Chapter 23: The Ice Within

Thomas curled inward, waiting for the pain. But the pain never came. He opened his eyes, half expecting to see his own blood staining the deck.

Instead, he saw the Duke of Weselton stagger backward away from him. The spotless white of the sovereign's glove turned red, fresh blood seeping into the fabric as he clutched the left side of his chest. The Duke's bespectacled eyes were focused on something behind Thomas. The guards were no longer pointing their rifles at Thomas and Elsa, instead whirling in the direction of a new threat.

But Elsa was faster.

With a lightning flick of her wrist, a spear of ice half the thickness of the mast shot up from the deck, striking the commander with such speed that it was as if the man simply disappeared. Before the gigantic icicle had even finished growing solidifying, Elsa threw her arms out beside her. A clear dome rose up around her and Thomas, immediately shattering with the furious howl of hurricane-force winds. Thomas's ears popped as fragments of the dome exploded outward, slamming into the guards surrounding them. The men tried to evade, but despite their well-trained reflexes, only the two positioned near Anna managed to avoid getting knocked off their feet by the jagged projectiles. One screamed, arms pinwheeling as he was thrown overboard.

The Duke still stood before them, staring dumbfoundedly at the same spot behind Thomas.

"No, not you…" he choked out as he collapsed heavily to the deck.

Two gunshots blasted in Thomas's ears, one after the other. Points of hot steel whizzed by his head, the sensation finally shaking him from his stupor. He dove to the deck and reached for Sir Gingivere's sword. Closing his fingers around the hilt, he pushed himself to his feet, raising the sword in front of him with shaking hands.

The guards who had fired dashed for cover behind the mast. Thomas saw movement between the blocks of his mother's ice as the rest of the guards slowly rose from the deck. The magic raged within him, growing into a maelstrom—but he was afraid, so terribly afraid.

Visions of the soldiers he killed in the streets flashed behind his eyes. The nauseating memory of warm blood dripping onto him as he struggled under the man he had impaled almost made him drop his sword right then and there.

Help me, Sir Gingivere! he called out in despair.

Immediately, he felt a presence. What was left of his former guardian in the weapon had been barely an echo, but now it grew so loud that the ice practically vibrated with its song.

When Sir Gingivere answered, it was not with words but a single perfect idea. Thomas's eyes widened. He let the ice flow.

White light raced along concentric boundaries of crystal as the sword began to glow from within. The light spilled out onto Thomas's arms, coalescing into gauntlets of clear blue ice. Sheets of crystal flowed up to his chest, cascading down his torso in interlocking plates of armour before washing down his legs to encase them as well. The ice crept over his head as a slotted visor grew in front of his eyes. His breath reverberated in the confines of his new helmet.

Thomas raised his sword again. The blade pulsed with a muted light that surged into his armour in delicate veins.

Sir Gingivere?

I am here, Master Thomas. The light rippled gently.

The guards around him stared with terrified bewilderment. Some scrambled to pick up their muskets. Steel rang as the rest drew their swords.

Thomas saw his aunt's panicked eyes shining from behind the line of adversaries, and suddenly he was no longer afraid. He charged.

The first guard cleaved downward at him, but Thomas paid the blade no heed as it glanced harmlessly off his pauldron. He knocked the man aside with ease, planting his feet in a combat stance as he placed himself between the guards and Anna. The armour should have felt heavy and cumbersome, but it barely restricted his movement at all. Its hinges bent and its plates slid as if they were an extension of his very will.

Three guards charged him at once. Thomas was ready. He met one sword with his own as he twisted out of the way of the others. Having witnessed the fate of their comrade, the guards were attacking much more cautiously now, stabbing at him from a distance in an attempt to find a weakness in his armour.

Thomas didn't give them the chance. He grasped the nearest sword by the blade and yanked the guard wielding it toward him. Spinning to redirect another strike away from his midriff, he used the momentum to finish the turn with a devastating backhand that sent the first guard flying limply across the deck. He paused, listening to the echoes of his own breathing.

His mother said Sir Gingivere was a part of him. In that moment, he finally understood.

The remaining guards redoubled their efforts, feinting out of reach as they continued to jab at the prince like vipers. Thomas's own sword arced through the air like a whirlwind, deflecting the blows as if it had a mind of its own. He dodged and parried with a speed and grace he had never known before, dancing a deadly ballet as he kept his foes at bay.

