Chapter 22: One Last Shot

Anna leaned over the railing and stared out over the vast expanse of frozen water.

Elsa had been gone for at least two hours by now. The night was dark, and she could barely even make out the shoreline of the mainland through the dense gloom. Once, she thought she saw a dense cloud of fog appear near the silhouette of the distant castle, but it had quickly disappeared into shadows as she squinted at it.

Her impatience was quickly getting the better of her. She was frustrated at her sister for leaving without her. After what had happened with Hans the last time, however, a small part of her was admittedly relieved that she wasn't the one dealing with the rest of his brothers.

But then there was the issue of the Weselton navy.

The Indomitable sat locked in the ice barely a gangplank's distance away from the starboard side of the Northwind. Occasionally, the silhouettes of people would be visible over the railing for short moments. Anna had also seen several groups of soldiers descend onto the ice and make their way back and forth between a large vessel in the middle of the bay. The sight of the black-uniformed men seeded a deep unease in her chest that only grew as the night continued.

"Messengers, most likely," Admiral Felix had explained. "If the Duke is here, he's bound to be losing his mind over what the Queen did. Weselton's never been fond of magic." After seeing the princess's panicked expression, the Admiral had amended, "He wouldn't dare oppose Queen Elsa now. That would mean forfeiting the war against the Southern Isles."

Nonetheless, even after another hour of dead silence, Anna felt like she couldn't breathe. She paced up and down the deck restlessly, switching between staring toward the shore and scrutinizing every shadowy detail of the opposing warship stuck motionless beside them. Two squads of Royal Guards stood sentinel at the starboard railings, pikes and rifles held at the ready. Another thirty-odd guards were off-duty belowdecks.

It was not nearly enough to quell the trepidation brought upon by the dark form towering above her.

A scratching sound from somewhere below stopped Anna in her tracks. She rushed to the railing, peering over the lip of the hull and scouring the surface of the bay.

"Your Highness, is something wrong?" one of the guards asked.

"Please get away from the railing, Princess Anna," implored another. "That's a long fall!"

"Shh!" Anna hissed. "I heard something." But the sound had stopped. As she strained her ears, she heard a different sound toward the back of the ship, a pitter-patter like heavy raindrops. "Did you hear that?" she whispered to the nearest guard. The man squinted his eyes toward the stern.

"Let me check that out," he muttered, gesturing for two of his comrades to follow. "Stay here, Your Highness."

As the guards strode down the deck, the pitter-patter grew in volume. Now it was coming from the side of the hull behind Anna as well. The rest of the guards had taken notice. Warily, they moved to spread out around the princess with their weapons clutched in tense hands. Instinctively, Anna backed up until her back was against the mainmast.

Abruptly, the sounds ceased. The guards' breaths plumed in the cold air.

The sound of whistling projectiles filled the air. A guard fell gurgling to the floor with the end of a crossbow bolt protruding from his neck. Anna screamed. As she watched, something grabbed one of the guards by the railing and yanked him over the edge. The man scarcely had the chance to cry out before another guard suffered the same fate. A third guard leapt back from the railing as a man wearing a Weselton navy uniform climbed onto the deck, brandishing a small wood-chopping axe in each hand. Sweeping her gaze around the ship in panic, Anna saw soldier after soldier spill onto the deck from multiple directions like a swarm black ants.

"Ambush!" she heard Admiral Felix yell.

She barely had time to duck around the other side of the mast before another volley of crossbow bolts slammed into the thick wood. The night came alive with the sounds of clashing steel as the royal guards fought for their lives against the onslaught of Weselton soldiers. The planks beneath her feet vibrated from an impact. Peeking from cover, Anna's eyes widened in horror as she realized that a gangplank had been lowered down from the deck of the Man-of-War, bringing even more black-clad men pouring onto the Northwind.

She recognized one of them as the burly Commander Leon from the previous afternoon.

"Find the princess!" the Commander ordered, calmly loading his crossbow as he stood at the top of the ramp. "Subdue the others by any means necessary."

Anna shrank to the base of the mast as more guards fell wounded and dying around her. The planks glistened with fresh blood. Reinforcements were coming from the lower decks, but they emerged surrounded and disoriented and were being quickly dispatched. Her eyes flitted across the horde of soldiers, looking desperately for a path of escape.

Instead, she met the eyes of one of the enemies.

"There! I found the princess!" the man hollered gruffly as he began to make for her position, sword raised. There was a mighty clang as the man parried a strike from a nearby guard. Around her, more soldiers had heard the call and were already scrambling in her direction.

