AN: I have sixty-five followers… sixty… five. I'm impressed, and honestly, a little confused. I never considered my work to be that amazing, merely "somewhat polished and mildly interesting", but I've been wrong before. Thanks to all of you, and all who favourite and review too. You guys (and girls) are the reason I keep writing.

There was an old adage about giving someone sufficient rope, and Elsa had thought that that was what she was doing with Marshal Gerhardt, allowing him to speak so bluntly in front of the council. What he had suggested awoke a dark fury within her, but she held it at bay. She wanted to know what he had to say. To see if it was worthwhile allowing him to retain a seat on the council. After all the talk of her powers being used to defend Arendelle—and implying that she would personally be responsible for halting and killing entire armies—Elsa had been completely unprepared for Marshal Gerhardt to appeal to her sense of duty and humanity.

She had been unprepared for him to be right. The men serving her by serving in Arendelle's military… how could she do any less. They were prepared, quite literally, to die for her. If they ever entered battle those brave young men knew it was a possibility. All of them. Gerhardt had said something about the dead having names. It hadn't been said as an appeal either. She had seen what flashed behind his eyes when he spoke those words. He knew from bitter experience.

Elsa lowered her hands, gently wiping her cheeks. It took a moment, but she was able to unfreeze the table with relative ease. She used her magic for an instant to form a mirror of ice in her right hand. She dispelled it a moment later, satisfied that no evidence remained on her face. The rest of the council could guess, of course, but they wouldn't know. Wheeling her icy chair away from the table, Elsa hoped the other council members had not gone far. There was still much to discuss. Well, she hoped there was. Most of them had thickly bound ledgers to refer to.

She found the council's advisor—miss Ostberg-Lang—first, waiting just outside the door to the meeting room, leaning against the wall.

"I'd better collect the others then. They can't have gone too far," Ostberg-Lang pointed back at the door to the meeting room. "Wait in there. Won't be too long."

Back inside the meeting room, with the rest of the council present, Elsa spared a glance at the ornate grandfather clock on the far side of the room. It had only taken a grand total of ten minutes to reunite the council. Several of the members so seated were fidgeting nervously. No one spoke. None of them were sure if they should speak. Elsa could deal with that. It just meant she had to take charge, as usual.

"Minister Johanssen, do I hear that the negotiations with Spain are going well?"

"Very well," the older man nodded, smiling. "A few wrinkles here and there, but they should be ironed out within a fortnight or so. Before we finalize the deal, it may prove wise to send a diplomatic mission to Spain. The Queen and her consort, it must be said, are not on particularly good terms. I would volunteer myself, but I fear my body is not yet ready for the rigours of such a journey."

"Who goes is up to you, minister Johanssen. You have a much firmer grasp on your aides' capabilities than I ever will. Now, is there anything else?"

Minister Johanssen remained quiet, scribbling a short note in his ledger.

"Very well, I guess the guilds are next. Søren?"

"Much the same as last week, your majesty. They still refuse to talk to each other or cooperate on most tasks. I am beginning to think they are doing this just to spite my efforts at creating a unified front for the workers," Søren spread his hands helplessly in the air. "I haven't heard of any incidents involving the castle, so I'm going to assume everyone managed to stay polite this week?"

"They did. Although the man who came in this morning had a black eye and a suspiciously furtive demeanor."

"Probably my fault," Vanja Ostberg-Lang spoke up. "There was some roughhousing at Hus av Strykejern last night. Didn't appreciate the way he touched me."

Vanja winked as she said that, then rubbed her eye. Elsa couldn't help but notice the council's advisor was also developing a black eye. Perhaps something to discuss later.

"Aside from that, the only issue the guilds are having is the lack of precious metals that Weselton used to supply. Some farmers are also running short on seed, but I know that most of it is bluster—they're afraid of suffering a harsher winter than usual this year, and want extra, just in case. I won't blame them for trying," Søren smiled, then shook his head, falling silent.

"Thank you Søren," Elsa turned to face the next member of the council. "Justicar Krisotffersen, do the courts have any news for us?"

"There has been a recent spate of thefts, but we have a solid lead on those who are probably responsible. It would be helpful if we could have a few members of the town guard to help us with future investigations. We could even establish a proper constabulary. Arendelle continues to grow, and one day it will be a necessity, not a nicety."

