Chapter 4

For Kristof Bjork, rest is not a common luxury. The task of his work lasts day and night and though the pay is good, days off can still not be afforded. Today the sky is alight with lightening and the clouds form angry faces in the sky, bursting out random spouts of rain or snow. Under the dense cover of hail, Kristof takes his tools to the ice. The stormy, foot thick layers barely crack, even under Kristofs practiced swing. All around him men whack at the ice, some with perfect form, some working tirelessly away and still getting nowhere. Of all the men, fifteen at best, Kristof is the most seasoned. Unlike most of these men, Kristof loves the job he has been dealt. Ice fascinates him in ways nothing else does. Kristof knows that this is the reason for his appointed position as Ice Master of the kingdom of Corona, a pity job though it may be, as may soon be found out.

Way up north, where snow falls, is where Kristof finds himself most often. Many days astride horses, or in his case, a gruff and friendly reindeer, will take you to the palace, in the heart of Coronas capitol city, Daerenae. Each and everyday, the sun rises, and with it, the ice harvesters. On this day, Kristof and his charges, misfits and outcasts, will ride south east and into the wilds of Norway.

Kristof ties the rope around his last stack of ice, ensuring that it won't come undone after tedious examination, and pats one of the four draft horses that will pull the sled. This sled is one of three others, fifteen long by seven wide. Each stacked with about three hundred blocks of ice. The horses shake their heads and stomp their feet. All of them wear shoes with jagged cylinders sticking out the bottom, this allows them to walk on the ice and get good grips in the snow. Kristof has fashioned his men similar footwear.

His breath is visible in front of him as one of his men, Toren, calls to him, signaling that their sled is ready. The last sled, stalled deep in the snow, is almost ready by the look of it. While the men gear up, Kristof tasks himself with feeding the dogs. Each of them is long furred and giant in size. They all bark, ten in numbers, as Kristof throws several chunks of meat to the ground. A total of three days they've been here, and a total of four it will take them to walk back.

The last call is made, and with the drivers ready to go, the horses set off. Sven leads the head sled, cleverly navigating the steep and sometimes slippery terrain. Two days passed, and as they neared the kingdom, the temperature seemed to rise with every step. Making haste, they arrived within three and a half days, a wonderful time. As was Kristofs job, he oversaw the stabling of the horses, the unpacking of the sleds, and told his men where each block was to go. He had paid them before the trip.

Leaving Sven in his stall, Kristof took off his coat, already sweating, and shook the ice out of shaggy blond hair. He towered over most of the people in the village, not due to his height as much as his muscles, which were toned due to all the work. His next trip would be for a week or so, and in the mean time, Kristof had plans to find other work. Maybe at the butchery, or as an extra nights watchman.

This work came easily to him, as he was in favor of the king, who often put out good words for him. Though perhaps not favor as much as pity, and in this moment, it was pity that could be his advantage. His father, brother of the king, had three sons. One of them bastard born, Kristof. It was a disgrace, and a place Kristof would never wish on anyone. The second he was born, the wife of his father had demanded Kristof be disposed of. He had never been claimed, and his adopted family, peasants, had only told him a few years ago, when he was fifteen. It was a secret that most wished to keep buried, but every soul in the castle knew, and it was clear as the resemblance between him and his father. As was expected, his father nor his fathers wife had wanted anything to do with him after all those years, but in the kings eyes, a son, bastard born or otherwise, was still a son, and the king had always been kind and gracious to him.

As he was exiting the stable, ready to head home and see his mother, a man dressed in Coronian colors approached him. The man was short and slightly pudgy, his hat was lopsided on his head and he looked disheveled as if he'd been searching for Kristof. The man stopped to take a deep breath and coughed.

"Lord Kristof?" He asked, his voice was too high and seemed utterly comedic, but Kristof was too nervous, had he done something wrong?

"Just Kristof, Im afraid," He corrected

"Yes, well, the king wishes to see you. It is most urgent." The man seemed bored and interested at the same time, and he turned, motioning for Kristof to follow.

As Kristof stopped at the gates of the castle, he became suddenly aware of his appearance. He wore northern clothes, big wool pants, a heavy shirt, big boots, covered in god knows what, and a hat pulled down, all brown and damp from melted snow. Here, in the warm and breezy capitol, one would have to explain such clothing choices, but they were accustomed to Kristof and his men and their constantly winter clothing. And as was the custom, life continued around the ice harvester, blooming in every direction. Passing him by, as it often did.

"I received a summons from the king," He said, trying to sound important, probably just sounding nervous.

The man next to him spoke in his high voice," Open the gates."