She had to run.

She darted from the mast toward the nearest group of allies, keeping low to stay out of sight of as many soldiers as possible. But there were simply too many. Anna yelped as she barely dodged a man charging at her with a pair of handaxes. Another soldier tried to tackle her, but he didn't anticipate the princess fighting back. Anna kicked out savagely, hearing the man wheeze as her booted foot met his midriff. She leapt over his crumpling body, only to be met by the points of two swords as more soldiers closed in. She scooped up a sabre from the deck, brandishing it in front of her as she backed away from the enemy blades.

"There's nowhere to run, Princess!" It was the Commander's voice, cold and demanding. "Turn yourself in and stop this needless bloodshed!"

Anna looked around her in despair. The Royal Guards were being separated into smaller and smaller groups as they were overwhelmed by sheer numbers. She saw the Admiral holding his own up on the quarterdeck with two guards, his sabre gleaming in the moonlight as he wielded it with expert precision—but even he was on his back foot, and quickly running out of space to retreat.

She bared her teeth at the encroaching soldiers ahead of her.

"What do you want with me?" she shouted

The soldiers said nothing and kept advancing. She heard heavy footsteps from behind her. Whirling, she came face to face with two more soldiers. She pointed her scavenged sabre wildly between the two groups of men, her breathing coming fast and shallow.

She was trapped.

"Grab her!" one of the men yelled.

She felt herself tackled from behind as someone else grabbed her sword arm. As she pitched forward onto the deck, she slashed out blindly with all her might. She was rewarded by a pained cry. Her moment of triumph was short-lived, however, as the sabre was wrenched from her fingers and she was pinned roughly to the deck. She tasted blood as her teeth cut into her cheek from the impact.

For a few breaths, she struggled vainly under the weight of the four men holding her. Her vision was obscured as a coarse sack was pulled over her head. She kicked out frantically as she felt herself lifted up and dragged backward. Dimly, she realized that she was being taken up some kind of ramp.

The men holding her stopped.

"Excellent. The Duke will be pleased." It was the Commander's voice, right by her ear.

Thomas had been silent for a long while.

The guards had been understandably tense as they left the castle. Despite not receiving much more than sideways glances from the Southern Isles counterparts as the Arendellians passed them by, there was an omnipresent sense of danger within the halls that had everyone on the verge of breaking into a run. Thomas half-expected King—former King—Mathias to appear around a corner with a company of armed soldiers at any moment.

The constant jangling of the captive assassin's shackles from close behind him certainly did nothing to calm his nerves.

It's done. It's over, Thomas mentally repeated. He focused on the image of Mathias being dragged out of the throne room by his former soldiers, trying to make it drown out the image of the former King towering over him in the dungeon cell. Nonetheless, it was only after he had uneventfully returned to the streets of the city proper that he allowed himself a small sigh of relief.

Captain Edwards was the first to speak.

"So, that's it, huh?" he ventured in a quiet voice.

Elsa sighed. "No. But it's a start."

It was a while before anyone spoke again. This time it was Captain Roderick.

"Your Majesty, I must apologize for my conduct these past several days," he began haltingly. "It is my fault that Prince Thomas was wounded, imprisoned, and placed in mortal danger. I allowed my emotions to get the better of my judgement. I should never have allowed Thomas to make this voyage without proper planning and military support. I have failed in my duties as the Captain of the Guard, and I accept any disciplinary action that Your Majesty sees fit."

The rest of the guards looked to Roderick with shocked expressions. Thomas was about to rush to his mentor's defense, but a harsh glare from the Captain had him closing his mouth. His mother did not turn.

"We have all suffered great loss, Captain," Elsa stated softly. Her shoulders slumped. "These have been dark days. I cannot forgive you for what you have done, not yet, but I cannot blame you either." She stopped briefly, allowing half of the group to move ahead of her. She slid her hand over Thomas's, her gaze turning to fix on Roderick. "What matters now is what we saved, in the end."

Roderick gave a small bow with his eyes directed at the ground. "I understand, Your Majesty."

Elsa's gripped Thomas's hand tightly. He could feel small tremors running through his mother's arm.

"I'm sorry, Mother," he whispered before he even realized the words were coming out. "Everything you were afraid of, everything that Father was afraid of… it all came true. Because of me."

Elsa looked at him, her cerulean eyes filled with deep sorrow. Despite having grown to be taller than his mother, in that moment Thomas felt like a small boy. A sad smile touched Elsa's lips.

