disneylover115: Yup, I thought the diary entries (not quite so cliche, loads of young, rich women wrote them back in the day) were quite a nice conclusion to the events of the first fic. It's certainly been a while, hasn't it? As for claiming she's not evil, it's a philosophy she's always had; when she first met Hans she told him that too. And yes, like many people these days her troubles in childhood HAVE left her with a need for power and control, but at the same time it's made her a very independent and somewhat messed-up person. You might argue that she'd never been taught right from wrong; she doesn't see what she's doing as innately evil, rather a means to an end.

spartandestroyr: Ah, yay, I managed to get some love for Ayla! I think everyone's got some sympathy for her actually, which is good. And oh, god, now there's pressure on me to do well... Hmm, hopefully this first chapter of the fighting will be good (I'm terrified it's gonna fall down on the feels... Ahh! Pressure!)

KLime (guest): Glad you liked the diary entries! I had fun writing them; Ayla's great to explore. And thanks for the vote of confidence; I hope I can live up to expectations.

Kathy22334: Ah, but that's the thing; Ayla doesn't quite understand that what she's doing isn't evil. Sort of like a little kid, I suppose; she's incredibly intelligent and scheming, but at the same time she's basically blind to the pain she's causing. After her father's death, she forgot what the pain felt like; she could only remember the power which came from his blood. And yay, glad you like the art!

Thorinii: Glad you picked up on her weakness! But I must say, to hit that exact spot will be difficult... Elsa can't just crush Ayla as she did Karleif and their mother, she'd be expecting that.


"This way, shush already." The voice, so serious and quiet, seemed rather peculiar coming from the mouth of Bulda, the previously jubilant troll. She had come alone to fetch her family and escort them to the Valley of the Living Rock, a place where the children could be safely kept until the whole bloody business was over. None of the Arendellian Royals had felt comfortable leaving the little ones in the care of the nobles of Corona, despite Rapunzel's confidence of their trustworthiness; no person of sound mind could blame them for that lack of confidence, either. There were very few people who could truly be trusted; the trolls, as embodiments of love itself, were some of the rare, lucky few who held such respect. The three trailing guards had some trustworthiness, too; all the same, Elsa kept her hands steadied and remained ready to cast a spear of ice if she had to.

"So... Where are we going, anyway?" Kristoff asked, shifting his grip on Kari as she rested her head against his shoulder, sitting on his back in a piggyback.

"Yeah, I'm... I-I'm..." Kari made a throaty snarl at her inability to talk and dug her fingers into her father's shoulder. "Hu-ungry..." She banged her head against Kristoff's shoulder this time and drew her face into a scowl, pouting and huffing as she finally settled, resigning herself to the fact that there was nothing she could do. Her voice hadn't worked for months; at the very least it was fortunate she would never be needed to make speeches and the like. Unless, of course, her whole family died in the war... Even her grumpy heart couldn't handle that much grief.

"We've got loads of rock cakes at the valley," Bulda whispered back, waddling forwards all the while, not faltering in her movement at all. Time was of the essence, but then on that note so was stealth; even the forest itself was silent, barely a noise other than the faint whistle of the wind, the timid tread of feet and the momentary flapping of feathers as two large crows careered off into the somewhat overcast sky above. "Cliff made 'em special for you kids. But only if you stay quiet!"

Kari groaned a little more but nodded anyway; it would seem being quiet was her unappreciated specialty now. Thomas and Freddie, both dragging their feet next to their mothers, holding each woman's hand tightly, also nodded solemnly, neither particularly comfortable in the situation. As for Mia... Well, she simply continued looking forwards as she rode atop a rather put-out Lysse who, despite having definitely recovered from her malnourishment—her tubby tummy was sure sign of that—seemed bizarrely more stressed than ever before. Her mood was perhaps only worsened by her young rider's stiff posture brought about not from fear but rather from ignorance as she tried so hard to block everything out. She was so good at doing so by now; if she let even a tiny drop of the rich, concentrated fear felt by everyone else seep into her skin she would surely lose control of her magic. She couldn't afford to do that, she had to be strong. For her stressing doe, for her brother and sister, and her two little cousins as well. The poor things had never felt such terror before; she, of course, had.

War... It was such a terrifying thing for grown men and women, let alone the young ones; every single child, even Kari—though her pride and stubborn streak were much too great and strong to admit it—were terrified to their very cores. They were not blind, despite the limited understanding their years bestowed upon them; they knew they could potentially never see their family again after all of this. Only little Cecilie, sleeping so blissfully—though lightly, too—could be free from the understanding of this horrid situation. Only she was ignorant; only she was fortunate enough to be so.