With a hard swing, one of the guard's weapons shattered beneath his icy blade. Before the man could react, Thomas closed the distance with a leaping stride, smashing him into the floor with a punch that carried the inertia of a hundred kilograms of ice. He turned to face his other adversary, the plates in the fingers of his gauntlet clicking softly as he unclenched his fist.

The guard backed up slowly, a fearful tremor running through his sword. There was a crackle of frost as glass vines leapt up from the deck to wrap around his body. The guard toppled helplessly to the deck as he was encased in a tight cage of ice, revealing Elsa standing behind him wearing an expression of determined concentration. Thomas lowered his sword as he saw the rest of the Duke's guards haphazardly strewn about the deck, having suffered a similar fate.

For a few seconds, mother and son stood frozen, surveying the destruction surrounding them as their chests heaved with exertion. Apart from the pained groans of the incapacitated guards, the night was silent.

Then Anna began sobbing. Elsa rushed to her sister's side, untying the gag with gentle fingers before pulling her into a tight embrace as tears began to spill from her own eyes. Thomas approached the still form of the Duke of Weselton with hesitant steps. A pool of black blood had spread out across the planks beneath the sovereign's body. Thomas pushed aside the Duke's bloodied hand and it fell away without resistance, revealing a ragged hole in the jacket's breast that was now all too familiar to the prince's eyes.

The Duke of Weselton was dead.

Something heavy and metallic struck the deck behind him. Thomas whirled in the direction of the sound with his sword raised. There was a man at the gangplank entrance, leaning heavily on the railing with one hand as he clutched his side with the other. A flintlock pistol lay on the floor near him. Thomas's eyes went wide behind the icy visor of his helmet as the sword slid from his grasp.

The man was Hans.

Instantly, he felt the full weight of the armour plates crushing down on him. With a grunt of exertion, he willed the encasing ice to let go, stepping out of the armour as it disintegrated into a fine crystal shower. Sliding Sir Gingivere's sword back into his belt, Thomas ventured toward his unexpected savior.

"Hans?" he called incredulously.

"Didn't expect me to come back, did you?" the former Spymaster chuckled. His chuckles turned into wet coughs that flecked his lips with blood. His legs buckled underneath him and Thomas rushed forward to catch him before he fell.

"Hans?" Anna's voice was equal parts shock and disdain. Her eyes held a veiled reprehension.

"Hello, Anna." Hans's voice was weak.

"Help, he's hurt!" Thomas cried toward his mother.

A storm of conflicting emotions churned in Elsa's eyes. She moved closer, brow furrowed in concern at the sight of the blood beginning to stain Hans's coat.

"Thomas, I can't… I don't have anything to help him." She held a hand out in front of her helplessly.

Suddenly, Thomas was struck with an idea.

"We'll get him to Iona!" he exclaimed. "If she could heal me, she-"

"No." It was Hans that cut him off between gritted teeth. "The fight's not over."

Thomas gazed down toward the Northwind. Hans was right. The deck of the Arendellian frigate was in chaos. The Arendellian forces had seen their Queen ascend the gangplank and board the enemy warship. They had heard the gunfire that followed. Despite their inferior numbers, the Royal Guards had begun fighting back with a renewed vigor against their captors. A second cacophony of shouts and clashes of steel drifted up to the prince's ears from toward the stern, suggesting Captain Roderick's meagre squad was also doing battle on the surface of the bay.

The gangplank began to vibrate as men began to ascend from below.

"Don't worry about me," Hans stated firmly. "Put me down. They're coming!"

Thomas obliged as the vibrations intensified. He glanced back toward the Northwind before turning to face his mother with wild eyes.

"What do we do? They're dying down there!"

The first soldier came into view from the gangplank, only to be knocked screaming back to the bay by thick barrier of ice. Flakes of snow drifted through the air as Elsa raised her hands, her extended fingers crackling with magical energy.

"I'll get Anna back to the ship," she said. The uncertainty was gone from her voice, replaced by the undeniable authority of a queen.

"But the soldiers-"

"I'll handle them." Her ice-blue irises were sharp as she looked Thomas in the eyes. "Stay here with your aunt."

With a flick of her hand, the barrier of ice expanded to wrap completely around the railings fencing the deck, blocking any possibility of reaching their position by scaling the hull. Elsa shot her arms forward and a ramp of jagged crystals grew to bridge the gap between the decks of the two ships. She turned to give Anna's hand a hard squeeze.

"I'll be back."

Just like that, she was gone, sliding down the glossy ramp with the speed of an alpine skier. The hem of Elsa's dress flapped in the wind and her hair flew out behind her in its long braid. She hit the Northwind with a bright pulse of light, etching the image of a snowflake fractal across the deck. At each point of the hexagon, a white figure rose from the floor—facsimiles of Royal Guards made of living snow.