"Not everything." She brushed a lock of grimy hair back from his forehead. "Your father was right. Even with all the protection of the Royal Guard, none of us are ever truly safe. But your powers protected you when you needed them most, just as mine did."

"Your powers protected you?" Thomas whispered.

"Well, partially." There was a faraway look in his mother's eyes. "When the doctors could do no more, Anna took me to the trolls. Olaf sacrificed himself to bring me back. But I haven't been the same since. I keep having these visions. Grand Pabbie said this magic of mine, of ours, is something fundamental and ancient. Something which even he doesn't understand."

Thomas's eyebrows raised. He had only been to the Valley of the Living Rock a handful of times with his uncle. The troll named Pabbie was so ancient he was awe-inspiring. The creature seemed to practically exude an aura of magical power.

If even he doesn't understand this power…

Thomas shuddered at the thought.

"Mother, these visions," he ventured in a lower tone, "What did you see?"

His mother looked away. Her thumb kneaded the back of his hand.

"I saw the end of time. I saw strange magic in faraway lands. And I saw you, Thomas. I saw you at the castle gates."

"I destroyed Sir Gingivere, Mother," Thomas blurted. The tears returned to his eyes, unbidden. "He tried to stop me from entering the castle. He was trying to protect me. I… I should have listened to him, but I wasn't thinking. This is all that's left of him." He pulled the sword of ice from the loop of his belt and held it out to his mother in trembling hands.

Elsa took the blade gently. Her brow furrowed in concentration as she looked over the weapon. "A part of him is still in here, isn't it?" she murmured with her eyes closed.

Thomas nodded, his mouth opening in surprise. "You can hear him, too?"

His mother shook her head.

"No, but there's something here. It feels like… you." She returned the sword to Thomas's hands and looked at him directly. "He's not gone, Thomas. You didn't just make Sir Gingivere, you gave him life. He's a part of you. " She helped him close his fingers back over the hilt. "Just like I did with Olaf."

Thomas took a deep breath, trying to concentrate on the feeling of the magic within the sword. He felt an echo of something, but as he reached out, it slipped from his grasp.

Sir Gingivere? Are you there?

Silence. He sighed and slid the sword back into place by his hip.

"He spoke to me once after I broke his body," Thomas said, watching his feet travel over the paving stones. "He told me you were alive. Do you know how he knew, Mother?" He laughed softly. His mother raised her eyebrows. "Because it's your magic that keeps the sword frozen."

Elsa smiled delicately. "That was back in Corona, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, it must have been." Thomas laughed again, louder this time. "You scolded me for making the sword, remember?"

"Yeah. I remember." His mother laughed too, but her eyes were sad. "That was so long ago."

The prince's own laughter died quickly. "So much has changed since then."

"Yes." Elsa looked at him, her expression gentle. "But I'm still here. And so are you."

Thomas nodded quietly. He took his mother's hand again and directed his gaze out toward the frozen bay. The end of the road was in sight, still dark with ash from the ruins of the harbour. Pieces of burnt wood crunched underfoot the Arendellians travelled to the edge of the water. The night was unnaturally quiet without the sound of the ocean waves. Thomas eyed the dark forms of the ships of the Weselton navy jutting out of the ice in the distance.

"You really did sail into a war," he breathed.

"Not our war," his mother replied in a weary tone. "Arendelle will not intervene here. The Southern Isles and Weselton haven't been on the friendliest terms for the past few decades, but this is on another level entirely."

Thomas squinted out over the bay in an attempt to find the Arendellian vessel. "Mother, how are we getting back to the ship?" he asked. "Did you walk all the way here?"

"No." A slightly mischievous smile crept across Elsa's face. "We came in a boat." She gestured to a spot near a half-sunken quay. Thomas couldn't help but chuckle as he took in the medium-sized rowboat leaning on its side on the solid surface of the water.

The guards that had accompanied the Queen from the ship moved to drag the vessel to shore before roughly tossing the prisoner on board with a noisy rustling of chains.

"It'll be a tight fit," one of them remarked as Roderick and the rest of Thomas's men boarded after them.

Roderick extended a hand to help Thomas into the boat as his mother took a few steps backward. Elsa raised her arms in an elegant motion as bright bolts of magic shot forth from her hands. The prince gaped as stallions of living snow rose from the ground in a cloud of glowing particles, pawing at the ice with their crystal hooves. Elsa sat herself in front of the boat on a ledge of ice, harnesses materializing between the horses and the hull with a wave of her hand. With a shout, she snapped the icy reins. Thomas clung to the edge of the boat as the makeshift sled flew across the frozen water to the sound of pounding hoofbeats. The wind played with his hair as the city of Athero shrank behind him.