"Pabbie's set up a portal not too far from here. Maybe... I dunno, fifteen minutes away? It's pretty well hidden." Bulda rolled a few metres to gain some distance between her and her following family, being unable to walk at quite their speed. "It'll take the kids straight to the valley." She paused for a moment and sighed, her crystals dimming in brightness just a little. "And all of you, as well, if you want?"

Lysse gave a little grunt and tossed her head a little as if distressed, even Mia's gentle pats of reassurance doing little to soothe her. Her eyes were wide and her ears flat back as she even gave a small buck at one point; upon hearing her rider's yelp, though, she stopped immediately, instead walking at an average pace with a small hop every time she put a rear hoof down, making for rather uncomfortable travelling. Mia sat tight nevertheless; it was surely just a stone making her lame, some painful foreign object making her walk painful. Alas, there was no time to stop; Lysse would be treated once she got to the valley with Mia anyway.

"C'mon, girl." Odd encouraged, plucking a handful of summer grass, holding it to the doe's nose but with no success, Lysse simply snorting at it and looking away, still hopping; Odd gave a very short, small chuckle as he looked at her somewhat large belly and frowned a little. "Had too much to eat in Corona, did you, girl?" Lysse snorted again and tossed her head but continued to try to step lively, at least managing to keep up with the rest of the group. She was sweating too, the poor dear, but then having so much fur could do that on a hot May day.

"That's a good girl, Lysse!" Mia cooed, stroking her neck gently in as cheerful a voice as she could muster. "Just fifteen more minutes, then you'll be okay."

Mia's words were soft though they wavered with uncertainty; nevertheless, Lysse gave a short snort of discomfort and trudged onwards, trying to focus on her friend's words which, save that she keel over from the pain, were absolutely vital.


Ayla watched as the birds fluttered down, landing on her open window rather in gracefully, the slightly larger—the somewhat scruffier—specimen falling as it tried to grab on with its claws. Opening its fine black wings, it glided a little distance before regaining some of its previous height, reapproaching the window ledge more slowly and touching down tentatively, almost as if dipping a foot into the sea to test the chill.

"Settle down, there, man." Ayla said with a small hint of condemnation in her voice, staring down at the bird with a raised eyebrow before turning her head away, staring to her left for a second as if listening before returning her attention to the pair of creatures. "Have you no self control?"

The bird ruffled its wings a little as it made a few small chirps; the woman's expression was blank in response. Instead, she let out at breath and raised her hand slightly, placing her thumb against her middle finger for just a second—a momentary warning for the vigilant—and then she snapped them, a small spark bursting from her skin as she did so and the bird rose into the air. For a second, it swelled, then its shiny, well-preened feathers—clean from boredom—fell out, ten at a time, in an explosive array of blackness. They floated down on the air in their groups, appearing to disappear into nothingness as they fell.

All the while the bird, now very much naked and shivering profoundly, still swelled; its body elongated; its beak retracted into its head. The wing bones and legs developed a coating of flesh as they, too, swelled, growing to the length of perhaps a large monkey's. The bird's tailbone shortened too, while its head began to grow in diameter and its spine straightened with sickening clicks. It gave a cut-off squawk, the sound tainted by a more human noise, and then, at last, the change stopped. Where, seconds before, there had been a crow, was a nauseating beast; its wing bones were covered with pale pink flesh and its legs the same, small growths extending and writhing; its face was uneven and almost flat, but with distinctly avian eyes and hard, cold orange flesh around the mouth and nose area; its back was short and thin, the skin stretched and tearing in places, blood beading as each speck of skin ripped.

"A-Ay-" the beast began to stutter out, it's attempt at speech cringe-worthy, its voice box that of both crow and man; he gave up and looked up to the woman, quivering a little, and then winced as a bright white light enveloped him, filling the room entirely and, as it did so, the man let out a strangled squawk-like sound. And then, just as he finished letting out his cry, the light faded and a sudden bitterness ensnared his senses; his previously horrifying appearance thankfully became no more, his skin healed and his body in proportion once again. Still, he lay on the floor completely void of clothes and shivering from the unexpectedly chilly air—incredibly cold for a mid-May day. He groaned a little in both pain and humiliation at cowering on the floor like a puppy; still, he couldn't bring himself to stand up proud.

