AN: And now I present to you the glory of Angry!Elsa. Beware the nice ones. Not sure I got everything right, but I did my very best to write the characters as appropriately as possible given the situations I put them in. It's time to bring everything back together.
Marshal Gerhardt scanned the letter the Queen of Arendelle had handed him. His face betrayed no emotion as he read of the tortures mentioned therein. He was not reading the letter to understand the words on the page, but to understand the intent behind placing them there. The descriptions provided had been graphic, chillingly so. Gerhardt might have been disturbed if he didn't know it was all a sham. It explained the snowstorm earlier in the day too. Something about the writing was off, familiar, but… he wasn't sure, but he recalled having seen similar writing many times in the past—but where?
"It is a lie, your majesty," Gerhardt, explained his conclusions to the Queen, placing the offending document against his slightly frosted desk. "The descriptions of the tortures they would submit your sister to are too graphic—they aren't telling you what has been done, or even what will be done; they are telling you only what can be done. Even the threat against the Princess's life is empty; and there is twofold reason why. First, if they do, in fact, kill her, they will lose their only bargaining chip. There would be nothing stopping us from obliterating them where they stood—if we knew where they stood that is. Second, the threat of death or torture is only effective while a hostage is alive. Lose that, and they have no power over you."
"But Anna would still be dead," the ice creeping up the walls of Gerhardt's office betrayed the Queen's emotional state. "And you would use that to turn me into a weapon."
"I would," Gerhardt replied honestly, attempting to provoke the Queen. He had cautioned himself against this plan previously, but what if he could provide a target for the Queen's anger? "Because, Queen Elsa, they would deserve no less punishment than that for the death of your sister. And as Queen, you maintain first right of redress and first right of vengeance against any such actions."
Ice erupted from the walls and snaked across the ceiling. The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees and Marshal Gerhardt smiled coldly. It was a very dangerous game to play—he needed the Queen angry enough to use her powers, but not so angry he could no longer direct them. Time to try and reign things in—and inform the Queen of the real problem now facing Arendelle. The problem he knew could best be countered by the use of her powers.
"Ships have been spotted on the horizon."
"Whose ships?"
"Weselton, Queen Elsa. Ten vessels; they intend to occupy the town, subjugate your citizens. I once explained how your powers might be used to stop such an attack. To stop such an attack without having to harm anyone. Do you recall what I said?"
"I–I do; but I won't. Not if it risks hurting Anna. If anything happens to her… it will be my fault."
"My search parties still have no word, but we're expanding the area to include all the border territories now, such that we can cover in a single day at any rate," Gerhardt saw something flash behind the Queen's eyes. Some glimmer of hidden knowledge or secrets untold. Perhaps here she knew something he did not. He would definitely have to find out. "Hmm, perhaps you know more of this than I?"
"If I told you, would you help?"
"I am bound to help you, Queen Elsa, whether I wish to or not. I can advise and offer a differing opinion, but I cannot flatly refuse an order from the Queen. I counter with this: if using your magic aggressively was the only way to save Princess Anna, would you? Are you prepared to take a life?"
Flurries of snow began to drift around Gerhardt's office. The ice continued to creep across the large planning desk, freezing the small metal ships in place. The Marshal watched the emotions running across the face of his Queen. Doubt, fear, anger, regret, fury, sadness, resolve. Frost glowed around Queen Elsa's hands before she offered a reply.
"I might—if there was no other way. I would much rather not, of course, but if there was no other way, I might be forced to use my magic aggressively. As to your second question, Marshal Gerhardt; No. I am not prepared to take a life. I hope I never am. I killed someone once, and I was beyond lucky to get her back. I will never do that again—not to anyone. I may want to kill these people hurting my sister, but I know I cannot. I don't care if that means you think I'm weak—because I don't think valuing life is a weakness."
Gerhardt frowned, pressing his hands together before answering. "Unfortunately, you're right. If you aren't prepared to fight, then you're weak. Your father, the King, was always prepared to fight—if he had to. He served well in the foot Guards, before he claimed the throne on his mother's death. He was not afraid of conflict—understand that while he did not encourage it, neither did he back away from it. You, on the other hand, Queen Elsa, appear to have shied from every possible conflict in the last decade"—ice cracked and splintered around the Marshal's office—"I don't think you have the guts to stand up for your people."