Elsa frowned, considering what Justicar Kristoffersen had just said. Arendelle was a growing town, but not quickly, not from the reports she was privy to. A constabulary would not be fully necessary for some time to come. The request for the town guard was not unreasonable, and it would give them some variety in their work. Probably a good idea in the long run. Then, if they had to establish a constabulary at some point in the future, there would be appropriately skilled men to staff the place.

"I do not think a constabulary is necessary yet, Justicar Kristoffersen. I will, however, free up a number of the town guard to assist your investigations. Will six men be sufficient?"

Justicar Kristoffersen opened his ledger, inspecting his notes. "Six will be adequate. If more men could be made available it would be helpful, but it is not critical to our current investigations."

"If I find guards with an excessive amount of free time, I shall direct them to assist you," Elsa clasped her hands, then set her gaze upon the only full member she had yet to address. "Bishop Gudbrand, have you made any progress?"

"I may have, you majesty, but I keep feeling like we are taking one step forward and two steps back. It may be that those concerned about your powers are too set in their ways to change their opinion. It may be that some of the congregation are simply afraid—I know it is not an air you deliberately cultivate, but your powers, combined with the fact you are not often seen makes you seem cold and distant, and to some, I am sure, darkly mysterious.

"Of the men I mentioned last time, I have seen neither hide nor hair, so they may well be gone. I would certainly hope so."

"I hope so too, Bishop Gudbrand. I would like to know I am safe while walking the streets of my own town. Admittedly, I have not felt any especial danger while exploring the town, but I have always had an escort of some kind, or I have been in view of the townsfolk. Perhaps those with darker intentions are simply afraid to strike—and that is not a comforting thought."

Marshal Gerhardt cleared his throat loudly. "Perhaps, if the Queen is concerned for her safety, she could employ a bodyguard. I know of several men perfectly suited to the role—I would trust them with my own life."

"If I were to employ a bodyguard, Marshal, the one I employed would be chosen at my sole discretion," Elsa did not say that she was unlikely to trust anyone the Marshal chose. If she was to have a bodyguard, their duties would most likely extend to include her general care while outside the castle, amongst other things. It would be a position of considerable trust. On both sides. It was not something she could trust Marshal Gerhardt to be impartial about.

Marshal Gerhardt merely nodded, but Elsa saw something else flash behind his eyes. She hoped it was merely annoyance at being rebuffed, but feared it was something far worse. Bishop Gudbrand was thumbing through the stack of notes he had, staring intently at one particular line. Trepidation shadowed his face as he spoke.

"Queen Elsa, as the religious representative of this council, it falls to me discuss matters concerning higher powers, and gifts or curses. Many members of the congregation—and of the clergy—are quite interested in learning what caused the manifestation of your powers. They wish to know if you are gifted by the Almighty, or cursed by the Fallen One. This may sound impertinent—actually, it is—but I would like to ask if, at some other time, we could explore the true nature of your powers?"

Elsa held the bishop's gaze. He didn't flinch. "Why not now? There is no other business to discuss here."

There was a general shuffling as the others made to leave. All except Gerhardt.

"You too Marshal. I know exactly what you want from my powers, and you're not getting it. Not today," Elsa waved her hand and sent a swath of frost across the table, stopping just short of Gerhardt. He got the message. I'll never use my powers the way you want me to, Elsa swore to herself. "Now, Bishop Gudbrand, if you would be so kind as to assist me in moving to the library, we can begin."

"Oh, oh, yes your majesty," Gudbrand schooled his features into something he hoped was innocent expression as he moved behind Elsa's wheelchair, feeling the chill of the ice like the bite of an animal as he gripped the handles. He wasn't sure if it was going to be a demonstration or a history lesson, but he was sure it was going to be enlightening.

Elsa had always enjoyed the library. It was not, as many surmised, a large room. In fact, it was not much larger than her own bedroom. But, unlike her bedroom, every inch of the walls was covered in bookcases, countless volumes by authors past and present. Not all of it was dull, dry history and lineage either. There were several romances, the collected works of Shakespeare, and some traditional fairy tales. There were also painstakingly translated and illustrated copies of both the Poetic Edda and the Prose Edda. They were among Elsa's favourite books. In her childhood she had often wondered if she were actually descended from one of the Jotunn. If she was, she knew it would fly in the face of everything Bishop Gudbrand believed in. But aside from mythic interpretation, she had no way of knowing what had given her her powers. Her curse. There were positives, of course, as she knew now, but for the longest time all they had brought her was pain and isolation. The fear of hurting someone else.