One did not simply expose all in front of one's princess.

Of course, Ayla was far from the blushing maiden which most imagined a royal to be; indeed, she was much more suited to the title of a vixen than the Southern Isles' swan.

"Honestly, Burchardt. I'm not a child; stand up already and I can clothe you. Transforming you back isn't say; I'd rather not waste any more energy in having to dress you when I can't see what I'm doing."

The man—Burchardt—faltered a little as he began to stand, evidently uncertain. "Princess—"

"Stand, now." Ayla's tone was snappish and short and she glared a little as her orders were not immediately obeyed. Using the dim midday light which filtered in though the window of her room in Arendelle castle for illumination, the woman then stood a little taller as she watched the man before her stand; the crow still perched on the window gave a short caw and fidgeted a little, empathetic for his work partner. And he was right to feel that way; once Burchardt had stood, Ayla had to bite back a giggle as she studied him with interest. "My, my, man. You're rather small, are you not?"

Burchardt's cheeks grew red, whether from anger or embarrassment Ayla could not tell, and he turned to the wall a little, folding his arms. "Yes, your Highness," he bit out and the remaining crow let out a sudden squawk as if attempting a laugh; it quickly found its mouth firmly held shut by a lacy material, something which made it fidget on the spot a little as if imagining things. Ayla, grinning at the display, trying desperately to keep a straight face.

"Well, you tell me why the pair of you are back here, and perhaps I'll consider... Enhancing your stature." Ayla took a step forwards and let the magic illuminate her hand, as well as wrapping itself around Burchardt, making him shiver a little; he jerked away, face red and breathing heavy as he hastened to reply, unsure as to whether to be excited or truly terrified.

"We found the old royals, your Majesty. They're walking through the forest at present, near to Fjell Point."

Ayla's pretty blue eyes shone in the dim light and she stood on tiptoes a little, almost ready to skip. Turning to the remaining bird, she then surrounded it in an aura of magic and strained a little, her face scrunched in a grimace, but nothing seemed to happen at first; when she stopped using her powers, however, the bird continued to glow.

"You have fifteen minutes before you transform back into a man. Go and find Arne's men, there are some located at lower Fjell." Ayla grinned even wider and gave a hearty laugh. "I've left some clothes for you there. If you don't make it there before you transform back, then... Well, you don't mind running around the forests naked, do you?"

The crow squawked and looked down at his own lower region, taking off into the air and zipping out of the room. Ayla gave another short laugh as she focused on the final man, giving a sultry stare and rolling her shoulders a little. Stalking around him, she smiled as she watched him grow in manliness and, once she saw him stiffen a little as she brushed up against his side, she relented and allowed him some clothing; a loose fitting shirt and pair of pants. Indeed, it was still rather revealing as she brushed up against him again, leaning back so that her mouth was near his ear.

Delighting as he shuddered beneath her, she smiled and whispered, just as the door creaked open, "Is your princess not good enough for you?" Brushing up against him once more, she revelled in how he stiffened so, and felt her glee rise when he muttered an unsteady response.

"I do not think it would be wise, your Higness. I highly doubt your husband would be pleased." His voice was a little deeper than normal and the bulge in his pants suggested quite the opposite to what he was saying; nevertheless, he kept his gaze as straight as he could, focusing on the figure at the doorway. Ayla, however, had no need to look who had joined them, especially as her own desire began to make her tingle.

"Oh, Hans won't mind. Right, dear?" She turned around at that point and batter her eyelashes a little. She saw him stiffen up too and grinned at his display; oh, the power she wielded, and she didn't even have to use magic. She then took a deep breath as she walked away from Burchardt, her hips swaying as she went. "Come on then, boys," she said, beckoning with a single finger. "I'm all yours to enjoy."


"You'd think people'd be loyal to you, sure." Bulda began as she toddled along, her walk having become brisker ever since she mentioned 'feeling like something was about to happen'. The royals were more than happy to walk faster—with the exception of Lysse, who remained in pain for whatever reason—if it meant they could reach the portal Pabbie'd made sooner. None of the group wanted the children exposed for longer than necessary—Elsa especially, as she clutched her precious baby daughter to her chest, though her arms ached as she did so. Cecilie was far from greedy, but that hadn't stopped her from growing quickly.