The sound of a familiar voice bellowing had Thomas tearing his gaze away from his mother. He craned his neck over the frozen barrier covering the railing. His heart sank.

Captain Roderick's forces were completely surrounded on the surface of the bay, fighting for mere survival as they were driven back toward the rowboat. Three bodies already lay prone on the ice, though Thomas couldn't tell if they were Arendellian or Weselton.

"They need help, Thomas," Hans gasped. "My fault, I'm afraid. Had to… get this." He picked up the pistol and waved it in the air. Thomas noticed the rapier hanging from the ex-Spymaster's belt was stained with congealing blood.

He turned to his aunt, who simply nodded.

"Go, Tom," Anna said. "I'll be fine."

Thomas blinked in surprise. "But Mother said-"

"If there's one thing I've learned from being your mother's sister all these years, it's that her orders should always be taken as guidelines." There was a mischievous glint in his aunt's eyes. "Besides, I doubt I can stop you either way."

Thomas nodded gratefully. "I'll be back," he promised.

"Oh, I know you will."

Moving to the edge of the deck, Thomas drew his sword and held it high. He took a deep breath to steel his nerves.

Ready, Sir Gingivere?

I don't believe they are, Master Thomas.

He grinned. With a running start, he vaulted over the railing into the open air. His heart leapt into his throat as he fell. Sir Gingivere's armour materialized around him piece by meticulous piece. The wind stopped hitting his face as the visor reappeared in front of his eyes. Gleaming in the moonlight, the surface of the bay rushed up toward him with terrific speed.

He was ready.

He met the bay like a falling star. The ice buckled beneath him, cushioning his fall with a spiderweb of cracks. The Arendellian guards did double takes as the armoured prince rose from the ground behind the arc of Weselton soldiers. A knot formed in Thomas's stomach as he realized one of the motionless bodies on the ice wore the uniform of the Royal Guard.

"Thomas?" Captain Roderick called disbelievingly.

The fighting lulled as the enemy soldiers turned to face their new opponent one by one.

"What is that thing?"

"More of the Snow Queen's sorcery! Destroy it!"

Three soldiers began advancing toward Thomas, twirling their weapons menacingly. To the prince's dismay, the rest redoubled their efforts against the Arendellians, whose movements were sluggish with clear fatigue. With a cry of exertion, Thomas closed his fist and pulled. The gauntlet flashed briefly as giant palisades of ice jutted from the ground around the Arendellians in a protective perimeter. The Weselton soldiers reeled backward from the crystal spikes, turning back to face him with their weapons raised.

Thomas heard footfalls from behind. A glance over his shoulder confirmed that the remaining soldiers from the gangplank had descended back to the bay and were running toward him. He gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on Sir Gingivere's sword.

"It's over! Your leaders are dead!" he shouted, his voice multiplied by his helmet. "I don't want to fight! Just let us go!"

Some of the soldiers hesitated at his words. A spark of hope lit within Thomas's chest.

"He killed our Duke!" one of them shouted. The spark was quickly snuffed out as cries of rage rose from the others.

"Treason!"

"Death to the sorcerer!"

The soldiers charged. Thomas saw one draw a pistol from the folds of his coat, and suddenly the ice could no longer be contained.

This time, Thomas didn't try.

As the man aimed the pistol in his direction, he threw out his free hand, letting fly a wicked crystal sheet that effortlessly removed the soldier's limb. He averted his eyes as the man clutched at the ruined stump of his arm, directing his attention to the rest of his assailants.

Blades swung at him from every direction. They had him nine to one, but there was no longer time to dwell on the thought. He feinted and parried, but this time there were simply too many of them. There was a horrible screeching as sharp metal scored the plates of his armour. He twisted and grasped at the air, a diamond-shaped shield coalescing over his hand as he concentrated on its image. He knocked over a soldier as he charged forward with the shield held in front of him, trying to gain himself some distance from the melee. The man's head hit the icy ground with a heavy thud, and he did not rise.

Sliding to a stop, Thomas pivoted and threw the shield like a discus at the nearest adversary. Ordinarily, the prince would barely have been able to even lift a piece of ice so thick, but with Sir Gingivere's enhanced strength, the throw knocked the man over like a bowling pin. The other soldiers circled warily, and for a moment there was only the sound of the amputee's screams of agony.

