Elsa was acutely aware that she was dreaming. It was an odd sensation, made odder by the fact that she seemed to have no control whatsoever over the dream. The void stretched out in inky blackness all around her. No amount of focus could summon anything from the emptiness. She sighed. It was still better than the nightmares, but she hadn't had those in more than a year. Then she heard a noise, and turned around. Behind her was some sort of viking warrior, and he was in mid-swi...

The world swam back into vision. Again, the void. She had pressed her luck too hard by presuming that it wasn't a nightmare. Elsa went on guard, scanning the horizon. She tried to move through the void, if that could be called movement, and she tried to do so unpredictably. It didn't work. Two figures appeared out of the corner of her eye, and again came the ax.

Well, at least she had a little more time to collect her thoug...

There were three that time. When she looked back again, there were now four. Thunk.

Five. Smack.

She immediately jumped away this time, and saw six men coming for her. Then she noticed something familiar about the sixth. That was one of the ancient Russian...

Tsars. And then there were seven. She broke into a full sprint. Maybe this would work.

It didn't. Eight.

Well, maybe her ice powers would...

Nine. Would be gone, like they had been for the last few months. She really couldn't catch a...

Broken head. Ten.

There was no escaping even. Eleven. When she. Twelve. Got. Thirteen. Back. Fourteen. Up. It. Fifteen. Was. Sixteen. Ridiculous. Seventeen. They multiplied, more and more of them, an unending flurry of blows.

Then, it stopped. One figure began to stride towards her from within the darkness. As it neared, Elsa made out his face. It was Alexander I. The Tsar brought his cloak around her, and she was again submerged in darkness.

When she emerged, there was only the first man again. He walked up and whispered in her ear.

"Rurik lives."

Then came a blow that stung her to her very bones. Her eyes shot open. She was still being hit, what was going on? A golf-ball sized hailstone beaned her between the eyes. She reached to the side and donned her helmet, then ran out of the tent. It was hailing everywhere.

"Storm the defenses men! We need to take shelter!"

Tents were being bashed to bits and wagons were being dented. Men were running forward as fast as they could, and the gates of Moscow were burning. Ladders were propped up against walls, barricades, and buildings, and men were scrabbling up as fast as they could. Maybe this would be a good experience. Did she really need ice powers to be a good soldier? After all, she was classically educated, physically fit, excellent at analysis, particularly mathematical analysis, and well-versed in the ancient histories of conquerors as august as Julius Caesar and Alexander the Great. It couldn't be that hard to.

She woke up again. Anna's smiling face was waiting for her.

"Hey Anna. I had the strangest dream last night. Did anything bad happen?"

"Nope, not at all! But don't look down."

Elsa looked down. Her hands were manacled.

"Does being a prisoner of war count as something bad?" asked Anna.

"Yeah. Yeah it does."

"Oh. Does a forty-eight hour hailstorm count as something bad?"

"I think that does too."

"Okay then. I just won't tell you about those two things. Everything is going great!"

After a bit of questioning, Elsa learned that the hailstorm had forced Napoleon's army to seek sturdier shelter, causing them to launch a direct attack on Moscow. For two days, the armies had clashed underneath the hail, but one crucial push by the Russians had caused the complete collapse of the right flank, and in the disarray, the army had gotten split apart. 15,000 had fallen, and a full 120,000 of the 170,000 men Napoleon had left were captured in the chaos. Napoleon was gone, sent fleeing back through Russia. God only knew how many of his men could survive the march back.