Trigger Warnings for Violence

AN: Alright, two updates in two days. That means I've managed to write a whopping 4500 words in a single day. It may not be my very strongest writing (and there are likely to be typos—feel free to point those out), but it is the very best writing I could do today, and so, it gets published today.

And keep up the reviews, I like those. Okay, I don't like the negative ones, I'll be honest about that. But I do find them useful because they offer strong counterpoints, and show me where my writing needs to improve. And now we return you to your irregularly scheduled update. Enjoy.

Being dead hurt. Like, it really, really hurt. Her right arm ached, her back was on fire, she could barely feel her left hand, and something heavy was currently standing on her chest, trying to crush her. It seemed really, really, inappropriate, because dead people were supposed to live in eternal peace, or maybe in the halls of Valhalla—she wasn't quite sure. What she was sure of was the fact she was in neither of those places. Which would mean… except it wasn't hot. Not even warm. It was cold. So very cold.

When her eyes fluttered open, everything was wrong. She was standing on the fjord… but it was frozen solid. Ships were crashed and tilted at crazy angles, some cracking the ice beneath them. Winds howled and snow fell in a blizzard, but it couldn't compare with the chill deep within her heart. She looked at her hand—hands. She had two of them. Why did she have two? And why was she even asking that?

The cold. That was it. It was making her brain all weird. Silly questions. Ice filled her veins. Literally. So cold, but the pain burned like fire in her arms and legs. There was a name—she was calling a name. It was the wrong name. Chris-something. Christopher—no, Kristoff. But he was—she had seen him against the—it didn't make any sense. Where was she? This couldn't be the fjord. She couldn't find—Elsa!

Metal scraping against metal, a sword being drawn. She turned, a painful crick in her neck as the ice began to flow up her spine. She breathed heavily against the pain, forcing her dying body onwards. The storm was gone, but that only meant she could see the man holding the sword with greater clarity. He was going to kill Elsa. She wouldn't allow that. Never. Elsa was her sister, and she would die before she saw her hurt. Her legs burned with the ice, and she could feel her knees beginning to freeze. She wasn't going to make it. She screamed, virtually throwing herself between her sister and the sword.

The blade took her arm clean off, but there was no blood. It was all frozen, even the stump. She felt nothing. Nothing except the cold. Cold and pain. Her rib hurt—cracked where someone had kicked her. Her lip was split. Her left hand—wrist—was covered in blood. Her back was covered with at least a dozen slashes from—something. A crossbow bolt was sticking out of her chest. Just beneath her left shoulder, through the outside of her collar bone. She blinked. Everything hurt—she was dead, but she still hurt. What hell was she living in?

Her eyes opened again, and Anna saw the sun, just cresting the horizon, through the bars of her cell. Oh, so she wasn't dead. Which meant everything really did hurt. And it really was cold. Very, very cold. Frost was forming on the bars of the window. The only thing missing was the crossbow bolt through her chest; but it still hurt enough for her to know she hadn't been imagining that. A wind was starting to howl outside, and something was falling from the sky, darkening the sun. White, powdery; it was drifting through her window, blown in by the keening wind.

Snow. Snow was falling. In August. Anna gasped in wonder, straining to sit up. She felt something tightly bound around her chest, almost painfully compressing her breasts. She wasn't wearing her shirt anymore either. A large bandage wrapped around her chest, covering where the crossbow bolt had lain. She was surprised that her captors would do anything to help her, especially after she'd kicked two of them in the groin, stabbed Mikkel, and shot someone else. Something dark and terrible flashed through her mind. Had these men taken their revenge while she slept? But no, nothing hurt down there. It was almost like they'd just thrown her away. Again. But now, now Elsa was here, and she would be going home.

The problem was she couldn't do anything, locked in her cell. She would have to learn the virtues of patience, despite hearing explosions and the crack of gunfire outside. She could shout for Elsa, confirm where she was—but it might distract her sister at a vital moment. Better to stay silent. And anyway, if Elsa was here, it meant she already knew where Anna was. The red haired Princess of Arendelle smiled, and leaned back against the wall, sitting on her hard stone bed.