There was a deafening blast as an invisible force knocked Thomas to the floor. Shards of ice fell from the armour on his back as he struggled to push himself up. Another gunshot rang out and he barely had time to flip on his side before a bullet carved a ragged trough in the ice where his head had been. Two soldiers had managed to flank him with their flintlocks.

We must end this quickly, Master Thomas.

Yeah, no kidding!

Sparks flew from his fingers as he closed his fist, sending a dense plume of snow into the air to cloak his position in an opaque cloud. It was a trick he learned at a young age from countless snowball fights with his cousins; he never thought he would be using it in a fight for his life. He leapt to his feet, taking advantage of the momentary cover to catch his breath. The suit of armour shone with glowing patterns of frost as he felt the plates reform over his back.

Alright, Sir Gingivere. Our turn.

Thomas broke into a sprint, bounding over the ice as the armour boosted his strides. He leapt out of the cloud of snow with his fist raised, smashing one soldier into the ground before the man could react. As he landed, he struck surface of the bay with his open palm, sending out a wave of snow that struck two more soldiers, launching them into the air and suspending them a metre above the ground as it solidified to clear ice.

Five left.

This time, it was Thomas who advanced. He saw another soldier move to draw a pistol. Whirling his sword over his head, he let fly an arc of magic that exploded into jagged crystal shards as it struck the ground, knocking the man off his feet with a howling blast. Taking the sword in both hands, he cleaved downward as he closed the distance to the nearest soldier. The icy blade hissed with vicious cold as it cut through the air, shattering the opponent's sword like glass. Thomas picked the defenseless man off the ground by the front of his uniform, using the momentum of his run to hurl him bodily into the next closest adversary. The two crumpled to the ground in an ungainly heap.

The wind had picked up now. A fine cloud of snowflakes swirled around Thomas's legs as he walked toward the remaining two soldiers, his armoured footfalls pealing like thunder. The men huddled together with their swords raised in defiance.

"Monster!" one of them hissed. His voice trembled with fear.

Thomas stopped several paces in front of them. He willed the snow to freeze in the air. For a few breaths, he stared back at the soldiers silently. Then, with a single resolute motion, he stuck Sir Gingivere's sword into the ice at his feet.

"No," he stated softly. "I am not your enemy."

The armour fell away piece by piece as Thomas cut off the magic holding it in place. The Weselton soldiers' eyes widened in surprise. Thomas moved forward a single step, dissipating the armour plates at his feet with a gentle wave.

"Please. I've lost my father. I've been through hell. I just want to go home."

The soldiers stood frozen for several long breaths. One lowered his sword, then the other. The man on the right gave the tiniest of nods. Wordlessly, Thomas pulled Sir Gingivere's sword from the ground and slid it back into his belt. He turned and walked back toward the rowboat, taking deep breaths to steady his pounding heart. Opening his arms, he cleared a path in the protective fence of ice, revealing familiar faces on the other side.

Captain Roderick emerged cautiously with his sabre still drawn. Thomas locked eyes with his mentor and he broke into a run, tackling Roderick with a tight embrace. The sabre clattered to the ground as Roderick returned the hug.

"Are you alright, Highness? Are you hurt?" he asked gruffly.

"I'm… I'm alright." Thomas pulled back, tears blurring his vision.

"I am glad." The Captain's gaze drifted to the sword at the prince's side. "Seems like there's still a bit of that knight of yours left, after all."

Thomas nodded. He swallowed a lump in his throat as his eyes found the prone form of the fallen guard only a few paces away on the ice.

"Who did we lose?" he whispered. Roderick took him by the shoulders and shook his head.

"There will be time to grieve later. The battle comes first, and the battle is not won until we take back the Northwind."

Thomas's eyes widened. "Mother! She's still up there!"

Roderick leaned down to pick up his blade. "Then that's where we have to go."

The deck of the Northwind was a battlefield.

The Duke had evidently gone all-out with his plan of attack; the vast majority of the soldiers stationed with the Indomitable had been involved in taking the Arendellian frigate. The night gleamed with the points of a hundred swords as enemies swarmed Elsa like flies.

But even with their overwhelming numbers, the Weselton soldiers were no match for the Snow Queen.

For half of her life, Elsa had cursed her powers like they were a disease. Even after the Great Thaw, it had taken years before she trusted herself enough to be comfortable using her magic around her loved ones. To this day, she still suffered nightmares of her sister standing over her, frozen to solid ice by her own terrible curse. The very idea of using her powers with the intention to harm made her feel sick.