The menacing shapes of Weselton warships grew as they moved out onto the open ice. The sled sped through the field of ice between a large galleon and even larger gunship. As they continued to power across the bay, Thomas finally caught a glimpse of the ship his mother had arrived in. His heart started beating faster with fear as he realized the Northwind was situated right beside the largest warship he had ever seen. The towering shapes of the opposing ships grew in his vision as the sled drew closer and closer.

Then, he saw something that made his blood run cold.

The deep shadows below the stern of the Weselton warship were illuminated by firelight. A long line of black-clad soldiers stood evenly spread across the surface of the ice between the two ships. Each carried a burning torch in their right hand, the flickering flames casting harsh shadows over the contours of their faces.

"Something's not right," Roderick muttered. The guards cautiously moved to hover their hands over the hilts of their weapons. The snow-horses slowed to a canter as Elsa pulled back on the reins.

One of the Weselton soldiers shouted something up toward the gunship. The silhouettes of yet more men crested the stern far above. Metal gleamed under the cold moonlight. Elsa stopped the sled a wary distance from the line of soldiers.

"Arendelle's business in Athero is finished," she announced in a firm voice. "After we board the Northwind, I will unfreeze the bay and interfere in your quarrel no further. Please, allow us to pass."

"Unfortunately, Your Majesty, I must insist that you join me."

Another figure moved into view at the stern railing of the Weselton, back bent with the weight of age. The man wore a dark naval coat resplendent with golden epaulettes suggesting a high rank. The man held a bright lantern illuminating his eyes, enlarged through his thick spectacles. His waxed moustache was twisted in a slanted smile. Thomas was gripped by an uncanny sense of familiarity.

Those glasses. That moustache.

The man surveyed the scene below, finally locking eyes with him. Memories of the Coronan sun rose in the prince's mind. He shivered.

"The Duke of Weselton," Elsa growled. "I'm afraid I'm not in the mood to negotiate, Your Grace. We are going home." The snow-horses reared and whinnied in sharp, ethereal screams, sending some of the soldiers scurrying backward in fear. But the Duke only laughed.

"Queen Elsa, you misunderstand. I insist that we speak aboard the Indomitable. Commander!"

A tall, heavyset man with a large beard stepped forward beside the Duke. But Thomas only had eyes for the woman he pushed in front of him. She was dressed in a purple travel cloak and a black skirt. Her hands were bound behind her back and her face was obscured by the burlap sack covering her head. The commander held a short flintlock pistol in his other hand.

The Duke pulled the bag off of the hostage's head. The air temperature suddenly dropped twenty degrees—but it was nothing compared to the cold fingers of terror that gripped Thomas's heart at the sight of the strawberry-blonde hair that spilled into the lamplight.

Princess Anna stood above the Arendellians, a gun held to her temple.

The Queen's guards immediately leapt out of the boat with their swords drawn. There was the faint sound of spreading frost as Elsa's bench was replaced by an expanding throne of wicked spikes.

"Let. Her. Go." The words were deadly. Barely-contained sparks of magic churned in the Queen's clawed hands as she glared up at the Duke.

The Duke returned Elsa's gaze with fire of his own.

"First, dismiss your creations," he spat, gesturing toward the snow-horses with contempt.

Elsa didn't move. The Duke's expression twisted into a scowl.

"Do you think I'm bluffing, my Queen?" He walked over to the commander and snatched the pistol from the man's hands. A gunshot rang out, reverberating endlessly across the hard ice. Anna's body recoiled. Elsa screamed.

The opaque cloud of gunpowder smoke dissipated to reveal the princess's trembling form behind it. Trembling, but unharmed. The Duke casually reloaded the pistol before handing it back.

"The horses, Your Majesty," he demanded slowly.

Elsa waved her arm stiffly, causing the stallions to collapse into formless piles of snow. The Duke nodded grimly.

"You and your boy. Up on deck with me," he commanded curtly. "Leave the rest down there."

The line of soldiers began advancing up to the rowboat.

"Elsa, don't-ah!" Anna's yell was cut off as the commander pressed the barrel of the pistol harder against her head.

"Your Majesty, don't go." Roderick's words were quiet and tense. "It's a trap and you know it."

Elsa didn't seem to hear him. She stepped off the front of the boat and onto the frozen bay.

"I'll go." Her voice had lost its steel. "Please, leave my son out of this." She sounded weak. Defeated.