Bishop Gudbrand sat opposite Elsa at the largest desk in the room. Several books were opened between them, including the Eddas. A lot of those texts would have been deemed heretical in an earlier age. They still might be, but her father had saved them from the pyre. His desire to understand what his daughter was going through was almost as strong as Elsa's desire to understand what her magic actually was.

"Your father saved a lot of older books and codices."

"He did. For me. I think he wanted answers just as badly as I did—as I do. I've spent countless hours with those books as my only companions. All I can tell you is this, Bishop Gudbrand: the answer we seek, it's not in there."

"Perhaps not," Gudbrand agreed. "I seek a slightly different answer however. You want to know why, or how. I want to know who. It's quite an important distinction, especially as I can see only two possible answers, as I mentioned at the council meeting. The problem here is that neither answer seems satisfactory. If your powers are indeed a curse, then that implies they should be excised—that you are being punished for the sins of the father, as it were. But if your powers are a gift, that implies the eyes of the divine are upon you, and your every action is being judged—as are the actions of all those around you. Frankly, the idea of finding an answer scares me beyond belief, your majesty."

Elsa considered those words very carefully. Not just what Bishop Gudbrand had said, but how he said it. When he mentioned there being only two possibilities, Elsa knew the Bishop would not trust any other explanation, no matter how rational. That he outlined his suppositions so clearly was concerning. Elsa had not had much experience dealing with fanatics. Even if the Bishop was still doubtful of the provenance of her powers, she doubted being able to provide a 'correct' answer. If it could be proved that her ice magic was somehow infernal in nature, that would damn her in his eyes. If she denied knowing where it came from, that would be just as damning. And if she protested that it was divine—not that she thought for a moment it was—that would simply be called out as an infernal soul denying its true nature. She was to be damned, and this man sitting in front of her was to be the instrument of her damnation.

"I am still searching my soul for how I should treat your powers," Bishop Gudbrand continued to speak, his voice soft. "But I have come up blank thus far. Nothing is told of powers like yours in the holy books. The only mention is of witchcraft, and the signs of the witch. The punishment laid out is terrible, and that is one of the things I fear. If your powers are a curse, I know there are many members of the congregation who would call on me to enact that punishment. I could not, in good faith, deny that request. But I have no proof you are a true witch."

Elsa managed to hide her reaction as the Bishop spoke. She had read texts of medieval times. She knew exactly what would have become of her then, overprotective father or not. And the good Bishop had as much as promised to do the same if he thought her powers infernal in nature. She shuddered, wringing her hands in her lap, then absent-mindedly began to leaf through the book in front of her. Frost gathered around her fingertips, leaving little imprints of ice in the corner of each page. If it came down to it, she knew what she would have to do—but she wouldn't. To do that would damn her completely. She could run, escape somehow, find a way to live in the mountains, back in her palace, with—that was it, proof her powers could be divine.

"Unfortunately, I have no proof you are not a witch, either," Bishop Gudbrand sounded disappointed. "Your relationship with your sister, how little you are seen around town. But you have no cauldron, no broomstick—though I admit a broomstick might be faster than your chair. Cliches, it might seem, but they say it is the mark of the witch to own such things. You could quite easily have placed a spell upon your sister to hide your secrets, perhaps even upon the council. But I doubt that very much."

Elsa took a deep breath, spreading her hands on the table. What she was about to reveal was something she had only realized was possible when she made Marshmallow. She had never used that power since. It was sacred. Divine. The breath of life was not a toy.

"You asked if my powers could be divine?"

"I did, but I fear more that they have an infernal source."

"With these hands," Elsa spoke in a measured, even tone. "I have created life. What further proof of divinity would you need?"

Elsa watched as Bishop Gudbrand's face fell and his eyes widened in shock. His brows furrowed and he pointed straight at her, his right arm trembling with righteous fury.

"Abomination!" the voice was so loud it made Elsa wonder if it truly had boomed forth from the heavens. "Only the divine can create life. What you have made—attempted to make—is a profanation of all that is good. None but the divine can create life. No one amongst mankind can wield such a power. No one."

Elsa cowered in her chair, arms raised to shield her face, her head turned aside. The temperature in the library had dropped ten degrees. Frost was forming on the windows. The Bishop's breath was beginning to mist in the air. But still he ranted on, about the evils of witchcraft, and the dark sorcery her father must have wielded. Elsa could feel the black pit in her stomach opening up to swallow her. This was not how it was supposed to go. How could it have gone so wrong?

