Here we are: post-heroic debut. Hope it reads well, I haven't spent as long on this chapter due to mocks. Apologies in advance for any grammatical errors, but I wanted to reach my aim of a weekend update before the dreaded Monday comes around.

Also, I don't suppose any of my wonderful readers happen to be of the arty variety? I can't draw for diddly squat, so I was hoping some kind person might design a cover for this story? Obviously I can't pay anyone for their efforts (since Fanfiction doesn't allow monetary exchanges and I'm a student) but their work will be proudly displayed beside this story for all future updates. If you're interested please PM me.

Anyway, hope you enjoy this shortish instalment and many thanks to all who have reviewed and followed!


The midday sun was indescribably different as Elsa walked through the Mountains. It had been summer in Arendelle for a few weeks now, and the weather on the three days she had been back were visibly the same as today. Nevertheless, there was still a small change. Something so tiny it was hardly noticeable. Naming said change was even more difficult.

Somehow, it felt like the very air around Elsa was new. Fresh. Clean. Of course, the depressed streets were still grey and dirty and neglected, but with every fibre of her being Elsa sensed what could only be really described as potential. There was a new potential in the City; one which no one saw or was even really aware of. Only the haphazardly dressed millionaire who crossed the potholed excuse for a road could taste it.

Potential, or the quick breakfast Anna had made her using the surprisingly small supplies her sister kept in the apartment. While the younger woman had the best of intentions, Elsa wasn't particularly certain left-over Thai food met all the required food groups in an adult breakfast. Additionally, the orange juice had felt slightly more acidic than it should have done. Evidently at age nineteen Anna Noble had not entirely grasped self-support or balanced diets, although Elsa couldn't blame her. A lavish breakfast was not something a threatened woman would regard as a priority.

When they had finally reached Anna's apartment, after a rather hasty farewell to a certain business rival, fatigue had triumphed them quite quickly. Indeed, if it hadn't been for a her elder sister's presence Anna would have simply fallen asleep in the small ball she had rolled herself into on the sofa. But Elsa made sure to take care of her; supplying the barely adult girl with a coffee to keep her awake long enough for a proper nightly routine. Despite her intrigue, Elsa had not pried too far into how Anna felt about the evening. However, her sister's appreciation of her presence was not misread.

Once fully distressed, Anna wasted no time in offering Elsa the spare room for the night. It was barely a secret that the redhead had been shaken by the daily abductions and was subsequently, though not vocally, afraid of being left alone overnight. There had only been a slight hesitation on Elsa's part, but she eventually rang Gerda and gave the household staff the night off since no service would be required in the empty manor.

Of course, when she got the chance Elsa had sprinted into the bathroom to peel off the blue bodysuit underneath her clothes. Upon inspection the garment had served its purpose well; there were no cuts on her torso nor were there bullet holes. Although, her fears of bruises was confirmed under the warm light of the spacious washroom. Reflected in the mirror were a plethora of dark purple patches on otherwise flawless skin. They started in a few coin-sized spots across her collarbones before revealing a quite angry smudge across her left upper arm, where she had landed heavily a few times during her fight. The marks lessened in severity under her breasts and down her stomach, having received glancing hits from varying distances, but the field of navy blue under her right knee shone brightly. This particular trophy was still sore to walk on, but hadn't swelled as much as it could have. Long ago Elsa had realised the cold in her bloodstream acted as a natural ice-pack and so injuries had never been very nasty for her.

Regardless of this biological idiosyncrasy, once out of the public eye and into the long corridors of the former North Mount Station Elsa moved much of her weight off the throbbing muscles. She hadn't really wanted to walk here but it seemed pointless to call Kai in for the sake of a few blocks. Besides, the driver had already ferried her to this location once in the last twenty-four hours. If he made frequent trips to the kicked-down boards of the entrance he may start to question her activities.

When she finally reached the control room of the facility she was barely surprised to find Pabbie already sat at one of the desks. It did catch her unawares that Olaf was also seated in the same chair as last night, working furiously at the computer.

"Did you even go home last night?" Elsa curiously asked, leaning against the nearest work bench and laying out the plastic bag. The blue suit sparkled slightly from the opening.

Pabbie merely watched her, gave a tired yawn, then picked up a newspaper which had been sat beside him. He held up the front cover, which read in bold letter Kidnappers Kicked Down By Frosty Foe. Underneath this was an amateur photograph of the ice bridge Elsa had built between the Westerguard and Noble Towers, which was defrosting slowly in the June sun. Evidently the bystanders had eventually noticed her improvised path the night before.

"Congratulations," The old man said, sounding rather conflicted. "You put four men in hospital."