"Your son comes or your sister dies," the Duke stated flatly.

"Elsa, don't listen to him!"

Anna struggled in her captor's grasp with renewed fervour. Blood from an open cut across her eyebrow trickled down her cheek like a dark tear. Thomas could see his mother trembling, her regal frame cracking from the emotions that it could no longer contain.

He took a deep breath. He vaulted over the side of the boat and stepped out onto the ice.

"Thomas!"

Thomas ignored the Captain of the Guard's urgent whisper as he strode stiffly forward to join his mother to face the man holding his aunt hostage.

"I'll go," he stated through gritted teeth, loud enough that the words carried to the Duke. "Just… promise you won't hurt her."

The sovereign's moustache rose in a satisfied smile. "No harm will come to the Princess. You have my word." The Duke turned and barked an order behind him. "Lower the gangplank!"

A long piece of wood, more of a ladder than a staircase, descended with a thud from the warship's massive hull. Elsa glanced toward Thomas. Her hands were shaking.

"Thomas…"

"It's okay, Mother," Thomas said as soothingly as he could manage. In his mind, he saw not the Duke of Weselton but the figure of King Mathias standing over him.

I would request your aid to help me end this war quickly.

"I think I know what he wants," he said in a lower voice.

His mother nodded almost imperceptibly. Her expression hardened as she took stiff strides toward the gangplank. Thomas followed closely behind her, trying to calm his rapid breathing. The Duke's soldiers closed in on the rest of the Arendellians behind them.

The ramp was almost too steep to walk. Thomas wobbled as he struggled to keep his footing on the protruding footholds, holding his hands out to steady himself. As he stepped higher, he risked a glance over his shoulder at the deck of the Arendellian frigate. He immediately wished he hadn't.

The lacquered wooden planks of the deck glistened with streaks of dried blood. Unmoving bodies wearing the uniform of the Royal Guard had been dumped carelessly by the masts, their sightless eyes shining white under the moonlight. At the quarterdeck, what remained of the Arendellian forces knelt defenseless in rows, their hands held behind their heads. Weselton soldiers surrounded them in a dense perimeter, brandishing spears and loaded crossbows.

Elsa stumbled precariously in front of him, and Thomas knew she had seen the same grisly scene.

As they crested the top of the ramp, the prince's heart sank further. A crescent of evenly-spaced soldiers stood spread across the deck, their expressions as stern as stone. These men had different uniforms than the soldiers that had waylaid them down on the ice: their tightly-buttoned coats were a deep burgundy, highlighted with gold trim and black collars. A small golden lion was embroidered on each of their lapels. Each held a long black musket in their gloved hands.

The Duke's personal guard, Thomas realized with creeping dread.

Before them at the centre of the deck stood the Duke himself beside his commander. Anna writhed in the commander's grip, making unintelligible sounds of panicked fury. Thomas's jaw clenched as he saw that his aunt had been gagged with a handkerchief.

"We're here. We've done as you asked. Now let my sister go." Every word from Elsa's mouth was a knife. But the Duke shook his head. There was a fierce intensity burning in the sovereign's jaundiced eyes.

"Kneel before me," he ordered. When neither mother nor son obliged, the Duke's scowl deepened. "Need I remind you of the stakes here? Kneel."

Slowly, stiffly, Elsa lowered herself to her knees, glaring up at the Duke in defiance all the while. Watching the commander wave his pistol menacingly, Thomas quickly followed suit. The sword slid out of his belt to clatter onto the deck. He stared at the floor, a pressure building within his chest.

"I know what you want from us!" he burst out. Thomas met the Duke's sharp glare, his breath coming in quick gasps. "You need us to help you win the war."

The Duke blinked, the scowl falling from his face to be replaced with a look of surprise. Thomas felt a thrill at the small victory.

The feeling was short lived.

The Duke began to chuckle.

"There's an idea! I could use you, couldn't I?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Thomas saw the guards moving to fully encircle him and his mother. He heard faint shouting from the surface of the bay far below. In front of him, the Duke had started pacing in vigorous strides.

"But I fear you have misjudged me, my Prince," the sovereign continued with his index finger in the air. "My motives are not to manipulate and take advantage of your sorcery." The last word dripped from his tongue like poison. The Duke stopped in his tracks abruptly.

"No. My only wish is to see your sorcery cleansed from this earth."

The Duke raised his hand. The guards raised their muskets. Anna gave a muffled cry.

"Fire."

A single gunshot rang out from behind.

Soundtrack: "Means to the End"

Two Steps From Hell – "No Honor in Blood"