throne room, a blood red carpet rolled out to meet the base of a bejeweled silver throne, brightened with candles attached to the wall with elegant fixtures.

Though calm, I was still hesitant about approaching the Queen, who was impossibly far away and almost seemed to get further as I tried to bring my eyes to her hair. Or was it her eyes that I was trying to meet? What color are they, blue or sapphire? "Please, Captain," she whispered, the empty hall echoing the sound with a grand type of mimicry and making the purr cup my ears with a warm familiarity I couldn't quite place. "Come closer, I would hate to yell at someone as…" she waved a hand that was reminiscent of stained glass flowers meticulously placed in a hand molded from pure white porcelain set upon a mahogany dresser. "…Prestigious as yourself." A jump in my heart pushed me forward, keeping the steps of my boots soft against the carpet that caught my eye with its obviously foreign design and embroidery. I met the end of the rug, gold, silver, ruby, and emerald threads signaling at me to fall to my still wet though mysteriously warm knee. "No, no, no, Captain," she chuckled, her luscious voice like melted chocolate against strawberries. "Rise up, off of your knees, please, Sir." I followed her orders, if only in respect, but still avoided eye contact. "You mustn't act like you are below me, Sir, for you aren't. We are equals, if anything." She was a bubbly queen, the happiest I ever came into contact with, truly, and she was the first one to ever make me feel like I was an equal, like I was someone, a real person, even in front of royal blood. "Believe that I speak the truth."

"You called on me to speak of refuge, Queen, not of false equality between scum and precious stones." I was glad, however, of the lie she had told just to me. It made me feel whole some way, like I actually had a chance of being more than a pawn at the head of one of the greatest armies in the Great Known Nations. I knew, however, it was false hope, planted by all of the royals, no matter how precious they seemed. "I, of course, the scum, you the stone, Queen," I corrected, lest she take it the wrong way. "I simply wish to know the terms of your… whatever it is you brought me here for, Queen."

"Anna," she – Anna – corrected, standing from her throne and stepping down the three beautiful steps leading up to it, her forest green, strapless dress billowing like the flaps of the tent I left behind in the storm. "Call me Anna. It won't do to keep formalities when there's no one to force us into them." Her smile was honest and innocent and inviting, not unlike a child's when it's begging for food or drink or refuge.

"Queen Anna," I began, immediately taken a step back from her step forward. "Still though, you are avoiding the subject as if it were a poisonous snake or rabid bear." A humorless grin pulled at my lips, which were still pink and fleshy, no matter how the wind bit at them, and and my hands shook slightly before I attached them to my belt, not wanting her to see my nervousness. "Why, when you were the one to offer me, my army refuge? We are a threat to you and your people. We were sent to extract you from the throne and replace you with myself. We were sent to take over Arendelle, your home and you respond by giving it to us?" Queen Anna simply smiled, showing her teeth like a child.

"The best way to defeat an enemy," she muttered as she flicked the collar of my military jacket with a slim index finger, "Is to make him your friend. At least, that's what my Father always said when we would play chess and he would win only by giving me cake. Obviously, that would distract me from the game, but it wasn't like I was paying attention anyway." She laughed, but I was still frightened of her too happy, too accepting attitude towards me, towards the situation.

"This isn't chess. This isn't cake. Queen Anna, don't you realize –"

"I am fully aware of the situation, Captain Elsia," she snapped, her spine straightening like flash freezing water. "I am not an infant, no matter what people may say. Do you understand me?" My chin met my chest in shame at even coming close to suggesting that Anna had the intelligence and processing capabilities of a child. A moment of cursory, painful silence gripped my lungs and stomach painfully, and I slowly wondered if she felt its clawed tendrils as well as I could. "Forgive my outburst," the Queen answered after two minutes exactly (do not point it out or poke fun, I was uncomfortable and the clock was meticulously placed where I could see and watch it with the eyes of the coal colored hawk which had brought me here in the first place). "It's just," she placed a pale, unbranded, hand on her equally unblemished face before she turned away, eyes closed doors that blocked the gaze of the teal irises behind them, a sigh like a fresh spring breezy escaping once-painted lips. "Everyone thinks I'm unable, that I'm an invalid, just because I'm young." She growled out the words in a weak, pitying way, and I felt my head tilt to the side in delirious wonder at the striking queen. She did appear young, but I could see the stress of bearing the weight of an entire, enormous country pressing down on the thin white shoulders of the girl, bending them so she appeared to have a hunch, but any who actually inspected the woman would notice that it was not biological, but worldly and unnatural. I longed to place my bare hand on the skin and remove the hours and hours of time spent bent over numerous amounts of horribly stacked legal papers. Instead of doing so, however, I gripped the leather of my belt to the point where the stiff skin bent in my palms and pressed painfully against my skin. I cursed myself internally for thinking of the Queen in such a way as I chewed on my bottom lip and kept my eyes on her back and waist – not any lower, I hold some dignity and respect – whilst she retraced her path back to her throne. "Twenty isn't horribly young, is it, Captain?" she asked as she turned to face me.