Elsa hadn't been expecting that news. She knew she had hurt all twelve of her adversaries, with the icicle through Jones' hand standing out in her memory, but four men? Regret and shame began to claw at her a she digested the report.

"What were their injuries?" Was her tentative inquiry, feeling paradoxically sheepish over her rescue attempt.

"One skewered palm," Pabbie read from the continued article a few pages into the paper. "A fractured skull, frostbitten legs and, although I dare not think how, third-degree burns to a man's forearm."

"Oh! I know how Elsa did that!" Olaf piped up, swivelling away from the hazy monitor. "It was really very cool!"

"No! Olaf, it wasn't," Elsa loudly disagreed, making both men jump. "Last night was everything I never wanted to do. If my parents knew what I did… Oh God."

The woman nearly collapsed from the onslaught of antonymic feelings. On the one hand, she had saved Anna. That had been her primary objective the entire night. But she had actually used her powers to wound people. At the time it had hardly bothered her, she was too focussed on not being shot and stopping the black coats. Now that she knew the costs she didn't think she could live with the contravention of her morals.

When she stumbled, Olaf was immediately by her side while Pabbie pulled himself to his feet. The next few moments were spent encouraging Elsa to breathe fully, rather than the panicked hyperventilation she was about to fall into. It was Olaf who eventually got her completely calm by giving her the only thing he knew worked; a warm hug.

"Elsa, I didn't mean it harshly," Pabbie apologised, taking her hand very carefully as she composed herself. "What you did last night would have made your parents extraordinarily proud. You put yourself at risk and the injuries those bastards sustained are only a fraction of what I would have dealt them. Yes, you have never wished for your powers, but you used them expertly enough to save Anna; which I believe is what you wanted."

Elsa remained silent for a few moments, wondering what the next steps were. Thankfully Olaf supplied further information to set her mind at rest.

"I've deleted any and all footage of you from last night across the city. Nothing exists of superhero you." He assured, motioning as the old monitor which showed rows upon rows of code.

"I'm not a superhero," Elsa defensively stated, reaching for her blue disguise and throwing it down the corridor. "This was a one-time thing. I'm not an 'Archer' or a 'Rider'."

Pabbie stepped back from her, pacing the slowly thawing floor while deep in thought. He looked between Elsa and the domino mask which had clattered onto the ground when thrown.

"No, you're not Flynn Rider. As far as I know he gets by on good luck," Pabbie agreed, slowly bending down to retrieve the blood-marked mask. "And the Archer, well her name represents her skill. But you have a gift, Elsa. It's beautiful and it's dangerous. It is completely up to you what you do with it, although as much as I don't want to I have to urge you on my opinion."

He paused, looking extremely thoughtful. His eyes spoke of one scenario but his scowl described another idea. The way he looked at the abandoned Research Facility only made Elsa wonder what he truly intended.

"You saw how the police have very little motive to protect or serve. They were unwilling to go in after Anna until she had actually appeared at the ambulance. Many of the criminals they arrest, whether petty or major infractions, are released due to lacking evidence or Weselton protects them," The extent of Arendelle Police's limited efforts shocked Elsa when Pabbie described them. It couldn't actually be that ineffective. "So a part of me thinks you should… continue stopping crime. The way you immobilised Jones meant the Mayor couldn't deny his presence, and if you did more of that you might do a world of good for the city."

Elsa considered the idea for a few moments. Eventually, she disregarded it as a logistical nightmare. She was the CEO of a company. She couldn't disappear for regular crime fighting. There was research to administrate and quarterly profits to adhere to, matters she didn't feel comfortable leaving to Goddard or Pabbie. It was not a position she could neglect, especially if she could use her influence in the city to lobby for stricter police work.

"I think you'd be really good at it!" Olaf opined, actually jumping up and down at the thought of such an endeavour. "We could be a crime-fighting team! Although I'd probably keep watch from here…"

Regardless of her logical mind, some part of Elsa was still thrilled by the idea. The feeling was arguably stupid, her throbbing leg reminding her of the physical demands. But, as she realised, it was her vigilante guise which had brought her closer to Anna. A silly reason to some, though her actions would make the city safer for her sister and her few friends, not to mention all the downtrodden who were at risk every day.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. When she took it out she found an invitation from Anna to go a club in the evening, apparently to relax.

"I'll think about it." Elsa admitted, as she got up to leave.

Pabbie and Olaf only watched as she exited the tunnels. She looked back at least thrice before she disappeared entirely.