"They're not, then?" Kristoff prompted, his left hand, not holding onto Kari, rubbing the back of his neck. He spared a glance in the direction of the North Mountain—though for what reason, he couldn't even tell himself—before glancing down to Arendelle. Perhaps people wouldn't be loyal to him, sure, nor Odd, the two of them being lowly people by birth. But Elsa, Anna and all the children... They were essentially the pride of the people, the very symbols of Arendelle itself. The kingdom had flourished under Elsa's queenly hand, growing from a mediocre force to a strong and secure one—or so it had seemed—with a large naval power, only contested by a few richer countries. It didn't seem realistic to assume that the men and women of Arendelle would abandon the royals who had worked so hard for them so readily.

"No. They are very much against you, and it would probably take a lot of work to get them to trust you again." Bulda rolled a few paces before walking once again, a little more of a skip in her step as they seemingly neared the portal. "The people have been told that you are all imposters, using dark blood magic to take the forms of the dead royals in order to try to take power for... whatever sick scheme they think you want. They think you're evil."

"Isn't that what Ayla's got? Blood magic?" Elsa shifted Cecilie in her arms as she spoke and moaned a little at the aching in her limbs; turning to her husband, she smiled and quickly whispered, without thinking, to ask him if he could take over for a bit. He, of course, stiffened up immediately and his teeth gritted a little, making Elsa recoil as she realise her mistake; before she could contradict herself, however, Odd reached out and took the baby somewhat hesitantly, not for the sake of the child but for its mother. He then cradled her as close as he could bear to his body, though there remained a gap between the two until the babe recognised the man's presence, whimpering before turning into him and gripping his cotton shirt tightly, pulling herself to him. Elsa gave a small smile as she saw the actions, but Odd could only tighten his lips ever more, his heart aching with both hatred and a tiny inkling of tolerance.

She was his wife's baby, after all.

"Yeah. She's got blood magic, but the people don't know that. They think she was born with it." Bulda explained as she looked behind herself quickly, checking the family. Happy that they were all okay she looked forwards once again. "The people believed that they watched your funerals; as far as they know—and they've been told this by Sir Thomas, so they believe him an' all—you lot are all ten feet under, in gold-plated caskets to boot. The people really think Svindel was sad about your deaths-" Bulda paused momentarily to make quotation marks with her fingers before shaking her head with a sigh, "-but that man's sick, he is. Almost on the same league as Ayla or Hans or Arne. But... Not quite."

"So, let me get this straight," Anna began, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear as Elsa, arms feeling less leadened now, reached back for her daughter, taking her from Odd who sighed in relief once she had gone. Cecile squirmed a little as she was transferred and mumbled a few quiet complaints as she kicked out at the air, tiny fists flailing as if some strange, invisible force were attacking her. Once she was safely nestled back in her mother's arms, reassuringly warm as Odd's had been but much, much more familiar, she settled fairly rapidly. Anna, after watching her sister and brother-in-law's interactions, she gave a sad sigh of her own and continued. "The people think we're imposters?"

"Yep."

"And they'll all attack us?"

"Well, yeah. More or less."

"So... How do they think they can beat us? Assuming, you know, that they think we have some evil dark magic-y... thingy."

Bulda stopped walking for a second, the eagerly speeding group behind her almost crashing into her as they failed to notice her pause straight away; Lysse, understandably, made the most complaints at the stop, tossing her head and snorting in pain as she longed to reach the safety of the trolls' valley, the place where her friend had promised her the hurting would be resolved. Despite the grumbles, however, Bulda simply turned around slowly, her eyes wide and suddenly filled with fear.

"Fight fire with fire. Fight magic with magic." she said slowly, waiting a few seconds before any of her companions understood her meaning. It was Mia, surprisingly, who spoke up first before any of the adults, her voice tiny.

"They've... They've got Ayla, haven't they?" she breathed, unable to find much volume, but her mother only scoffed a little forcibly at the remark.

"The people wouldn't trust Ayla. Even if they think her magic's not evil, she certainly is!" Anna folded her arms across her chest quickly and glared daggers at the surrounding trees, having no one else to direct her fearful anger towards; all the while, she couldn't help but ache for the poor, demented woman. She'd lost so much, had endured so much... But at the same time, while she may not have believed it herself, she was innately evil. She had always been, and always would be whilst she wielded enough power, a heartless, cold-blooded murderer, incapable of proper remorse for her actions ever since that fateful day when her father was so badly hurt...

"Sorry, Anna." Bulda murmured, before glancing about the woods and then moving on. "The people... They're desperate. They don't see any other choice; to them, trusting Ayla and Hans is the lesser of two evils." Bulda paused as Anna's breath hitched in her throat, but she didn't continue moving, her heart pounding suddenly.