The ice around the room began to take on a baleful red glow. Elsa sucked in a deep breath, exhaling slowly, spreading her hands in her lap. The glow faded, but the ice didn't thaw. "You're trying to make me angry," Elsa's voice cut like a knife. "How da—"
"I succeeded, then," Gerhardt smiled coldly. "And yes, I dare. Look at what your powers have wrought"—the Marshal gestured with both arms, taking in the entirety of his office—"and we both remain unharmed. You have sufficient control—you could so easily turn this against our foes. Why will you not fight?!"
"Because of Anna!" Spikes of ice exploded from the walls, crumbling into drifts of snow before they could reach too far.
"If you don't fight, she's already dead!" The red glow returned, and the walls began to close in, jagged barbs and serrated edges surrounding both Elsa and Gerhardt.
"How… how coul…"
"You love your sister, do you not?"
"I–I do. Of course I do. I love her more than anything in the world. I would let Arendelle burn to ashes if it meant I could have Anna just one day more!"
"You won't fight for your people—but you love your sister so. Fight for her, Queen Elsa. Fight for your sister; or we are already lost!"
Elsa's scream of rage was like dark music to Gerhardt's ears. The discordant crash of breaking ice was less so, and he threw up his arm to cover his face from the storm of icy shards that ricocheted through the room. They cut like knives and glittered like diamonds. He had no doubts that if the Queen was not in control of herself those shards could well have shredded everything in the room, himself included. It wouldn't be wise to push the Queen any further.
Silence reigned as Marshal Gerhardt dabbed at a cut on his cheek holding a handkerchief in one gloved hand. The handkerchief was embroidered with the crest of Arendelle, and the Marshal's mark of office. His face betrayed nothing, but a glimmer of fear settled behind his eyes. And if such a small outburst could scare him, what could this aspect of Elsa do to their common enemies? The Marshal smiled darkly, aware that Queen Elsa's wrath might still be directed at him. Then she asked a question, one he had to answer with honesty. Especially if he hoped to retain any sort of working relationship with the Queen. She did, after all, value honesty almost as much as he did.
"Why; why do you want me to lose control?"
"To destroy our enemies. But I would hardly call that losing control. It was unfocussed aggression, nothing more. You had no real target, no true desire to harm anyone. I want to see you use that anger, that power. I want to see you fight for what you desire. If not for your people, then fight for Anna. If you freeze the fjord, if you manage to stop their ships, then there is no way they can get a message to the Princess's abductors in time. Not without us seeing such a messenger attempting to cross the ice—and intercepting them. Your sister—Princess Anna—will be safe if we act swiftly. Her abductors will be unable to carry out any of those threats."
"And what if their messenger is already within the township; what then?" Queen Elsa asked a pointed question. "How did they know when and where to strike; how did they know to bring enough men to overpower even captain Ragnar?"
"That is the right kind of question to ask, Queen Elsa. For a pacifist you have a remarkably keen military mind. As to the question you raise, if it is indeed true. We have far greater problems… in fact…" Gerhardt took up the letter, the ransom note that had started this meeting. The writing, it was familiar. Simple, not elegant, but well refined and to the point. The cursive script he'd seen before, many, many times. So many times, so many notes and missives. Gerhardt swore. He knew, absolutely knew, that handwriting. He'd seen it, so often, on so many days, he could not fail to recognize it. Not when he looked at the writing instead of the words.
"Traitor!" Gerhardt roared at the letter, slamming his fist against the desk hard enough shatter the ice around it. Elsa looked up at him, startled by the outburst. "My sincerest apologies, Queen Elsa. You were right; this is—has been—a domestic matter. Weselton's fleet has been sent to complicate things, such that I might overlook the traitor in our midst. Now, while I might hate that you are a pacifist, my wrath is reserved for traitors. Now go, someone deserves my wrath, and it is not you."
"Marshal Gerhardt," Elsa's voice was ice. "I came to you for aid. You will not dismiss me like some common soldier."
"And yet you would still refuse to impede the fleet Weselton has sent against us."
"Let them come. Let them in to the harbour."
"And then what; surrender?"