"I'm coming with you," Kristoff had voiced it as an order. Elsa had been so shocked at his directness it rendered her momentarily speechless. "You're not the only one that misses her, okay. You're not the only that cares about her either—we all do. We all want to see her back safe. For you especially, but I'd like to get a little bit of her back for me."

"You couldn't help when she got kidnapped in the first place, Kristoff. I need people that can fight," she sighed heavily. "I need to fight."

"That was low, Elsa. Really low. You know exactly why I couldn't fight the first time. And do you think Anna would appreciate knowing I died in some futile attempt to save her."

"…no." Ice was beginning to creep up the walls, and snow drifted lazily from the ceiling of Anna's room.

"I–I'm sorry I said that way, but I really do care about her. Maybe not as much as you do—I don't think anyone cares about her that much—I mean, that strongly—I–I…" Kristoff trailed off. He just couldn't say these things right when he was nervous. What he'd meant to say was that no one cared for Anna more than her sister, but apparently Elsa actually understood his terribly misused words.

"I understand what you're saying Kristoff. I really do appreciate you trying to help, it's just—"

"Just what, Elsa?" Kristoff felt emboldened by the fact Elsa had understood his intent better than his words. "Tell me, is it a good idea to tell all those men out there that you're taking directions from a magical talking snowman?"

"Probably not," Elsa decided at length.

"So I can guide you to the fort—then I can stay out of the way if you tell me to. I might not listen though, I want Anna to see me as a knight in shining armour."

"Why can't that be me?"

"Because, well… umm… Queens aren't normally knights?"

"Why do you really want to go, Kristoff?"

"Because, if Anna's—hurt—we might need to get her to a physician as quickly as possible. No one can pull a sled through the forest paths quicker than Sven—oh, and I might need to borrow a sled."

"After what you did to the last one?" Elsa winked at Kristoff.

"No, no really, that was all their fault," Kristoff held up his hands in surrender.

"And what if Anna is"—Elsa couldn't bring herself to say it—"worse than just hurt. What then?"

"I—we—take her to the valley of the living rock; to the Trolls. My family there will know what to do."

"Anna's lucky to have you," Elsa smiled at her sister's boyfriend. "You can come with us. The fusiliers have a munitions store they were wondering how to move, and I think you just gave them a perfect solution."

"Wait… you want to put the explosives inside the sled this time?"

"Powder and shot. They said they'd need a lot to breach the fort. I humoured them."

"What?"

"I don't like it when I'm angry… but I know I will be, so I'll use it. I'm not sure, but I think I could level the entire fort if I had to."

"But Anna's inside."

"I know. I said, if I had to."

Elsa stared at the edifice in front of her. The old border fort of Løkarna; well that was what the map had said when she'd consulted it the previous night with Kai. She'd told him why, and to prepare the castle's staff for 'any eventuality'. She hated thinking of it, but she had to be prepared. And if that had happened, and the object of her vengeance stood before her, Elsa wasn't sure she'd be able to control her powers. She wasn't sure she would want to, either. Because, right now, just staring at those gates, Elsa wanted to tear them from their hinges and blast clean through the inner sanctum of that fort, laying waste to everything in her wake. She wanted to.

Ingvar—apparently a good friend of Hank—knelt next to her chair and pointed at the north-east tower, and at the east wall just above the gates. Straining her eyes she followed his gaze, just making out a single man in each location. Both of the men wore breastplates that reflected the dawning sun. Both wore crimson uniforms beneath their armour. Elsa took a deep breath, not calming herself, but recalling every torture and indignity that had been mentioned in that damnable letter. It was time to let these men see her displeasure. A gale began to howl at her back, and clouds rippled overhead, building and roiling into something near a blizzard. Snow began to fall, heavier and heavier, until the guards were nearly invisible to her.

Taking aim with his rifle, Ingvar stepped back, kneeling for a more stable shot. He was taking the guard on the tower. The men with him already knew he would take the more difficult of the targets. Two other men took aim at the same Weseltonian soldier. On Elsa's right another trio of fusiliers was taking aim at the guard on the wall. All it would take was a single word from the Queen, and two lives would end. Two lives would end, and the attack would begin. She took a deep, shuddering breath. There was no going back, not from here. If she became a monster for what she had done, so be it. She would leave, she would tell Anna why, even if the red haired Princess hated her for ending these lives, she still deserved an explanation. And if Anna could forgive her for what she was about to do for her sake, then she might one day be able to forgive herself. The Queen of Arendelle took another shaky breath.

