Chapter Thirty-Three
Disclaimer: I neither own the rights to Disney, Frozen, the Disney universe nor any of its associated media, derivatives or products. I do not profit from this work.
"No sign of him, your Majesty."
At these words, Elsa sank faintly into her desk chair, a low breath escaping her mouth. Anna looked on with worry. Her elder sister had come rushing into her room at the break of dawn, frantically shaking her awake and babbling on so fast that for once Anna had to ask her to slow down, instead of the other way around. Finally, she'd managed to gather that Hans had escaped his prison cell and was now who-knew-where doing who-knew-what, possibly in danger and most certainly an unwitting threat. Since then, she, her sister and Kristoff had been anxiously awaiting the return of the search party the Queen had sent out that morning.
Elsa was clearly in a bad state; she'd gotten no sleep the night before, and despite her sister's urgings, she hadn't eaten anything nor slept at all during the day. Her face was dangerously pale, even for her, and the rings had returned under her eyes. She clutched to her chest a black leather hymnal, and frost covered the library floor beneath her chair in haywire swirls. "You're sure?" she said to the guard, struggling to keep her voice from shaking.
"Quite sure, your Majesty. We've searched the entire town and the surrounding farmsteads and forest."
She nodded, looking exhausted and very worried. "Very well. Extend the search to the towns south of here, specifically those along the seaboard."
"Yes, your Majesty," the guards agreed, and with a quick bow, they exited the library, leaving only the queen, her sister and the ice master.
"The seaboard towns?" Kristoff questioned. Elsa had requested his presence, which Anna thought wise since the man generally had a calming air about him.
Elsa ran her free hand through her hair, distressed. "Hans is too smart to repeat my mistakes. He wouldn't have risked going anywhere permanently; he'd know his safest option would be to get on a ship and leave Arendelle altogether."
"What if he's already gone?" Anna questioned aloud. Elsa looked at her with fear in her eyes, and she quickly added, "But he probably hasn't. I mean, nobody in their right mind would be sailing this time of the year anyway, so he's probably still… here…" She trailed off awkwardly.
"You're right," the queen said, as calmly as she could manage. "We just have to... keep up hope."
She was clearly in distress; snow had started to drift lightly from the ceiling as she stood and walked to the windows, looking out at the snow-covered bridge that connected the castle to the mainland. The sun was beginning to set again, heightening her fear that the prince wouldn't be found. Anna followed her over and laid a hesitant hand on her shoulder. "Elsa, maybe you should take a break- go eat something or read a book," she advised. "You didn't even have lunch; you need to rest-"
"No. I have to stay here."
"Elsa, this isn't your fault!" her sister said emphatically.
"How is it not my fault?" Elsa said, upset. "I attacked him, I nearly killed him…"
"Well in your defense, you did think he'd betrayed you and was about to murder you with his scary magic fire-powers-"
"Anna." Her voice was dead serious as she turned to her, blue eyes full of guilt. "I called him a monster."
Anna fell silent, stunned. She knew the M word carried a lot of weight with Elsa. Her elder sister turned back to looking out the window, as if hoping the prince would suddenly appear on the other side of the gate.
"Elsa," the Queen heard Kristoff say from behind her. "You know Hans better than any of us. If you were him, what would you be doing right now?"
She bit her lip, thinking. "If I were Hans, unable to control my powers and being hunted down, presumably to be tried and executed... I would do what Hans does with every other problem."
"What's that?"
Elsa's eyes searched the scarlet-lit world beyond the glass, expression grim. "I would try to get rid of it."
Hans, as it happened, had been walking for a whole night and the better part of the day. He was hungry, exhausted and half-frozen. Although he'd managed to steal a coat off a clothesline (fire magic could only do so much), he had barely eaten or slept for nearing on forty-eight hours or more, running on pure and constant adrenaline. More than anything, he wanted warm food and a decent bed, which meant, of course, that he had to find an inn.
As the sun began to set over the northern country, he came upon a town. It was, in fact, the third such town he had encountered, but he had been too fearful to stop in the first two and had skirted around them. Now, however, the chill had begun to wear on him, fire-powers or no, and moreover he had realized the futility of staying in a country where he was undoubtedly a hunted man.