Something was coming... Something large, something which made her spine tingle and made a wind strong enough to let the dandelions in her hair blow away.

"They think that if they don't get the help of the Southern Isles, your family, the imposters, will take their kingdom by force, kill them all. They don't realise that that's kinda what's happened anyway; Eva's too young to make decisions, so Svindel's just telling her what to do. And he's in league with Ayla, he wants her to reward him with magic for getting her the keys to controlling Arendelle."

"So Svindel's doing what Ayla tells him? Like a puppet?" Odd questioned, his face a scowl; how could a man be so lacking in pride? To be used by another person... Odd knew he, himself, couldn't stand it.

"Yep. That's it, he-" Bulda suddenly cut herself off, standing taller—though she still barely came up to any of the adults' thighs—and looking around herself sharply, a deer caught in the carriage lights. She stared for a moment, unmoving, before she whispered, barely moving her lips, "Run!"

The royals, unprepared for the sudden panic which sounded in the troll's voice, didn't react immediately; an arrow, blade glowing crimson, whistled past the group, missing Elsa by mere inches. It didn't take much more encouragement to get them to run than that; Kristoff all but launched each of the children onto poor Lysse's back, and in turn she let out a full blown bellow of terror and pain, bucking so high that Mia had to freeze her siblings' and cousin's legs to her side to stop them from falling off. Never-the-less, the reindeer ran, a jolty, pain-disturbed motion which couldn't have been more uncomfortable—for either party, in fact—if she had tried.

A second arrow whistled by, whistling through one of Anna's pigtails, haphazardly slicing a rough section off. The hairs fell down to the floor amidst the chaos as the royals, foolishly horse-less, ran. The three guards hurried after too, easily able to keep up with the royals who were untrained in running, shooting their own arrows into the forests blindly, not caring what they hit so long as it was not the royals. One even ran with a medium sized gun, bullets blasting into the tree line and surely killing anything they hit.

The surrounding area became a sudden cacophony of noise; birds rushed in flocks, squawking and screeching, from the deadly weapons, and any surrounding deer and mammals fled with careless speed, crashing through the forest with understanding of nothing but terror. One poor creature—a massive elk, it seemed—even ran across the path and into the woods to the right, launching into the cover of the trees only to be struck by a gunshot, its scream deafening.

It disappeared into the night, probably to perish. There was nothing to be done; there was no time to stop.


The reindeer moaned as he worked through the streets of Arendelle, his head pulled high by the monstrous man upon his back despite his desire to simply drag it along the ground, perhaps even to collapse there. His life nowadays... It wasn't worth living.

Sven was nothing more than a shell of the creature he used to be; where once he had been fit and strong, his entire body now was weak. He'd barely eaten—for what was the point, really, if it was only to prolong this pitiful existence—and it was plain to see when anyone looked at him, his ribs protruding from his side. Of course, he was still a fine specimen—or would be, with many more pounds of fat on him—and as such he was a valuable beast, so much so that his new master—Sven couldn't see him as a friend—insisted on still riding him out with simply a rug to cover him, rather than a horse.

None of the townspeople complained about his situation. They thought this man had rescued the reindeer's life; he was certainly forcing him to live, at any rate.

Sven let out a small bleat of sadness, wishing the people clamouring around him for a stroke—to stroke the mount of a former prince and now a high ranking military soldier was a feat indeed—would realise that he wasn't making a joyful sound, rather a depressed one. But none ever did; they only ever praised the man atop his back for saving the helpless buck's life and for earning the promotion Queen Eva had bestowed upon him.

Though caught up in his own thoughts, Sven's head stopped fighting and jerked itself even higher when a loud, high pitched bleat of terror and pain reached his ears. None of the people around him even reacted at all to the noise—it had been too far off for them to hear—but for Sven... He knew that bleat.

Lysse.

Eyes suddenly opening wide, his ears falling back as he tossed his head, Sven gave a small rear as he found a new, undiscovered strength inside of him; anger. It burned through his veins, making him feel more alive than he had in months.

The man atop his back merely laughed and told the villagers that his poor steed was getting annoyed at having to stand around; he gave Sven a small squeeze as he pushed the reindeer on, reins tight but his posture relaxed. He thought nothing was wrong; how wrong he was.