Ice covered every surface, hooks and spikes slowly crawling from the walls. Walls that shifted from purple to red. Gudbrand towered over her, and Elsa was paralyzed with fear. She couldn't move. Bishop Gudbrand was too imposing. She couldn't move, because she was afraid of what she might unleash if she did. She hadn't been this scared, this angry, since… since… since Anna.

Elsa brought her fist crashing down on the desk in front of her. The ice shattered in a rippling wave, silencing the Bishop. She spoke a single, deadly word. It was a word, combined with her magic, that she had used only twice in the past. It was a very final word. It meant she had reached the end of her patience and self control. Bishop Gudbrand had even witnessed one of the prior uses.

"Enough!"

The desk erupted in a wall of ice spikes as the temperature in the room dropped another twenty degrees. Bishop Gudbrand scrambled back, almost falling over in his haste to avoid being impaled. Elsa saw the look on his face. She knew there was no salvaging this situation, but she had to try. She had to. She owed it to herself, if no one else. It looked bad, no, terrible, but she was going to try anyway. It wasn't her fault that he had succeeded in making her that angry.

"Sit. Down," Elsa ordered, summoning a gust of wind to slam the door behind the Bishop. "Now we're going to have a talk. About how I've had to live with this curse for twenty years. Then we're going to talk about the fact my magic has the power to kill. And lastly, we're going to talk about how creating life is the only purely good thing my magic has ever done."

Bishop Gudbrand sat, slowly, shivering. It wasn't the cold. It was the incredibly forceful reminder that despite being crippled, despite being cursed, Elsa—Queen Elsa—was literally the most powerful person in all of Arendelle. Gudbrand was legitimately terrified of what would happen next. Of what would happen if he left this room and hadn't changed his mind—or even if he would be allowed to leave. The Queen had a lot of power. She had cowed Marshal Gerhardt into leaving a council meeting in session. Gudbrand had never seen that happen before. Gerhardt never left.

"It–it's freezing i–in here," Bishop Gudbrand's teeth chattered as he spoke.

"Then I'll make this quick," Elsa promised.

She spoke eloquently, with grace. She explained her childhood traumas. How she had managed to fight her demons, to keep them at bay. It was not the story Bishop Gudbrand had been expecting. It was not about dark pacts, or infernal texts, or even disobeying her parents. It was a story about a little girl, discovering far too young how cruel the world really was. It was the story of a sinner, constantly seeking to atone for her past. It was the story of a young woman, riven with loss and doubt, but still standing strong enough to lead a kingdom. It was the story, honestly told, of how her powers were as dangerous as they were mysterious. It was the story of how little she truly knew of her powers. It was the story, Bishop Gudbrand was quite sure, that would one day make her a saint. Had not young Joan's story started much the same way?

Bishop Gudbrand hadn't noticed while Elsa spoke, but the room was now considerably warmer, the walls merely frosted, not iced over. The desk was dark wood, not spears of ice.

"I do not think," Gudbrand spoke carefully. "That you should tell anyone else about your ability to create life. Especially not Gerhardt."

"But most of the town has seen Olaf, they have to have figured it out by now."

"Your pet snowman?"

"Yes."

"Have they?" Gudbrand asked honestly. "Do they know it was deliberate?"

Elsa sighed. "Even I don't know if it was deliberate. I was just as surprised as everyone else the first time I saw him."

"Then perhaps it was an accident. Perhaps you don't have the power to create life. Perhaps, in your darkest moment, the Divine decided to take pity upon you, and showed you the greatest kindness."

"But Olaf rescued my sister, not me."

"I have seen Princess Anna together with you, Queen Elsa. I am quite sure the Divine had His reasons. Perhaps Olaf rescued Anna so that she could rescue you."

Elsa nodded, unable to speak. Gudbrand, satisfied at last with the answers he had, stood, bowed, and turned to leave. Elsa sat behind the desk, idly leafing through the pages of the book in front of her. She had created Olaf, accidentally, but the little snowman had gone on to save her sister's life. Perhaps Bishop Gudbrand's theory was not quite so outlandish after all.

Perhaps it was even the truth.

AN: So, okay, that last piece may have been a little out of left field, but not everyone is coldly rational. Priests tend to get a bad rap, and this might be personal bias on my part, but it just seemed right after that kind of revelation. Afterwards, the "Joan" line—if someone is scared enough it becomes very easy to change their mind, or for them to rationalize a way to change it that fits with their belief system.