The sun had slipped below the sea when he finally found a cheap-looking inn and slipped inside. The bar room was musty and poorly lit with oil lamps. Men sat around in bars drinking and speaking in low voices; in the corner, a few were playing some gambling game with dice. Hans noted the distinct lack of women in the establishment and gathered that this was not a place known for its good repute. Well, never mind that; with his new little talent, he didn't doubt he could single-handedly withstand anyone who decided to attack him.
That was another problem, but one he'd deal with after securing a way out of Arendelle. He turned up the edges of his collar and ducked his head as he approached the bar and took a seat on one of the stools, just beside an old man. The barkeep, a larger man with what appeared to be only one good eye (the other was clearly glass and didn't quite match in color), walked over, wiping out the inside of a pint. "Whaddaya want?"
"I need food and a room for the night," he answered, intentionally lowering his voice to disguise it.
"Ten kroner, more depending on what you order for food."
Hans was about to nod, before he realized something quite significant: all of the gold he'd had on him was in the jacket the footmen had taken from him before the wedding. "…I don't have any money."
The bartender raised an eyebrow. "Then you're not getting any food, and you're definitely not staying the night."
"Please, have a little pity; I'm starving and dead-tired," he said wearily.
"Pity doesn't run a business, son. Go on now; don't make me call the authorities."
The prince let out a low sigh and stood up. He was about to go when the man beside him said, "Now hold on; I've got a few extra kroner here. I can pay for 'im." He dug a few coins out of his pocket and held them out. "Get 'im whatever he wants for food and give 'im a room."
The bartender hesitated, and then took the money reluctantly and said to Hans, "You mentioned something about food?"
"Ham-and-cheese sandwich and a pint, if you can."
"Coming right up." He filled up a pint-glass and handed it to him. Then he disappeared into the kitchen, and Hans heard him shout his order at the cook.
The ex-prince glanced over at the old man uncertainly, and found that he was looking at a man with graying hair in about his mid-fifties. Hans knew instantly that he was a sailor; the man's face was weathered and tanned by years of working on rigging in the harsh sun, his beard was scruffy and cut-short, and his teeth were yellowed as if he hadn't had any dental work done in all his life. Most tellingly, on his right wrist Hans could see the bottom two-thirds or so of a faded tattoo depicting a swallow with a dagger through its heart, and on his left an anchor.
The bartender had returned with the sandwich and a pint. Hans took them and tried to look at the sailor out of the corner of his eyes, unsure what to make of him. "…Thank you," he said finally. "From one sailor to another."
"I'll drink to that." They clinked glasses and each took a draught. "Only a sailor can tell a sailor," the older man added, setting his tankard down.
"I saw the tattoos. My apologies for your loss. A friend of yours?"
"More like a brother. We served together."
"You're a navy man?" Hans said, a little interested.
"Navy in my younger years. Now I'm just a merchant. You?"
"I served two years." He decidedly didn't state which navy he'd served in.
The old captain squinted slightly. "You look familiar. Have I seen you before?"
For a split second, Hans panicked. Perhaps the man had been in Arendelle for the coronation the year before, or perhaps he'd seen a drawing in the local newspaper. The prince concealed his worry, however, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "A drink or two makes everyone look familiar. Why, I could almost take you for my grandfather."
The man chuckled at that. "I suppose you're right."
"You said you're a merchant. If you're searching for crewmates, I'm looking to leave. Immediately, as it happens."
"Immediately leave? That must be a strong brew, son; there aren't many men willing to sail the winter seas. Anyways, no one's leaving port in this time a' year, but talk to me in spring, huh?"
More panic; Hans couldn't afford to wait until spring. By then someone surely would have recognized him, and he would be back in the dungeons where he'd started- there or rotting in a criminal's grave. "What about for free?" he said quickly.
"Free?" He looked at him quizzically. "You'd let me hire you for free?"
"Not hire. You've got an anchor tattoo; that means you've crossed the Atlantic. I'd be willing to bet you do trade with the Colonies Across the Sea; am I right?"
"You are. What's it to you?"
"I need safe passage over there. If you can get a crew together in the next few days, I'd work for you all the way over. I'm sure it'd cover my fee—and imagine how pleased the Colonists would be to see goods delivered in the dead of winter. They'd be willing to pay some pretty stiff prices, I'd bet my life on it."
The old captain bit his tongue considering this, and then grunted: "A'right, son, you've got yourself a deal. We leave at dawn."
"Glad to do business with you," Hans said lightly. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a brief matter to attend to before discussing the details."
"How do I know you won't run off?" the sailor said shrewdly.
"If I do, it's nothing lost to you."