A twig snapped below Sven's cloven hoof; at the same time, so did he. Bucking in the air as high as he possibly could, the reindeer spun around in a circle quickly, heart pounding with adrenaline. Feeling his now-yelling rider slipping—what a pleasurable sound—he bombed off as fast as his hooves could possibly carry him, heading straight for a wooden fence at which he skidded to a stop.

The man's breathing was heavy as he slouched a little in the saddle, sighing that it was over, but his mount's eyes were glinting now; taking a few steps back, Sven then leaped over the fence from a halt, the most jolting and unpleasant type of jump. The soldier was thrown flying from his back, landing in a nearby bush of roses, and the reindeer gave a short snort as he landed, before rearing up once and pelting off into the distance.

He had to save his family.


"Twenty more metres!" Bulda yelled as she rolled on ahead, keeping pace with the now heaving royals who all followed after her. Arrows flew in all directions, one cleaning slicing through Elsa's cheek, another grazing Kristoff's nose and a final one making a gash across Anna's forehead. A glowing arrow barely missed Mia's leg, slicing through the material of her dress instead which then burned away at the point of impact; a rusted spear bounced off of Lysse's antlers and very nearly lodged itself in Kari's foot.

As the royals neared it, a large boulder just a little way away from a large, algae-covered lake began to glow the brightest of yellows; Lysse, bouncing ahead at the front of the group, took one look at it and gave a massive scream of both pain and relief, leaping into the rock without needing to be told to and disappearing inside it; Anna let out a scream as she watched all of her children disappear, but was reassured when Bulda stopped by it, beckoning in a rushed manner for the rest of the royals to follow.

"Come on, come on!" she whispered harshly, though there was no need; whoever was following could hear everything that was going on. "Hide in the valley; come on, quickly!"

Anna and Kristoff jumped through first, both leaping through the portal rapidly as Bulda followed after; Elsa, slowed down by having to carry Cecilie in her arms, made up the rear with Odd, her eyes widening as she neared it. Five metres quickly became four, then three and then two; the portal was so close...

And then, just as she could nearly reach out her fingers and touch the magical yellow aura, an arrow whistled across her hand, making her recoil with a scream of pain as her flesh was seared. Blood rushed down in a stream and little Cecilie, already crying quietly, screamed louder than it should have even been possible for such a little thing; all the while her mother's blubbering attempts at being quiet made her evermore distressed.

Elsa, distracted by the pain as she tried to make an icy bandage to stem the blood flow, let out a second cry as she felt something smash into her. She realised it was Odd soon after, and his motivations became clear when she looked up from her vulnerable position on the floor, seeing a massive log laying just a little way away from the space where she had just stood.

"Oh!" she cried, hands still trembling and her vision blurring from the agony; her eyes widened however as she felt herself jerked up again and through the fuzzy image before her eyes, she could see Odd yanking off his shirt quickly, wrapping it around her hand at breakneck speed as he watched out constantly, having to pull her to the side half way through as an arrow whistled past.

Whoever was attacking was no considerable force, but at the same time their shots were with as much accuracy as his own.

"Pull yourself together!" he hissed, his eyes glinting in anger, and Elsa nodded quickly, trying to ignore the mind-numbing pain which made her feel as if her hand had almost been entirely cut off. Cecilie's screams, she ignored too; there was no time to pander to her daughter's fears, as much as she hated to ignore her when the wails were so terrified. Nodding once, she looked around stiffly, shifting Cecilie into her now-injured arm and raising the good hand readily. "You need to make an ice wall. Stop… whoever it is getting to us. We've gotta get through that portal."

"G-got it."

Raising her hand in a quick, jerky manner, Elsa gritted her teeth at the extra strain and watched two great walls materialise between her and Odd and the forest. Freezing the back wall to fully enclose them in, she then nodded once and ran, her focus on the portal which was now further away than it had been before.

Time seemed to slow as she ran, and the dull thudding of a heavy fist against the ice wall sounded particularly long and low. Odd's cry of, "Faster, Elsa!" seemed ironically sluggish too, his words almost slurring. And then, for just one moment, time stopped entirely as the ice smashed, despite her best efforts; a brute of a man, with hair of soot and eyes of flames, jumped before her, snarling as he gripped a large sword tightly, his knuckles white.

"You wanna get to the portal?" he said, fingering the tip of his blade gently before he swung it out, holding it up above his head. The dim light glinted off of the metal, somewhat blinding for all who saw it. "Be my guest. I'll make clean work of you; I'll go gentle and leave you in two halves."