"Fire."

The rifles cracked out as a single report, echoing from the walls of the fort. Smoke clouded the air around the shooters. The guard on the tower fell backwards—Elsa had seen red erupting from the back of his head and from behind his back. She had just ordered someone killed—it was irrevocable. The snow began to slow, drifting lazily through the air. The other guard had already fallen, she hadn't had time to see. But now the way was clear, and it was her turn to act. Gerhardt might have been—disappointed—with her powers earlier, but this was the other level of which he spoke: Tactical. Using them directly on the field of battle. Risking the Queen, but for the ultimate gain.

She needed focus, but she also needed power. Fury was her choice. Papa had always said that someone who remained calm, even when they were angry, was a most dangerous foe. Now she would prove him right. She would prove Gerhardt right too, and that stung, but so be it. She was ready. These bastards had stolen her sister, stolen Anna. And now, now she was going to. Get. Her. Back. The power flew from her hands, coating the massive gates in ice and snow, fractals and spikes of jagged ice erupting from the wood and iron in front of her. The men around her jumped back, those who had shot taking the time to reload. But she had magic. Magic didn't need to reload. It also meant she didn't need all the extra powder the fusiliers had packed in Kristoff's sled, safely hidden in the woods.

Her arms extended to their fullest reach, her hands curled into rough claws, Elsa let a savage grin cross her face. What she was doing had every chance of tearing her up inside, but if—when—she got Anna back, it would be worth every wound. Every scar. She would treasure them as medals; medals of the time she saved Anna. The gates were creaking and groaning under the weight of the ice. The hinges made a tortured shriek. Elsa rolled her shoulders, and power surged through her, erupting from her hands in a massive blast of cold air and frozen fractals.

The gates splintered and groaned, unmoving for a long moment. Then the ice cracked and shattered in a crazy spiderweb as the stones supporting the gates gave way, pulling more and more of the wall down with them. Dust choked the air, and for a moment grey powder and white snow obscured the rent in the walls of the fort. The hole was half as wide again as the gates had been, the stones in the wall still settling, the arch growing unstable. Elsa shored it up with a jagged pillar as the first of the fusiliers with her ran past. The walls were breached, the assault was on.

Kristoff was at her side in seconds, wearing the full plate of a Palace Guard, and carrying a longsword. He had sworn he'd be able to fight, so Elsa had given him appropriate wargear. It made sense considering he wasn't used to firing rifles, and that was the only thing the fusiliers had spare. Kristoff strode ahead of Elsa, staying in front of her and one pace to the left, allowing her a clear line of sight to any threats that might be in front of them. Like crossbows being fired from windows and loopholes, except that those had already been frozen over and filled with ice. There was only one clear way into the fort's keep, which meant it would be barred, and heavily guarded. Let these bastards try and keep her out. She would show them what her magic could really do. She would show everyone. And if Anna still loved her afterwards, she would be the luckiest person in the world.

"Step aside," Elsa's voice was below freezing as she pushed her chair past the fusiliers flanking the doors. All of them were fitting bayonets.

Elsa placed both hands against the door. She closed her eyes, calling upon every last ounce of rage and hate she'd felt while reading that note. Everything they might do to scare Anna. To try and control her. Ice dusted her hands, and her breath clouded despite the chill. She remembered the last few lines of that letter, and all she saw was red.

The door exploded, ice and splinters ricocheting through the entrance to the fort. The barricade behind the door had been obliterated in the the blast, everything used to bar their entrance reduced to twisted wreckage and rough planks of wood. If fabric had once covered any of the items, it hung in useless tatters. Bowstrings twanged and gunshots echoed through the hall as Elsa realized the fusiliers had surged past her, firing point blank then driving home with their bayonets. Kristoff ran ahead of her, the rest of her soldiers piling in behind her as she crossed through the hall.