"Younger than I, Queen," I muttered, raising my head and, in turn, my eyes, to meet her inquisitive and slightly insecure gaze. "But only by a few years and look where I am." My hand detached itself from my side and gestured towards my uniform, namely my medal which made it known that I was Captain. "Great things do not come to those who are grey," I whispered, though the hall made it seem like I was shrieking from the very tip of the North Mountain, and the Queen turned to sit on her grand chair.

"Who do they come to then?"

"Those who are deserving of it, I assume," I shrugged, the twin sheaths at my side rattling against my belt and their connections as my overcoat leapt up, synchronizing with my shoulders. I wished to go back to the topic of my men, the rising of the sun a point of anxiety in my mind since I knew that once its fiery rays touched the pegs that punctured the ice and snow, holding the tents in place, the massive army would awaken, properly handle those who had died in the night and attempt to move on. I also knew that the first thing Raymond and John would do was check on me, see if I had made it through the night. "Queen Anna," I muttered as I bowed, low and more or less parallel to the ground, trying to portray respect as much as possible. "If we could please attend to the matter at hand –"

"Why are you so focused on finishing this as fast as possible, Sir?"

"My men are dying, Queen," I snapped, only my head bending to look at her in her magnificent eyes. "To put it bluntly, every minute that I stand here quelling your insecurities, one more man of mine freezes to death."

"I apologize for that," she interrupted.

"I don't need an apology, Queen, I need action. If your… reconciliation for the loss is true, please, please let it be now."

Another tense silence pervaded the minuscule space between us.

"Your men will have to agree to the terms of my country," her voice held something behind it, an ulterior motive perhaps, but I could not quite figure it out.

"I will try to make them see sense."

"And if they do not follow the laws, regulations, and cultural respects?"

"A suitable punishment will be enforced."

"What kind of punishment do you find 'suitable', Captain?" The sugar cane that once was her voice was now more like coarse salt against the fresh sole of a boot on the cobblestone roadways, and suddenly, I knew. This country, this little port in the middle of nowhere, was really her home and was really her love.

"They will be dealt with personally be me, Queen." I rose from the bow, but put my eyes to the ground. "I will do whatever I see fit."

The queen hummed and tapped her thick nails on the arm of the throne. "You all must pledge allegiance."

"I was under the impression that this was only a temporary arrangement." My eyelids and brow drew together in a glare that I dared not turn to the royal.

"I've changed my mind. Forever aligned and given a place safe from the storm or no allegiance and you all die, bit by finger-sized bit. The choice is ultimately yours, Captain."

And what a choice it was. Either I pledge to Arendelle, along with the willing men in my battalion, and personally behead and murder those who disagree, eventually weeding out those precious diamond-men whom will follow their commanding officer faithfully and without hesitation, or I decline and let all of them, jewels and otherwise, rot into nothing. Both options put too much blood on my hands, but only one truly gave salvation.

Eternities seemed to pass before I sank to my right knee, palms to the stone just above the rug I had been so enamored with before. Sweat stung at my forehead and the beginning hairs of my eyebrows. Tears stung at the area where my eyelids touch the slick flesh of my pupil and a rock grew furiously larger and larger at the peak of my throat. I swallowed to rid myself of the guilt, but nothing would dislodge it. "Your Majesty," I choked out, a tear trickling down over my lid, into the crevice between my nose and cheek, and eventually teasing the broken and bleeding wounds on my lip. "I pledge alliance, allegiance, and complete devotion to you and your country, turned mine, of Arendelle. I will only serve it and its people. This, I swear for all eternity."

My heart ached in my chest, cold and almost still.

So what do you guys think? Should I keep on? Does everything flow okay? Talk to me, I like hearing from you all, it makes me happy that people actually like the stuff I do.

Review, follow, favorite, whichever.

Love you all,

S