"No. Arendelle will not surrender. We will not be cowed by force. If those ships enter the harbour, they will do so in pieces. You mentioned our coastal fort during the first council meeting, where do its best guns lie?"
"Queen Elsa?" Gerhardt was stunned by the fire he heard in the Queen's voice. This kind of anger was entirely unlike her. Thankfully it was no longer directed at him, but it was still unsettling. She was cold, collected, and very, very dangerous. The Marshal was more than impressed by the change—but what had spurred it on?
"The Pride of Arendelle, she still lies at anchor?"
"Yes, your majesty. She lies at anchor in the harbour, her crew on shore leave."
"Recall them. All of them. The Pride anchors opposite the fort, inside the harbour wall. All sails will be furled, and her colours struck. Have our sailors triple shot the cannons behind the gunports."
Gerhardt paused. This was starting to sound dangerously like a solid military plan. And how did the Queen know about the dangerous practice of double-shotting, let alone triple-shotting? Of course it would cut range, but within the harbour that would be moot. It would fall to boarding actions to carry the day—and the Marshal knew his troops were good enough to do that. The Royal Marines would see action, and they would do Arendelle proud, just as they had in the Northlands campaign, during the reign of Elsa's father. Now there was only one question left to ask, a question Gerhardt was afraid to ask, because it would prove that the Queen might be unfit to rule as it revealed her true priorities.
"Why?"
"Because these bastards stole Anna away from me," Elsa's voice hardened. "And for every scar that has left upon my soul, for every imagined and real torture they might have inflicted on my sister, I will see them bear those same scars for eternity. I do not care if they die. I only care that they hurt before they leave this world. And you—no apology will take back what you tried to do, what you have pressured me into. But you will let me handle this my own way. And you will give me a full platoon of the Third Royal Marine Fusiliers."
Marshal Gerhardt gaped at the Queen, open-mouthed. It took several long seconds before he could compose himself. The same question. "Why?"
"Because I want my sister back; and you were right. Damn you, but you were right. I will fight for her," Elsa's voice softened, and Gerhardt was just as taken aback by the change as before. "She never stopped fighting for me."
Gerhardt's eyes widened in surprise as he realized what the Queen of Arendelle was actually. "You know where she is."
"I do—would you dare stop me?"
And with the fire burning behind her eyes, the relentless drive he could almost feel radiating from her soul, Marshal Markus Gerhardt knew, without doubt, that the Queen of Arendelle did not, in fact, need her magic in order to be utterly terrifying. Because he could already see, despite her being confined to a wheelchair and holding her powers in check, the Queen would utterly destroy anything in her path. Woe betide the men that had taken Anna. But there was one small detail of the plan Elsa had left out.
"Queen Elsa, if I may, how do you plan on goading Weselton's fleet to enter the harbour?"
"Ice. They'll have only a single path left to them. I'll do as you asked, just this once. My mission to rescue Anna depends on surprise, so I will attack at dawn, with the sun at my back. At my soldiers' backs. Anna will be safely returned to the castle by day's end, or an eternal winter will be the very least of your problems. Understand?"
Gerhardt could only nod. Elsa, taking on the aspect of war, was utterly terrifying, and it compared to nothing Gerhardt had seen. How could this young woman, this waif of a girl bound to a wheelchair inspire such fear in her own subjects. She hadn't even been using her magic, just a discussion of goals and strategy. As the Queen left, Gerhardt had a small, uncertain, smile. The King had taught her well, and in her isolation she had obviously studied hard. Maybe—just maybe—she had a become a pacifist because she was too well acquainted with the vicissitudes of war. Violence, pain, and death. She had had thirteen years to study—to study anything she chose. What if she had studied war—what then? She had studied the greatest conflicts, the worst losses, from Thermopylae and Salamis, to the siege of Jerusalem or the War of the Roses; the battle of Agincourt, and of course there remained the exploits of both Nelson and Napoleon, at sea; and on land there was the Duke of Wellington at Waterloo.