The guards said nothing, as was their duty, but exchanged wary planes as they pushed the gates open. As he got to court, more people recognized them, and he felt himself reddening under their pitying glazes, bastard, their eyes said accusingly, as if it were his fault. He felt absurdly ashamed and looked once again down at his clothes. He couldn't change them now anymore then he could change his birth parents.

He had memorized the way now, and even with his guard, the castle still seemed vast as he was escorted to the kings private chambers.

The man knocked on the arching doors when they arrived, and the king told them to come in.

The man bowed low, his hat almost falling off. He reached to adjust it as he scurried out the room," You have a -"

"Kristof," The queen said, her eyes were already warm, but he could see them soften with one look at him, pity, he hated the word as much as he hated how it looked on peoples faces. He knew what she saw when she looked at him. She saw a mistake, a meaningless affair a prince had had while his wife sat unassuming in another room. She saw what could have been herself, had she been given to the wrong brother. She saw a mistake by default. " You must be freezing."

"Im fine, your majesty." He said, inclining his head, indicating respect. She stiffened at the name, but made no move to correct him. They were on no familiar terms.

"Kristof," The king said, he seemed surprised, even though he'd called for the ice harvester, he looked up from the book he'd been reading and rose. His eyes were disapproving even as he tried to hide it. Kristof couldn't help but shrink. He was a king, and Kristof felt ashamed for having come in his presence in his state. From the balcony, entered the crown princess, Rapunzel, saving him from humiliation like 3 years ago, before she'd been roped into royal life. She had been home for about three years now, and everyday she seemed to become more of a proper princess, it did not fit her like her wild personality she had, she looked smaller somehow. Her brown hair had grown out and rested just below her shoulders. She wore a dark green corset that dropped into an alternating emerald to pale green skirt. Her sleeves were pale green as well and featured an open shoulder. She danced over to her father and rested a hand on his arm. He shifted to look lovingly down at her. It was a conditional love, Kristof knew she was as trapped as the rest of them, even if it was hidden.

"Kristof, how lovely of you to visit." She said with an uncertain glance at her mother, who nodded and smiled. Kristof shifted uncomfortably.

"Where is Eugene?" He asked, trying to make conversation, hoping to steer the topic to why he was here, stalling, always stalling.

"Off riding with Rickson and Taeyler." She waved her hand whimsically. Bordering on annoyance," He skipped his lessons again today." Kristof couldn't help but wonder what had happened to the girl he once knew. The last time he had seen her had been maybe two years ago, and she had seemed calmer, but not oppressed, certainly not like this. She seemed thinner, more refined, and the brown hair did not suit her anymore. Her eyes were tired and she spoke of Eugene as if he was a burden, not the love of her life. He knew her failure to produce an heir was taxing, but he believed she would power through, like she always had, the sight of her now saddened him. "How was your trip?" The king asked suddenly, casting a glance at Rapunzel, who was staring out the window. He shook his arm and her cheeks reddened. She returned her gaze to Kristof.

"We have delivered the ice to all of the buyers, your majesty, as you asked."

"Goog, good." He slowed," Are you in need of work then?"

Yes, "I will be leaving again soon, but anything to help, your majesty," He slowed, catching on, and added," and I would be honored to do so."

"Good man." The king said, he smiled, his wrinkles multiplying. His face looked good when he smiled though, kinder," There is an urgent situation in Arendelle."

"Arendelle?" Kristof asked, Arendelle was a kingdom slightly smaller then Corona, ruled by the brother of the queen of Corona. Kristof had heard terrible rumors of the horrors in Arendelle. The wife, murdered in his chambers, a daughter spawned from hell with powers over ice, supposedly killed by a necromancer years ago, and a poor, innocent princess, ruled like a peasant by her father, the cruel and merciless king. He shivered. The north was known to be a terrible place, but Arendelle held the worst of all the rumors.

"We received a letter from the crown princess. Princess Anna, it speaks of a queer event. An event in which the princess followed her father, the king, into the woods. She wrote of him meeting a man, perhaps this necromancer Ive heard tell of, and of a girl the king called the heir to the throne of Arendelle."

He looked at Rapunzel, who was nodding solemnly.

"What does that mean, Kristof?" The queen asked calmly, as if she were speaking to a child. But Krsitof wasn't a child, and he knew exactly what it meant.

"Princess Elsa is alive."

They were all nodding now.

"How is that possible? How could they cover it up for so long? Why?"

"She says that she suspects something terrible is going on, though she doesn't know everything."