Elsa took a step backwards and opened her free hand as Odd leaned a little closer, both of his fists clenched, his eyes narrowed. The man only laughed a little, slicing the air with the sword once again. Elsa took her chance as he did so, trying to ignore the tears of pain which shone in her eyes, and jerked up the ice once more, letting it crash into his chin and sending him reeling backwards, smashing into the rock at the edge of the boulder. He groaned a little as he pushed back up, his sword now laying on the floor; he recognised his mistake immediately and snarled, digging his toe up under the blade and flicking it up into the air, grabbing it by the edge and slicing his hand, but he barely flinched as his own blood coated the metal.

Seeing the blood trickling down the sword, Elsa glanced down at her bloodied hand wrapped with her husband's shirt and saw the crimson stain soaking through the material. She moaned as she felt a new wave of pain overwhelm her at the sight, before her legs gave way a second later as she released a second burst of magic at the man, her head spinning and her sight blurring once more. She saw through her teared-up vision the man stumble back but her attack had very little effect; his hand came to rest against the wall and he pushed off with all the force he could, his sword outstretched as he all but flew towards Elsa. She cradled her daughter to her chest, bracing for the impact... Which never came.

Squinting open an eye, Elsa gasped as she saw a bare chest just above her face, shaking with exertion. The muscles, obvious but not overly prominent, bulged in Odd's arms as he gave a loud yell. With his feet braced against the ground, he took a slow step forwards and then rapidly drew back, letting the larger man—so strong that the prince was no contender at all—fall forwards a little before Odd slammed back into him a moment later, the sudden action catching him off guard and sending him hurtling to the ground. He landed with a heavy thud, head smashing against the rock. He shook for a second, struggling to get up, before he faltered and fell back once again, his body still, the blood soaking the dirt around his head.

Elsa remained quiet as she recognised Cecilie's screams once again, the danger over now, and she made a few small snowflakes to try and distract her, though to no avail; instead, she began to rock back forth, humming a gentle tune over and over. She watched all the while as her husband, still breathing heavily, reached forwards and picked up the sword from the black-haired man's hand, prodding him gently, testing whether or not he was dead.

"O-Odd?" Elsa's voice was timid and somewhat shaky, and as her husband turned around she suddenly saw his pale face and wide, horrified eyes. A small coating of blood from the spear coated his hands, and he was still heaving from the massive effort it had cost him. "Odd, th-thank you. You... Saved me." She looked down at the whimpering child in her arms and murmured, with a hopeful glance in his direction, "You saved us."

Odd froze for a moment, a shocked expression on his face as he looked down at the young baby in Elsa's arms, saw her turn her head towards him and reach out quietly and bat at the air, before recoiling quickly and screaming; he frowned and turned away, focusing his interests on the water-like matter in the portal, rippling in waves of yellow.

"Come on, we'd better-" Odd began to speak but broke off before he finished as he heard the sound of Elsa's yelp and an ice wall being erected. A second later, a deafening smash sounded as a second person smashed his way in, an ageing man with eyes of grey and dark, grey-brown hair finished with a platinum blonde streak. He stood there confidently, a dagger in his hand, and Odd, so strong before, froze in horror.

"You!" Elsa hissed, struggling to stand up, not willing to be intimidated any longer by her own father-in-law. As she tried to stand proud, however, she caught his gaze looking down at Cecilie and she shrunk back a little. "Get away from me." She waved her hand quickly and grinned as she watched an icy spear materialise in the air, zooming towards the man with a gust of frigid wind and impaling his shoulder, making him roar in pain as he jerked the arrow out. Hissing, he threw it to the ground, stamping on it and snapping it in two.

Odd, meanwhile, felt his world slowing down, just as his wife's had earlier; he watched as his father's face drew into a vicious snarl, saw his arm raising higher and higher as the dagger prepared to fly. He heard his wife's scream in slow motion as she sent a larger spear of ice his way, and he saw his father's weapon leave his hand, heading in the direction of Elsa—or, more specifically, the baby in her arms.

And in that moment, his mind was made up; after hurling the spear in the general direction of Arne, with a speed he didn't know he could reach, he launched himself towards his wife and her child, his bare body intercepting the dagger's path. It lodged fully in his right side, the entire blade consumed by the flesh and it made him cry out, though the pain he'd expected to come didn't. His body crashed to the dirt floor and he skidded two metres, the stones tearing at his flesh and leaving his left side looking like some mangled carcass.