Queen Elsa might reasonably have been said to be disgusted in war, with good reason, Gerhardt thought, but she was still a pacifist, and he had his doubts about how well she would fight—setting aside for a moment the remarkable keenness of her mind. She had agreed to help, and her plan was sound—with a little refinement it would be absolutely devastating. If, for example, it could be made to look as if the Pride had run aground, but just enough to elevate its overloaded cannons to the correct angle… Well, it was certainly worth considering. There could be no hesitation, there were only a few hours left before the fleet of Weselton would make it into the harbour, and then everything he'd tested, everything he'd pushed for; it would happen, or it would not. This was the point of crisis, and he dearly hoped that Queen Elsa was strong enough to go through with the plan—her very own plan.
"Keep up, old man, we're hunting an assassin here," Justicar Kristoffersen panted as Bishop Gudbrand ran beside him. The guards running with them showed no such signs of exertion. "At this rate the Queen's going to die of old age before we get there."
"The Divine will lend me the strength I need to see this task done," the Bishop shot back. "I'm not sure who's going to help your heathen posterior."
"One day, with proof, Clarence. But do keep trying, I'm not dead yet."
"I swear, Hanne, your adventures will be the death of us both."
"Then whose job do I get to keep?" Torsten asked, jogging between the both of them.
"His," Bishop Gudbrand nodded towards the Justicar.
"Mine," Kristoffersen agreed, speaking at the same moment.
"Guess this one's broken then," Torsten tucked his cross back beneath the shirt he was wearing. "Ansa gave me all the homes of all these people. If you can handle the next one, Justicar Kristoffersen, I could take half these guards and confront the last person on this list before you get to yours."
"Done," the Bishop nodded in agreement as the Justicar spoke. "Now go."
Torsten sprinted into the distance, turning the corner, three of the guards following him. The remaining three guards kept pace with Kristoffersen and Gudbrand. They needed to turn left where Torsten had sprinted off to the right. Down to the end of that road. The house was a simple affair, as most in Arendelle were. Stone walled with a shingle roof. The front door was ajar, and several windows were broken.
"Damn it!" Kristoffersen cursed. "We're too late."
Only then did the two men notice the swirling clouds overhead. Only then did they see the snowfall. Only then did they know that Elsa was at the heart of everything. Given the way the clouds were swirling, there was only one place the Queen could be. The Justicar and the Bishop immediately turned and back-tracked. They had to reach the docks before the would be assassin. They could take no chances with the life of the Queen—not with the Royal Princess already in such jeopardy.
Elsa worked the magic through her hands—it was difficult, and a crowd was gathering, watching quietly as she sat before the docks, Hank behind her and Marhsal Gerhardt just to her right. She called upon her powers, seeing the pennants of the Weaseltown fleet on the horizon. The magic flowed through her, coming from she knew not where, coursing through her body and erupting from her hands. But it was not enough. Barely half the harbour had frozen; admittedly, it had frozen in the exact fashion she wanted it to, but the ice refused to spread further. She'd already done this once, before… why was it so hard now? What was so very different about this time? If she had the power to cover an entire kingdom—and then some, most likely—in an eternal winter, why was it she could not perform the simple act of freezing the harbour and leaving only a single channel open to the ships of Weaseltown?
"I–I can't," she turned to Marshal Gerhardt. "I can't do it."
"Weak. You promise to help, and you still turn your back on your people."
"No, no, you don't understand—I can't. I just… can't. My magic won't go any further. I can't make it do that."
"Then how, pray tell, did you manage to plunge Arendelle into an eternal winter?" Gerhardt's voice was firm. "And what about the snowstorm earlier today—what are you hiding?"
"I–I'm not hiding anything!" Elsa screamed at Gerhardt. The ice began to splinter, branching out further into the harbour. Spears and daggers of fractal ice ran across the surface of the water. The air nearby fell several degrees.
"You're still hiding something, or the harbour would already be frozen. You're still afraid of your powers, Elsa." Elsa heard the snide tone, the blatant disrespect, the ignorance of her rightful title. "And because you're weak, and scared, and pathetic, your sister is going to pay the price."
"No!" Storm clouds swirled overhead; snow began to fall. The ice in the harbour grew jagged; cruel shapes forming at the edge between the fjord waters and the ice. Crazed fractals of blue-white and purple shattered atop the waters, creating floating chunks of drift ice. The colours ran towards red, shadows flashing beneath the ice as it branched out further still, the drifting chunks of ice connecting with the frozen harbour in a jagged seam above the waters.