Then the Duke of Weselton had held her sister and her son at gunpoint, and suddenly none of it mattered.

Elsa waded through the enemy soldiers with grim focus. A snowstorm whirled around her and she used it to her advantage, giving her blinded opponents no chance to retaliate. A symphony of ice and snow flew from her fingertips as she moved her arms with the grace and precision of a conductor, blasting men aside and freezing others in crystal prisons. Blades swung at her only to be deflected unerringly by jagged stalagmites. Wherever she went, the battle turned in the Arendellians' favour in the blink of an eye. Her snow-soldiers made a defensive arc around the surviving Royal Guards, fighting with mechanical recklessness as swords and crossbow bolts stuck into them to little effect.

As she fought, she saw the fear reflected in her enemies' eyes. For once, she felt nothing but cold satisfaction.

The battle was over quickly. Elsa dismissed her personal storm with a gesture, revealing the winter landscape that now surrounded her. Frozen soldiers jutted from the frost-covered deck like strange icicles, their gasps and struggles forming a hideous background to the silence of the night. The snowmen stood like statues around the Arendellian forces, many of whom nursed injuries from the fight. Her mouth drew to a thin line as she took in the bodies strewn across the deck.

She had known those men. Now they were dead, never to return to their families and loved ones.

Because of me, a bitter voice echoed in Elsa's mind.

"What the Duke of Weselton did today is nothing short of an open act of war against Arendelle," she announced to the tense silence. "Let it be known that each and every one of you is now an enemy of the crown." Elsa raised a fist and the snow-soldiers came back to life, spreading out across the deck with their weapons raised.

"Mercy! Please, Queen Elsa!" came a pitiful cry from one of the Weselton men.

The Queen let the silence drag. The snowmen stopped as they moved to flank the landing to the bridge of ice between the two ships. She swept her arms and steps grew in a cascade up its smooth surface.

Footsteps sounded from the stern. Elsa turned, her hands hissing steam as she raised them in anticipation of a new threat. She immediately lowered them as she saw Thomas and some of the guards from the rowboat cresting a crude staircase of ice onto the deck.

"Thomas? What are you doing here? I told you to stay with Anna!"

Thomas was looking around at the trapped Weselton soldiers in astonishment.

"Captain Roderick needed help," he replied after a moment, wringing his hands sheepishly.

"I should never have doubted Your Majesty's ability to defend yourself," Roderick commented appreciatively.

But Elsa was already dashing for the staircase to the Indomitable. She flew up the icy steps three at a time, holding up the hem of her skirt so she could run faster.

"Anna!" she cried.

She leapt across the final steps onto the deck of the Man-of-War, breathing a huge sigh of relief when she saw her sister kneeling unharmed near the railing. The Ducal Guards were still strewn about the deck in their prisons of ice, and Elsa paid them little heed as she rushed to Anna's side.

Her footsteps slowed as she saw the form her sister was leaning over. Hans was slumped limply on the ground, propped up by a pole in the railing. His skin had taken on a ghastly, bloodless pallor. A makeshift bandage of torn pieces of jacket fabric seeped red onto the lacquered surface of the deck. Anna's hands were crusted with crimson.

"Elsa, I can't stop the bleeding," she said in a low voice.

Elsa knelt down beside her sister, squeezing her shoulder quietly as she stared at the man whom she had hated for so many years. In her mind, Hans had always been large and triumphant, sneering down at her with a raised sword. Before her now was a broken man. A dying man.

A man who had saved the lives of her and her son.

Hans's eyes fluttered open. His eyes widened as they met Elsa's, but then they moved to Anna's with determination.

"Anna… listen." His breathing was shallow and laboured, but his gaze burned with surprising intensity. "I sent the assassins. Mathias gave the order, but I was the one who did it."

His voice caught as he grimaced under a wave of pain.

"Hans…" Anna breathed, her eyes narrowing in concern even as her voice trembled with shock.

The former prince pushed on, every word seeming to drain him further.

"I'm not asking for forgiveness. What I've done is unforgivable. I just want you to… I have wronged you." There were tears in his eyes now. He fixed his gaze on Elsa, his voice wavering with more than just exertion. "I know there is no happy ending for me. I came back… wanted to do one good thing. Don't…"

Hans coughed weakly and his eyes rolled back in his head.

"Hans? Hans!"

Tears were streaming down Anna's cheeks now as she held the man she had known as her enemy by the shoulders. She shook him gently, but Hans was unresponsive.

Elsa's eyes were riveted to the man's chest. A jumble of emotions rose within her as she watched the movement of his breathing become weaker and weaker.