Bodies. Just… bodies. Blood. Death by proxy, and she was responsible for all of it. No, she told herself sternly. The soldiers brought this on themselves. They stole your sister. A royal princess. They got what they deserved. Did they? a small voice asked inside her. Did they deserve this? but the voice spoke again. Or did you want them to suffer? Elsa blinked, shaking her head. This was not the time for such thoughts. She had to focus. She had to find Anna, make sure she was safe. Save her. Rescue her. All those things and more. But first, she had to survive.

She watched as Kristoff barreled into the first soldier, his armoured fist connecting with the man's face with a horrendous crash and a sound she swore was the man's jaw shattering into a million pieces. Kristoff turned, frantically parrying against a soldier that was obviously far more of a swordsman than he was. Elsa threw out her right hand, aiming at the soldier just past Kristoff, raising his crossbow. There was a flash, a bang, and a hail of razor sharp shards shredded the man's arm. Elsa gasped at the sight of all the blood, streaming from a thousand tiny cuts. But the man wasn't dead, and he raised the crossbow in his good arm, aiming at her this time.

There was a louder bang, the tang of gunsmoke, and the Weseltonian soldier fell backwards, a hole punched clean through his breastplate. There must have only been a handful of guards left, probably trying to keep her away from Anna, or—Elsa surged through the fray, a howling gale blasting aside everything in her path. Shot, bolt, or sword, all of them failed to find purchase against her. There were only two doors out of the room she was now in. One was much heavier than the other, solid wood planks, iron banding. A sliding bar. Something that could be locked, which meant something for keeping things—or people—inside, or possibly out. Either way, it was her best shot.

There was a scream from behind the door. Elsa knew at once who it was, and what it meant. Her rage peaked, and the door ahead of her vanished. Wood and iron stood no chance against the unfettered rage of the Snow Queen. Elsa was going too fast. She couldn't stop. Stairs. Why hadn't she thought of that? Dungeons went underground. Her chair caught on the first step, and rolled sideways. Elsa fell with it, barely having time to cover her face. The jarring impact with the floor never happened.

Snow. The floor was covered in snow. Oh, right, her powers. Her icy chair was battered, but it would hold together just a little longer. Elsa heard another scream, summoning an icy gale to blast the snow aside. Then she heard a splash, and an almighty ringing sound. A man staggered out of a small cell, fire burning in his eyes. As he turned back to the cell, its occupant screamed again.

Anna.

Everything seemed to slow down. Elsa threw her hand forward wanting to save her sister. To stop this man from doing whatever it was he planned on doing. A dart of glittering ice and snow seemed to only creep towards the man, the soldier, wearing the same crimson shirt. Elsa wasn't sure if her magic would make it in time as the soldier seemed to lurch forwards, foot rising to take a single step. All her rage and hate had been funneled into that dart, and Elsa recognized it for what it was a moment before it pierced the side of the man's chest.

It left no wound on his skin. No scars beneath his shirt. It didn't even loosen a single thread in his coat. What it did was far, far worse. Worse than shredding that man's arm. Worse than ripping apart half the fort. Worse than ordering the death of two men, and by proxy, at least a dozen more. It was worse, because she'd done it before. Once. The glittering nature of that icy dart belied it's true harm. Cursed ice. Placed within another heart by her own hand. And it was fast. Far too fast. Because, Elsa realized far too late, that this time, it had been completely intentional. She had wanted this man to suffer. She wanted him to die. It was true; she was a monster, despite her best efforts to prove otherwise.

"No!" The scream escaped her lips as the soldier's foot touched the stone floor, ice erupting across his entire body. He had a second to look terrified as the ice spread from his chest and down his arms and legs. He held his hands in front of him, uncomprehending as the fractal spirals covered them. His eyes filled with terror as his last breath turned to ice, falling softly to the floor.

Snow was falling, hanging motionless in the air. It didn't matter to Elsa, not anymore. She'd somehow managed to live through own worst nightmare and fulfill Marshal Gerhardt's darkest dream in the same breath. It was over. The darkness had won. But at least… at least Anna was safe.

She came as a vision at first. An angel, but the kind of angel that could wear a halo at a rakish angle and not look odd. The kind of angel that anyone could love. It was the red hair that Elsa saw first. Rough, tangled, but pulled into some semblance of a ponytail. It could be called tidy only by the most strenuous extension of the word. Her eyes, blue-green burned with a fire Elsa had never seen before, and when those orbs settled on Elsa, they filled with naked joy and relief. She knew she was being rescued.