"ODD!"

Elsa's agonised cry reached his muffled ears and Odd looked up slowly, his eyes suddenly feeling incredibly heavy. In fact, his whole body felt that way.

With a groan, he stumbled to his feet, his side burning a little as he looked around, dazed. His green eyes locked on his father's grey after a few seconds of searching; seeing him perfectly fine, barely more than scratched, made his blood boil! And then, shifting a little to try and get a better position for fighting, Odd felt the pain suddenly overcome him.

It was like nothing he'd ever known, an agony that he'd never felt before. His entire body began to burn up, his head swimming, his side feeling as if it was aflame. Glancing down, he felt sickened to see only the handle of the knife; fingering it, he let out a full-blown scream as it shifted slightly and he collapsed to his hands and knees, gasping. All sound was a thing of the past; he could barely hear his wife's agonised cries against the torturous sound of his own blood.

Turning his head to Elsa, gritting his teeth all the while as he did so, he whispered in a course voice, a little blood bubbling in his throat and trickling down his chin, "I'm sorry..." He then turned to face his father slowly, collapsing on his torn-up left side as he watched the monster approaching—though by now, his vision was so blurred that he could hardly make out a single one of his features. Only a rough outline.

Groaning, he shuffled forwards on torn up flesh, looking up at his father in agony. He tried his best to watch his actions, and screamed and writhed and kicked and yelled as his father pushed the blade ever deeper into his side.

"I've waited a long time to be done with you, boy." Arme snarled in his ear, though Odd strained to hear it, his body still spasming. Once the twitching stopped, he felt himself begin to simply shake, a cold wave overcoming him as he began to sweat profoundly. "I must thank you for the family you've delivered to me; these two will be perfect starts to Ayla's scheme for power. Their deaths won't be wasted; their blood will empower a new generation of greatness. Your wife as the brood are, and as for that bastard child; it is a perfect candidate."

Arne began to rise up again, disregarding his son as he simply kicked him in the groin with such force that it was incredible he was not winded, but as the words settled in Odd's mind, he felt his blood boiling again. And, reaching up, he grabbed his father's shirt with as much strength as he could possibly muster, incapable of seeing a thing as the pain overwhelmed him. His breaths were slow and heavy now, stolen time, as he snarled and reached for the dagger at his side, clenching his hand around it and yanking it out with a heart-wrenching scream, more profound than any of the previous ones, and he raised it high, his arm very nearly falling to the ground, his body suddenly completely powerless.

He closed his eyes and took a shaky breath, opening them again and seeing absolutely nothing other than a few shades of white and grey; nevertheless he could still feel his way and, with the last ounce of strength he possessed, he drove the blade, bloodied from gallons of his own blood, right into his father's temple, sending the man recoiling, falling to his knees with a scream of his own.

And Odd, who barely had the energy to open his eyes, hauled his heavy body to his father's side. He knelt there, his very legs and arms fumbling to support himself, his blood a sticky trail on the ground, and, with a glance in what he hoped to be Elsa's direction, he gripped the blade in his agonised father's head and said, in the smallest, feeblest and most gurgled voice imagineable, "That bastard child... Is my daughter!" And then he twisted, sending the blade deeper into his skull and ending his father's life just like that.

At long last.

Finally, he returned his gaze once more to his wife's general direction—he could just about hear her own screams and feel the chill coating his body form that side—and he smiled, his eyes closing, his breathing shallow and impossibly uneven. Nevertheless he clung on, a tiny cheeky grin on his face.

"That's my girls," he slurred out, but as he felt a hand on his cheek he stopped, appreciating the slight warmth of his wife's skin; his body was ever so cold. And then, just as she murmured some indistinguishable sentence, he felt himself lose his grip on reality, collapsing to the floor. And then Odd simply lay there, not understanding a thing and drifting off into a sleep of sorts, his body too battered and bruised to survive—and yet impossibly still going, his every heart beat for the family he'd worked so long to achieve.


I... I... I... Wow! 7,000 words! Go me, go me!

...

Oh god, you're all gonna kill me, aren't you? But seriously, wait and see what happens before you come in mobs to burn my house down, 'Kay?

Good. No killing me yet.

Another thing, sorry, it wasn't quite as good as I intended, nevertheless I tried my best.

(Also, can I just mention that Elsa did try to use her powers, but it wasn't easy with a screaming baby in one arm, her own mind terrified and her husband almost right in the crossfire.)

-Luna