In black-and-white, projected onto a blank wall, the vigilante burst through Elsa Noble's frozen office window. The refractive figure swiftly pounded the dark, man-shaped character attempting to defend himself before she tossed over her shoulder. A brief moment of torture followed, succeeded by a silent conversation. Unfortunately, the CCTV footage did not allow for audio, although it was obvious the sparkling warrior was speaking with an accomplice who was elsewhere. She walked out of the room, then the picture wobbled as an hour passed in a second. Anna Noble was now in standing awkwardly amidst the glass and melted ice, while Jones retrieved the pen drive from the desktop. Soon after the vigilante reappeared, flicking a field of icicles to encase the former soldier while the childish adult escaped. After injuring Jones, the vigilante also walked out. There was another flicker, and the clip began again from the moment the cold window shattered.

Analysing every little detail on the continuous loop, Duke Weselton could only say he was impressed by the skill the pseudo-hero showed. Whatever she was, she had been trained for a long time. She had been a long time coming and threatened the plans he had formed with his associate. Weselton shivered as he felt the ever watchful eyes on him from an undisclosed source. He hated the sneaking nature of the ally.

"Are you sure she can be dealt with?" Weselton asked the silent study, not daring to avert his eyes from the recovered film.

There was a slight rustle from the thick curtains which blocked out the evening light and made the finely furnished room unbearably hot. It had only been ten minutes, yet already Weselton could feel the toupee sliding on his sweaty scalp.

"Yes," The electronically deep voice replied from the opposite side of the study. "She's barely aware of the web we are weaving. If she turns up again, we'll let her run around. We'll keep her distracted. Should she become too involved then I will deal with her. Make sure it doesn't get to that point."

Weselton nodded readily, aware of what his ally was capable of. "I'll name her a public enemy in the morning. Every police officer will be directed against her, which should also give us some more freedom to carry on our agenda."

The hidden man did not reply, as soon after there was a cautious knock as the mahogany door. Weselton paused, making sure he had consent, before calling the guest in. Without the butler, who had been sent home early, as an escort George Jones limped into the home office. His eyes were surrounded by the familiar redness of mace and his right hand was bulky with several layers of blood-stained bandages protecting his wounded palm. Overall, with his crumpled black clothes and now patchy mutton chops, he looked like the pathetic excuse for a conspirator he was.

"Ah, George," Weselton greeted. He didn't offer a seat. "I take it Latimer dropped you here without incident?"

"After leaving me in a jail cell all night," Jones spat, voice hoarser than it should be. "The pig even beat me a few times to convince the other prisoners I was genuinely arrested."

"You are genuinely arrested!" Weselton corrected. "All you had to do was hold the little bitch long enough to bankrupt the Noble Corporation, and you were beaten by a walking disco ball, twice!"

Jones flinched in the gloom, feeling the wrath of someone who he had regarded as a friend just yesterday.

"Do you see what I see?" The Mayor interrogated, pointing to the blaring monochrome video of the vigilante's confrontation with Jones. "You had the opportunity to kill the iridescent cow, and you hesitated!"

Flinching when he saw his past self stabbed through the hand, Jones vainly attempted to defend his loss. "You don't understand! That woman wasn't using technology, the ice came out of her hands! How was I supposed to stop that?"

"With bullets." Weselton coldly pointed out. "Did you at least get the data out?"

Jones paused momentarily, then fumbled through his pockets with his good hand. Eventually, he pulled out the sleek pen drive, which he offered as the token of peace it would never be. Weselton snatched it from him, placing it on the desk an evaluative glare.

"May I- May I go then?" Jones weakly asked, well aware of the dangerous position he stood in.

The Mayor paused, almost regretfully, before replying. "You know that's not my decision. You failed him, twice. I don't think he's going to be very forgiving."

The only noise Jones could make at that point was a small groan. He tried to run back to the study door, but was halted when the lights blasted on and revealed his judge, jury and executioner.

Standing in an elaborate suit of cream, navy and purple with an ornate lightweight helmet which covered his entire head stood the feared assassin. With a single swipe of his ceremonial Roman sword, he split Jones' chest with minimal blood marking the blade. Jones collapsed in a red and black heap at his feet with a small grunt of pain. Dead.

The assailant calmly bowed his head to look at the fallen man. Then he wiped the sword clean on the black coat and sheathed it in a fluid motion. Weselton turned visibly green, having been distressed by the casual murder of a trusted advisor. He silently wondered whether he was in too deep.

"I wish you hadn't done that." The Mayor quietly voiced, pushing the desk chair slightly further away from his 'ally'.

Turning to face Weselton, the armoured man menacingly crossed his arms behind his back in faux-patience.

"I'll pay to have the carpet stains removed." He said, before marching out of the study.


So that's the first little episode of our superhero's adventures. Hope you've all enjoyed it thus far. More to come soon.

Please review.