"Fair enough." He went back to nursing his drink.
Hans pulled his cloak tighter around himself and walked out the front inn door, leaving his half-sandwich and pint waiting on the bar counter. He glanced around as he shut the door behind him, and then went around to the back of the establishment.
The sky was clear and covered with the first few evening stars, the air frigid as ice. Hans poked his hands out from under his coat with a shiver and moved them around, willing the fire into existence.
He looked around into the empty back-alleyway, covered in drifts of dirty snow. "I know you caused the blizzard!" he called out into the silence. "And I know you're working with my brother. If you can hear me, I need to speak with you!"
He waited, but received no response save for the breaking of the near-frozen waves on the shore. Feeling rather foolish, he turned to go back inside.
"I would not turn your back to me if I were you, young prince."
He turned, startled. A woman clad in an icy gray-blue dress and covered in a large, snowy cape had appeared, seemingly from nowhere. "You've been following me," Hans said. It wasn't a question.
She walked a few paces forward. "You wished to speak with me?"
"I know you cursed me," he said curtly. "And I know you can take it back."
"Take it back?" Her icy eyes seemed to gleam at that. "You would request that of me?"
"There are gaps in my memory I can't fill. I know I've been like this for a long time, I've worked that much out. What I don't know–" He snapped his fingers, flaring up a candle-flame, "–is why you chose to give this shard to me." Her gaze sharpened. "Oh yes, I worked that out, too. So start talking and maybe we can make a deal."
"You do not give orders to me, young prince."
"I hold the chips." He lifted the flame; the red light gleamed off her greedy eyes. "So yes, just now, I rather think I do."
The Snow Queen eyed him appraisingly, and then swept her hand towards the ground,. All around him, great walls of ice rose from the snow. But no… they weren't quite walls, he realized, for they held reflections in them, like mirrors. But something was wrong with the mirrors: their reflections did not match his own. Instead they were…were…?
"What are you doing in here?!"
Hans saw a young, dark-haired boy jump to his feet in front of an old chest, startled. As the boy turned, he realized with shock that it was himself. Barely did he have time to comprehend this, however, before the boy had clasped his hand to his chest in fear, and something- something burning, like a hot coal, was glowing from inside his him, a hole seared through his clothes. The boy's hair flushed red as he cried out in agony and fear, and the man- his father, Hans realized- rushed forward to his younger self, not in concern but in fury, trying to remove the fiery object as he roared at the boy—
"This isn't right! You can't do this to him!"
"I can and I will!"
It was his mother and father, reflected in a different facet of this many-walled cage. His mother was furious, a hand on his younger self's shoulder. The redheaded boy was clearly frightened; tears rolled down his cheeks. "Mama!" he cried, as flames curled up his hands. "Mama, make it stop!"
"Shh, Hans, it's alright. Mother's here-"
"Causing him to forget is the most effective way of hiding his powers," a cold, sharp voice said, and another figure stepped into view. Hans's eyes widened as he realized it was the Snow Queen. "If you do not, he could in time use his ability to seize his elder brother's throne."
"He wouldn't do that," his mother said fiercely, stepping between the witch and her son. "He's a good child."
"There is no such thing as a 'good child.' Now step aside."
"You stay away from my son!"
"I said, step aside!"
A blast of ice magic sent his mother sprawling, and the real Hans took a step forward, forgetting it was only an illusion. "Mother!"
"You cannot hide this from him!"
He turned instinctively to another mirror and watched as his mother shouted at his father, furious. His father roared in return, "With power like that he could ruin everything I've worked for! Is that what you want?!"
"He's just a child!"
"He's a thief and a burden!"
"How dare you speak about your son that way!"
"Mama? Papa?"
Both turned, startled, to see the young boy standing nervously beside the door. "Is… something wrong?"
The king stormed out of the room, furious. Hans turned to watch and found himself staring at another scene, this of his younger self standing beside his bedridden mother, who looked sickly and frail. "Mama?" he asked. "Why are you sick?"
She let out a soft sigh. "I'm just tired, Hans."
"Get well soon, please? I miss you."
She smiled, ruffled his auburn hair. "I miss you too, Hans. I'll try to get better quickly, I promise."
The grown man and the young boy both reached out to touch the edge of her bed-sheet, but before Hans's fingers could brush the glassy ice, another voice drew his attention away.
"What do we do with him?"