"And do you know what's even better?" Gerhardt asked coldly, so much so that Elsa was taken aback by the lack of emotion in his voice. "I get to see you used as a weapon. I get my greatest wish."
"How dare you!" Elsa slammed her fists against the armrests of her icy chair, spikes of ice erupting around her, narrowly missing both Hank and Gerhardt. "You… you… you're…"
"Winning," Gerhardt smiled, gesturing to the fjord in front of them; waving to the darkening sky; the ships slowing in the distance. "Weselton dares not to approach now. Look at what you've done… just look… no captain in their right mind would dare enter a harbour under such conditions."
Snow was falling in a steady stream, muffling distant sounds. Clouds whipped past overhead, driven by unnatural winds. The fjord was frozen, the surface rough and jagged, peaks and cliffs of ice out to the horizon. Elsa gasped, remembering something Søren had mentioned about her work having a 'savage beauty'—and here, here she could see just that. In her anger she had wrought destruction. She was thankful no one was hurt. The crowd appeared cold, shocked, but unharmed. And Gerhardt, after provoking her so, after getting his wish, she expected him to be smiling. But he wasn't, his face was drawn and haggard, his eyebrows knitted together in concern and fear. His hands were clasped—steepled—in front of him, and he appeared to mumbling something; a prayer, perhaps.
In the distance, as the snow continued to fall and ice crept away from the Queen over the surface of the docks, Elsa heard a shout. "Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live!"
Someone was pushing through the crowd, a crowd that had turned almost as one, stunned amazement on their faces. In fact, it was a small mob pushing through the crowd, and their leader had just drawn a weapon. So did the rest of the mob. Short swords, rapiers, daggers, and a few armed with simply heavy bars of iron. The leader was by far the most dangerous, raising his weapon—a flintlock pistol—towards the Queen.
"If you refuse to see this witch for the godless abomination she is, I'll just have to send her to face divine judgement myself."
Fire erupted from the barrel and pan of the pistol, and a cloud of smoke wreathed the hand of the man firing it. Everything happened too fast for Elsa to follow. She was on the hard, frozen cobbles of the dock. The spikes of ice she had accidentally summoned lay in shattered ruins beneath her. Her chair was cracked and splintered, useless. And on top of her, Hank was breathing heavily, one arm pinning her to the ground, placing his body between her and the assassin. His other hand clutched at his side, at the dark stain spreading beneath his uniform jacket. His sword was missing. Elsa tried looking past him, to see where it had fallen.
"Stay down," Hank coughed. "It's not safe."
Elsa could just see something past his shoulder. Gerhardt, striding purposefully towards the the leader of the mob. He was holding Hank's sword, and in a flash of silver the assassin lost his hand. The Marshal stepped aside, avoiding the blood spatter from the severed limb, then lashed out with a powerful kick to the man's stomach. The assassin doubled over, retching, clutching at the stump of his severed hand. The pistol in his missing hand still smoked, the heat slowly melting the ice beneath it.
There was a clash of steel on steel, and Elsa thought she caught flashes of Arendelle Green behind the mob. Guards, the town guards were here. They could stop the mob. Or, they could have, had the crowd not surged towards to the mob, overcoming their shock at the brazen attempt on the Queen's life. Elsa was fascinated, but Hank forced her head down, behind him, using his body as cover as he tried to drag them away from the fight. Hands tried to lift him away, and he fought them off.
"No. Leave her alone. I'll die before you get the Queen," and he lashed out at the closest man, the punch nearly breaking his nose.
"Calm down son," an older man said, gesturing for the people he was with to form a ring around them. "We only want to help."
"You want to… help?" Elsa asked, not understanding what was going on. She was sure it sounded stupid, but her mind just couldn't process things right now. Hank was hurt. Gerhardt was fighting. There was a severed hand lying somewhere on the docks. Anna was still in danger. A storm raged overhead—one she had summoned. It was all wrong, and these people still wanted to help?
"Aye, your majesty," the old man replied. "We saw what the Marshal was doing. He was provoking you; rather deliberately, I should think. But this"—the man gestured in the rough direction of the mob—"the barefaced cheek; such a brazen attempt on the life of another monarch… it takes a lot to stir your citizens to anger, your majesty, but if you manage it, you'd best beware."