Elsa saw more; she saw that Anna's chest was bound tightly with a bandage over her shoulder. She saw that her sister was wearing trousers—and for some reason that made her both jealous and stupidly happy. She could also see that Anna walked the hall barefoot, and the way she walked made Elsa's breath catch. Anna stumbled, taking a moment to steady herself, but Elsa couldn't rush forward to catch her. Couldn't even summon the strength to cushion her fall with a pile of snow. But Anna was strong. She said nothing as she approached Elsa, and for a moment Elsa was sure she was going to walk right past her.

Now Elsa could see the red mark on her sister's cheek. She could see the bruise colouring her right side. She could see the bandage wrapped around her left wrist. She could see the split on her lower lip. She knew she wasn't worthy—not after what she'd done today—but Elsa wanted to hold her sister, to make everything better, to kiss away all the scars and all the pain. She wanted to so badly. Anna was so close, and this time she simply couldn't hold herself back from what she wanted. It was wrong. It was crazy. But it was what she wanted.

Throwing her arms behind Anna's neck, Elsa pulled her sister down, pulled her close enough that Anna's stray hairs brushed against her cheeks. She wanted this—and Anna wasn't fighting her. Elsa closed the distance, feeling their lips brush. It was the most wonderful, least sisterly feeling in the world. But it was hers, and she would keep it forever, even if Anna ran away right this—wait, what was she doing with her tongue?

Anna pulled back after a moment, winking and sticking her tongue out at her older sister.

"Well, that's one way to say thanks. I mean, wow, Elsa, I thought I knew, but… wow… you're a really good kisser, you know that?"

"You–you don't hate me?"

"Oh, please," Anna waved her hand dismissively, collapsing comfortably into the pile of snow. "I could never hate you."

"But I–I killed people. I killed that man attacking you. I ordered the fusiliers with me to kill those men guarding the walls. So much death—I'm responsible for all of it."

Anna slapped her sister. Hard.

"What was that for?!"

"You stinker; you still think I'll think you're some kind of monster if you're forced to do something terrible to help me—to help anyone. You're an idiot sometimes, Elsa. I love you, but… sometimes I wonder how straight that head of your is really screwed on. You're like the smartest person I know and—hey, be quiet, it's my turn to talk, these bastards wouldn't listen to a word I said—oh, what, like you've never used bad language before? Anyway, you're smart, and kind, and caring; and no matter what you do, no matter what you think you've done, that'll never change. That's what I love most about you Elsa. You're willing to sacrifice so much to protect the people you love… sometimes you don't leave enough of yourself behind, and it makes me sad."

Anna scrambled around in the snow for a moment. "Here, let me find your marbles, I think you might have dropped them earlier."

"ANNA!"

The Royal Princess of Arendelle chose that moment to roll around in the snow, giggling in fits.

"Larsson, open up," Vanja quirked an eyebrow at the scribe's unruly appearance as the door cracked open. "The Queen's gone."

"What?" Larsson's door opened wider, surprise evident on his face.

"Gerhardt said something about finding the people responsible. Said you should be there, at the trials."

"Gerhardt said that?"

"Well, his language describing the traitors in the mob was rather more colourful, but that's the general tone of it," Vanja smiled, rolling on her heels. She already knew how this was going to play out. "He said you should be the first one there."

Larsson had the switchblade out before Vanja could react. As it plunged through the furs she wore he saw nothing registering on her face. Knife in her chest, Vanja smiled darkly, using the scribe's surprise as her greatest weapon.

"Larsson, you wound me," and then, with no small amount of satisfaction, she dropped him with a glorious right cross. She called over her shoulder. "Justicar Kristoffersen, he's all yours."

Stepping away from the door, Vanja wrenched the small knife from her chest. She dropped it, undoing three layers of furs, revealing the leather strapping covering her chest. The knife had still managed to pierce the hide armour she was wearing, and it had taken every ounce of self control she'd had not to react to getting stabbed. But the look on Larsson's face when he figured it out had been priceless. She could feel a little blood soaking into her undershirt, and Vanja took a risk to gently press against the top of her breast through her armour.

"Ow."