He looked to the side, startled. His father and Agnar were standing on a balcony, speaking to the Snow Queen. His father looked older than he remembered, Hans noticed; his once-auburn hair was streaked with gray, and wrinkles were papering his pale skin. But the glint in the eyes was the same. "He's becoming a nuisance," Agnar chimed in. "Twice now in six months."
"Have you had him use the gloves I brought you?"
"Of course."
"Good. Send him out to sea; his powers will be weaker there. Once he's come of age, he can return the shard himself."
Hans watched his father and brother scheme to send him into the naval service, his own bare hands curling into fists. So. Even that was tainted. The mirrors flashed and flickered; he caught sight of fire and sucked in a breath, stumbling back and looking at his hands, but they were barely sparking. The fire was coming from the mirrors; he turned and turned again, looking at the six, nine, dozen younger selves, peering in horror or fascination or anger at the flames surrounding their palms.
"Make it stop! Mother!"
"I didn't do this, I don't know what– Don't let me drown, PLEASE–"
"I'll kill you! I'll kill you all for what you did to me, Jens!"
"YOU'RE NOT TAKING IT AWAY AGAIN! I WON'T LET YOU!"
He stumbled and fell back against a mirror. Across from him, a nearly identical, frantic self was shaking, collapsed, in his cell. The charred remains of a suitcoat lay around him.
"I suppose this means we can't hang you."
"Agnar, I-I don't know what happened!" The other him, the him from a year ago, was looking at his hands in terror. "The noose just—Queen Elsa! You have to write her; she's the only person who can–"
"Don't over-exert yourself, brother. You're not going to remember any of this, anyway."
"What– What are you–?"
And one after the other the Snow Queen's shadow loomed beyond the windows, in the doorways, in the halls–
"Agnar? Aren't you coming?"
Hans whirled around. In the glass behind him, time seemed to have stilled, pacified. He was now a young man of about seventeen. "We'll be late for father's funeral."
The other mirrors fell silent and faded, one by one.
"I don't see why you're so concerned," his brother said coldly.
"It wouldn't be proper. We should all be on time for something as important as this."
"I'm surprised you even want to attend. Even if you were to miss, it's not like anyone would notice your absence." His voice was harsh and apathetic. "After all, it's not like father would have wanted you there, anyway." He turned to walk down the hall.
This seemed to be the last straw for the younger prince. "What did I ever do to you?!" he demanded, gloved hands clenched into fists.
"Enough, Hans," Agnar ground out.
"No, why?! Why do you shut me out?! Why do you all shut me out?! Why do you all hate me so much?!"
Agnar whirled around, stalked back over. Hans's eyes went wide as he realized he may have gone too far. "I hate you," Agnar hissed, "Because you're a worthless thief, Hans. You've stolen everything from me—even mother."
Those green eyes were now wide with incredulity. "Mother got sick, Agnar! That wasn't my fault!"
"It was your fault. Everything wrong around here is your fault. You take and you take and if we don't stop you, if we don't push you down, you'll do it again." He shook his head, green eyes filled with a pure, undiluted loathing. "Our mother is dead," he spat. "Because of you." And with that, he turned and strode off down the hall, leaving his younger brother to stare after him, stunned speechless.
"Ironic, isn't it."
Hans turned one last time, to look the true Snow Queen in the eye.
"So much trouble for one innocent mistake. So much of your life, defined by a mere accident." He didn't answer. "It was never meant to be you, Hans. You were just…collateral damage."
"I see."
"But I have an offer for you," the Snow Queen continued. "This really has nothing to do with you, young prince. You have no obligation to stay here." She saw the way his expression changed, just slightly, and smiled in a way that was almost benevolent. "I can help you, Hans. Without that shard you'll be a free man man, able to live your life however you please. The curse will be lifted, and you will have no more ties to it—or to Arendelle. You can walk away from this…from everything."
Hans's hand rose unconsciously to touch his chest, right above his sternum. He let out a gasp, more of surprise than pain, as a sharp pinprick of fire seemed to burn through the skin under his hand. The blade of something incredibly small yet razor-sharp pierced through the thin white undershirt, and he lowered his hand to find that it was holding what appeared to be a fragment of fiery, glowing glass, identical to the one he'd seen in the mirror.
"All you have to do," the Snow Queen said, stretching out her hand, "is give that shard to me."
He looked up at her, and for a moment—a brief, tantalizingly sweet moment—he considered it. His plan could continue as he'd made it; he could sail away and start over, make a new life for himself, free from curse or crown. Free from consequences. Everything could be exactly the way he'd planned.