Elsa heard a scream in the distance. She knew what it was, but it didn't even sound human. She could hear the guards shouting for order, putting themselves between the mob and the citizens of Arendelle. Something about not wanting a lynch mob, and facing righteous justice for their actions. Elsa shivered, slowly pushing herself into a sitting position as several of the men lifted Hank off her.
"Help him, Ha—Lieutenant Eriksson has been hurt, saving my life."
"We shall take him to a physician at once, but what of you, your majesty, what would you have us do?"
"Listen to the guards. The man that tried to kill me—those men with him—will face Arendelle's justice, in due course. But I will need them alive in order to discover who sent them."
"Go," the old man gestured to two of his companions. "Sort them out. They'll listen to you." He turned back to the Queen. "Your majesty, you cannot stay here. We can carry you to the castle if you are unable to make another of your chairs—or to any other safe place you desire to go."
"I—" Elsa started, considering where she needed to be. She had to help Anna. She had to know at least one of the Fusiliers she would be taking with her for the dawn raid. But Hank was here, now, and he was injured, perhaps gravely so. And Gerhardt—she understood, at least a little, as to why he had been provoking her. Not enough to forgive him, but enough that one day, if he made no further attempts, she might be able to work with him again. She decided. "Take me to Hank—the Lieutenant. I would see that he is safe before I return to the castle."
"Hank?" the voice was soft, appealing. He'd heard it before somewhere—it was becoming familiar. He felt a hand holding his. Cold, but… not at the same time. The fingers were slender and delicate, but held great power. He could remember that much. Hank. The voice had called his name. The young woman the voice belonged to held his hand, sat beside his bed. Except it wasn't his bed, but a—table?
Hank's eyes shot open, and he felt a strong hand restrain him as he tried to rise. He turned to see Queen Elsa sitting by his side, a worried look etched on her face. The mask cracked when she saw his eyes were open, and he could see the naked relief she felt. That too, was swiftly hidden—meant only for him—while she put on the face of the Queen again. She still gripped his hand as she spoke softly.
"You–you saved my life," Queen Elsa sounded as much surprised as she was relieved. "Two people I lo—I really care about—have nearly died for me."
"You're," Hank coughed, slowly levering himself up into a sitting position. "You're worth it. Not just because you're the Queen, either, Elsa. You're worth saving, and I'd do it a hundred times more to prove it to you."
"Why… how… what do I have that inspires such loyalty and sacrifice?"
"You have a good heart," Hank laid his free hand over Elsa's, and smiled. "Do you need something more?"
Elsa was surprised, clearly; because this was the first time he'd placed his hand on hers—or anywhere on her person—with more than just professional concern or support on his mind. He liked her—maybe he even loved her, but he wasn't sure—everything screamed at him that such a romance was forbidden on the grounds of propriety and common sense. The trouble always lay in the fact that the heart wanted what the heart wanted. And Hank's heart wanted Elsa; all of her, every day, for the rest of his life. He didn't even know why. All he knew was that no matter how much he would have to struggle, no matter how much she would have to fight, he was willing to be there for her. Always. And for love, he guessed, that might just be enough.
"Thank you, Hank, you saved my life but… I have to go. It's–It's Anna. You saved me, and now I have to save her."
Hank merely smiled, placing his hands against his heart. "I understand. If it was my sister I know I'd move heaven and earth to get her back. So go, save Princess Anna. Rescue your sister—and Elsa?"
"Yes?"
"I heard every word Gerhardt said. Feel free to use him for target practice."
"Hank!"
"Or… I hear Princess Anna has a mean left hook, perhaps she might be willing to deal with him?"
"Hank!" But Elsa was laughing, and the spell was broken. He knew why Gerhardt had said those things—he'd figured it out himself. Because every time Elsa got mad, or sad, or scared, her powers became less controllable, more widespread. Her magic was linked so strongly with her emotions that she simply could not help it. But each emotion created a different type of magic. Anger created jagged spikes; Fear created walls of ice; Sorrow caused snow to hang in the air. Hank smiled as the Queen opened the door, ready to save her sister.
"Thank you; for understanding," then she smiled, and left.