"Wait. What does this have to do with me?" Kristof asks, alarm setting in. If the heir to the kingdom of Arendelle was being hidden by a death story and rumors of her evil, then surely the reasons behind it must be good ones. How could he interfere with these royal affairs?

The king and queen exchange a look. Kristof met Rapunzels eyes for a second before looking away. Her eyes were too sad, it was painful to look into them.

"The princess Elsa has been sold into a marriage with the future king of Trishold." The name was familiar, but Kristof couldn't place it, he supposed that didn't matter. " She leaves on January 1." The king glanced around as if prying ears were amongst them, his eyes even flashed to his loyal queen. They never once landed on Rapunzel, but he stepped forward, out of her hold, and he spoke quietly.

"We need you to kidnap her."

Something was off. Elsa could feel it. The air was still damp, the floor still covered in blood, and Elsa still didn't sleep because when she closed her eyes she remembered the horrible pain of Slash rocking into her. Again and again and again. But one day, she suddenly had a sense that the sun was rising. She hadn't slept at all in days, she hadn't eaten her food, and the candle had burned out many moons ago. And yet still she could feel it.

Minutes later, Slash entered, he stalked in wearing his musty robes and smelling of blood and metal and radiating anger. But no shadow was thrown across the floor. Elsa felt cross, she had been certain that it was bright out, she felt something close to emotion creep into her head, she rushed it out. Conceal, don't feel, don't let it show. Something was different, with Slash, with her, with the world.

Slash halted, and he seemed to sniff the air like a predator. Elsa didn't look upon him longer then that, she backed into the corner and clawed at the floor, fear chewing her insides like hunger. His gaze landed on her. The strange, horrible love she had seen in his eyes weeks ago was gone, it was gone because Elsa had screamed that she hated him, that she would never love him one too many times. He was always angry now. Elsa didn't know what to fear more. Love from Slash was almost as bad as hate from him.

His eyes, giving away nothing, taking away everything, sliced across the hot cell. He seemed to still in that moment, his eyes searching every inch of the floor as if he finally figured out that he'd lost his mind and was choosing to look for it on the floor of the cell. Looking upon the girl he'd ruined. He snapped his head this way and that, every movement making Elsa flinch.

"Are you alone?" He asked, there was no smile on his face. He was somber and quiet, as if someone had found his secret hiding spot.

"No," Elsa whispered, no confusion in her voice, she could not make him doubt her.

"DO NOT LIE TO ME YOU MUTT!" He roared, tossing his head this way and that like a grandfather clock. Ticking mad like one, too.

"Im not," Elsa whimpered, scampering back," Im not, Im not, I promise." Her voice sounded weak, Slash sounded certain.

He raised his head into the air again and waved his finger. His eyes landed on Elsa, and as they trailed down to her stomach, both of their eyes got wider.

"Gods save me." Slash whispered, and waved his cloak. Like the wind, he was gone.

She didn't know what to make of it, but she had some idea, and it terrified her.

In the next month, Slash's visits become fewer. The nights stay long, and the anticipation of his next visit eats away at my insides. He brings me food more often, and I know there only to be one reason for it, he knows. He has to, doesn't he? Slash may be delusional, but he's not blind. He gives me enough to feed myself, and a little extra, and still, my weigh drops, steadily making me a living skeleton. I can see the bones of my knees poking out when I pull them up, and I can sink my hand in between my collar bones and shoulders. My stomach grows still, a demon, or normal, I do not care, he is mine, and I will protect him.

Many many days pass, and Slash stops by only to give me food. The lack of his presence should seem like a blessing, but instead, I feel as though dark clouds are gathering, waiting for the right moment, and at that time, lightening will strike. This sets me on edge. I do not sleep, for my nightmares chase me out of it, I yearn to reach for one of the knives, my insides beg, beg, beg for me to do it, but I cannot, I will survive for my child. For my child.

As absurd as it sounds in my head, I keep myself busy thinking of names. In my minds eye, he is a boy, but I don't care in reality. This child has not only given me something to live for, its giving me something to hope for. It makes me think that even I, an utter failure, can give something life. It gives me a purpose, something I haven't had in years.

One night, when my stomach has grown to a decent size, the heavens finally break, and rain down. I have a dark feeling inside of me, and it won't let me catch a wink of sleep. I don't eat that night, fearing that Slash has poisoned the water or spiked it, hoping to wipe me out and have his way with me while I sleep. My fatigue has set in over the past week, and even moving from my bed to the floor is challenging, and when one of the scars reopens on my calf, I cannot even press my hand against. My stomach has swelled, and even my limited knowledge of pregnancy tells me that the baby should not be growing this fast. It occurs to me that it must be because of my powers and Slash's supposed necromancy. I realize I have no idea what will come out of me in a few moths, or weeks by the look of it.