"Elsa?" Anna was sniffling, her expression torn. "Elsa, what do we do?"

The wind whistled in the older sister's ears.

"We can't help him," she whispered. She worried at her lip. "But I know someone who can."

Elsa rose from the deck and stamped her foot. A smooth ribbon of ice grew from the point of contact, running over the still-frozen railing of the deck and off the side of the ship like a winter brook suspended in mid-air. Sheets of clear crystal curled up from the deck, taking on the shape of a small canoe as they fused together in a cradle around Hans's body.

"His fate will not be decided by this queen," Elsa stated with quiet finality.

She extended her fingers. A gust of wind pushed the vessel off the edge with a light dusting of snow. She watched as the canoe picked up speed, flying across the gleaming surface of the bay like a comet as it disappeared in the direction of the distant shore. She took Anna's hand gently, and the younger woman collapsed into her arms. Tears soaked into the fabric of Elsa's dress as Anna buried her face in her sister's shoulder, her body trembling under all the terrible stress the night had brought.

"It's over now, you're safe," Elsa soothed as she ran her fingers through her sister's tangled locks. "It's over." She wanted so desperately to believe her own words.

They held each other on the deck of the enemy warship for what seemed like hours. In the end, it was Anna who pulled away first.

"Let's go home," she said simply.

Elsa nodded. The sisters descended the icy staircase back to the Northwind hand in hand. Admiral Felix awaited them at the landing.

"What are your orders, Your Majesty?" Felix inquired loudly, gesturing around him at the immobilized Weselton soldiers. Thick bandages enrobed his left knee, and he was using his sword and scabbard as a makeshift cane. "Are we to dispose of these pests?"

Elsa clasped her hands at her waist as she regarded the enemy forces. Abject fear shone from the expressions those stuck facing in her direction.

"No, they can see themselves off this ship."

The ice covering the deck sublimated into the night with a wave of Elsa's hand, dropping the soldiers unceremoniously to the floor. The men rose with halting motions, their gazes flitting between the Snow Queen and the staircase back up to their ship. One by one, the soldiers filed up the icy steps, many dropping their weapons in favour of supporting their injured comrades. Elsa's snowmen stood completely immobile as they passed by, but the presence of the magical automatons was more than enough to keep the Weselton men in terrified silence. As the last of the soldiers scurried off the Northwind, Elsa dismissed the bridge between the ships with another gesture.

"Your Majesty, is it wise to let them off so easily?" the Admiral asked in a lower voice, his eyes still fixed contemptuously on the retreating forms of the soldiers.

"Weselton would be wise to not mistake my mercy for forgiveness," Elsa replied in a deadly tone. "Are we ready to sail, Admiral?"

The older man bowed with difficulty. "Enough of the crew is in shape to get us back to Arendelle."

"Then make preparations to sail for home."

The Admiral raised an eyebrow. "What of the enemy fleet? The moment you unfreeze the bay, they'll tear us to shreds!"

"The Duke is dead," Elsa replied with a shake of her head. "There's nobody to give the order."

Felix's eyes widened. "Very well, Your Majesty."

As she watched the aged sailor his way down the deck, Elsa felt a hand gently take her arm. She turned to find Thomas at her side. For the second time since their reunion, her heart cracked at the sight of his disheveled clothing and deep tiredness in his eyes. Taking her son's hand in her own, she raised her other hand to the sky and closed her eyes.

A deep rumble resonated across the frozen bay. A sound like the tinkling of a thousand distant wind chimes filled the air. The hull beneath her swayed ever so slightly as the water on which it rested became liquid once more. She opened her eyes to find the shape of a snowflake etched in shimmering light in the sky above Athero. As she let go of her breath, it dissipated in a scattering of stars.

She heard the Admiral shout something. The great tanned sails of the frigate unfurled above her, proclaiming the Crocus of Arendelle to the open sea. She curled her fingers and the masts creaked as the sails filled with wind.

Anna squashed Thomas into Elsa as she wrapped both mother and son in a tight hug. The royals held onto each other at the base of the quarterdeck, watching the dark hills of the Southern Isles mainland shrink in the wake of the Northwind. The ships of Weselton did not move.

"It's over," Anna whispered.

Soundtrack: "Gingivere Returns"

Two Steps From Hell – "Machine Dreams"

MCU inspirations for fight sequences:

"I am Iron Man." - Crown Prince Thomas of Arendelle

"Kneel, before your queen." - Queen Elsa of Arendelle