Storms rage and the winds blow for what seems like hours, and my jittery nerves jump at every strike. It must be three in the morning when I hear the locks on my door opening. Slash hasn't come in this late for many moons, and I feel fear seep into my veins. For my son, a steely voice whispers into my mind. I struggle to my feet while he struggles with the many locks, and hobble across the room, grabbing a knife. The handle is slippery with sweat and when Slash's form finally appears inside the door frame, I feel like a turtle trying to kill a viper. Slash grabs my wrist and shoves me to the floor. I twist, trying not to land on my stomach. I crash down and let out a cry of pain, holding my hand over my lifeline.

"You feel sympathy for the little demon." Slash plucks the knife from my grip and smiles, his mouth weaving around his dagger teeth. My determination makes me brave, and I make an animal like snarl. He only continues to sneer as he slaps me across the face. I had been so busy in my protectiveness, that I had managed to forget my fear of Slash. He notices too, because as I shift to the offensive, he snickers vilely.

"Your father won't be happy if he learns of your..." His eyes shift to my stomach for an infinite moment, he looks disgusted," state."

You did this. I want to snarl, but I stay silent like an obedient child having had one too many beatings. I hate myself almost as much as I hate him in that moment. He steps around a dried puddle of blood and grabs the table, he shifts it to his liking and examines the knife. My blood drains as the color leaves my face, he will cut me again, he will carve into me again and again to make up for lost time. I feel like a child again, tears rimming my eyes.

"Please," I whimper," Please, no, no, the child." I say, and his eyes cut right through me, he tries to use a grim face, but I can see the way his eyes dance, and a smile breaks through.

"Ah, the child," He says, as if he believes its anything but," My dear, innocent Elsa, this is all about that... thing."

I wonder what he means before I have the sense to back away.

"Come on now Elsa, I haven't got all day." His yellow claws trace a trail on my skin and he pulls me into his arms. I can only cry silently and pull my arms around my stomach. He lays me on the table and straps me in. I can see how much he's missed this. He binds me so tightly that I feel the circulation cut off. I close my eyes, trying to convince myself that its fine, he's done this so many times before, surely he can do it once more. And to my disgust, when he grabs the knife, I feel a wave of eagerness, and when it touches as my skin, I have to hold back a hum of pleasure.

Until I notice where he's put the blade down.

My stomach.

My eyes fly open and I see he's staring at my face, his eyes full of evil.

"Tell me when your ready, princess." His hands shake with eagerness, I feel desperation seize me.

"NO!" I rage, thrashing against the bonds," NOOO! SLASH, HE'S A CHILD! PLEASE DONT DO THIS, SLASH, SLASH, please." I don't stop struggling, and soon my words fade into incomprehensible sobs.

"For the love of god Elsa," Slash says, he doesn't look angry, or sad, just resolute, taking on his teacher face." When will you understand, you are a monster, and you deserve all the pain Ive given you and more."

I choke on my sobs, but I have to make him understand, even if, deep down, I know its futile," Not him, he's just a child, he doesn't deserve-" The knife begins to draw blood," SLASH! Stop, please, Ill do anything, anything anything anything anything. Oh god oh god oh god..." I trail off and my limbs fall limp. Why did I give myself hope? Why did I ever think I could have a child? So so stupid Elsa. I close my eyes, ashamed that he's seen my tears, and lean my head to the side.

"Watch Elsa," He whispers to me, pulling the knife slightly out, pulling my chin up. Sometimes he is unstable, but making me watch, these moments are the ones that assure me he has no humanity in him.

Well. This chapter has kind of explored the darkness of my mind, Slashs and Elsas. And I admit my hands are kind of shaking after writing this, but that won't stop me. Im gonna continue into the next chapter with more hope and resolution for good things to happen. And as you learned, we have an escape plan. I can promise that more darkness will follow, but I can say that it probably won't be as dark as this. And if any of you guys think that I should change my story to M, please tell me! I don't want to be scarring anyone for life.

And now, I have a question for everyone. I will be introducing a very important character in the next few chapters, and I want to know if it would be best for the story if I introduce him now while he doesn't know Elsa, or if I should wait until Elsa meets him. I also would like to know what person I should narrate him in. As you've most likely noticed, the only person I do in first person is Elsa, and sometimes I even do her in third person. Should I switch, use third, or first with him? Leave comments please :)

And in closing, thanks for reading!

-Kennedy