Then he closed his hand around the shard. "No."
The Snow Queen's kindly look vanished like snow in a blizzard wind. "What?"
"I said no. If you really wanted this shard you would have taken it from me, but you haven't. Why? Because you can't. Because magic has rules." He held it up between his thumb and forefinger. "I know your legend, Snow Queen. If one of these is powerful enough to freeze over a small kingdom, I'd hate to see what a thousand of them could do together."
"Your brother was right. You are too clever for your own good."
"Oh, yes, Agnar. I thought it was rather too easy for me to break out of that prison. I'm a selfish bastard, your Majesty, but I'm not stupid; I know my scriptures and my fairy tales. What were you going to do, offer me all the kingdoms of the world? Ask me my true name?" Her pale cheeks were staining red with anger. "You've been very informative, but you thought I was about to make a deal with an ice witch, I'm afraid you're quite mistaken. Now if you'll excuse me, it's time I be on my way." He turned to go.
"If you're going to leave, I'd suggest you be quick about it," the Snow Queen said, sounding remarkably undisturbed.
That struck him as strange, and he turned around. The Snow Queen was smiling. At the end of alleyway, he could see the faint but growing glow of torchlight on brick. "It seems your sailor friend wasn't as oblivious as you thought," the sorceress added.
Hans's mouth opened for the span of second. Then he turned and ran. The Snow Queen laughed and vanished in a flurry of snowflakes.
The ice on the cobblestone hissed and split where his boots struck the pavement, flames spurting out with every step. He slipped and fell hard on his wrists, gravel grinding into his hands. The glass shard sliced deep into his palm.
"There he is!"
He looked behind him. The guards had reached the end of the alleyway. Sparks swirled about him as he scrambled to his feet, dancing along the cuts in his hands. He dashed down another dark side street, and then a third, the embers leaving a distinct trail behind him. They could follow that, he knew; they'd find him again soon. "Think, think," he muttered to himself. He needed a way to delay them, some sort of distraction, like a defense, a guard–
"He went this way!"
He saw the guards round the corner and latched onto the last idea he'd had. "Come on, come on," he muttered, moving his free hand as if he were stirring the air. A little sphere of fire began to form. He threw the ball to the ground, willing it to transform itself into some Marshmallow-like fire golem. The little ball uncurled, and glowed, and grew- and then it stopped growing.
The miniature fire-being turned to look at him, as if surprised by its own creation. Hans stared. It seemed to be female, with a little candle-like curl of hair and huge golden eyes. It was tiny, no more than two or three feet tall. It was downright cute.
"You've got to be kidding me," he deadpanned.
The guards had gotten over their momentary surprise, and he heard one of them call, "Go on, what're you waiting for!"
The guards all charged at once, and Hans ran for it, leaving the little fire-being behind and sprinting down another road and around a corner.
"What in the-?!"
"He's on fire!"
He realized, too late, that he'd run right into the busy town square. People screamed and pushed each other, trying to get out of his way. If Hans could have seen himself, he would've known why: with the collar pulled up around his face, the seared edges of it flickering scarlet and gold as fire ate away holes in the sides, while the blazing fire from his left hand reflected in his narrowed eyes, the prince looked nearer a demon than a man.
The town guard poured in through the side street he'd just left, and he stumbled back, looking around frantically. There was nowhere to go; anywhere he went would be too easy to follow, and he couldn't run forever.
WHZ!
Something rushed past his ear and thudded into the wall of a shop behind him. Hans realized it was an arrow from a crossbow.
Another came flying straight towards his face; Hans instinctively incinerated it in the air with a blast of fire, the ashes dropping harmlessly to the ground no more than a foot from him. This was beyond unfair; there were at least twelve of them, and only one of him. His teeth gritted in anger as he destroyed two more bolts before they could strike.
"Stop! Stop! We need him alive!"
The onslaught of arrows ceased, but the insinuation only made the prince angrier. "Oh you do, do you?!" he snarled. He fired a shot of his own at them, and several let out shouts as they ducked the sphere of fire that hit a bakery behind them. The building went up in flames almost instantly, and they tried to run, but Hans stalked forward, trapping them. Panicking, the soldiers pushed back at each other and trying to get out of the way as he advanced forward, their faces filled with terror. Hans's jaw was clenched tight, teeth barred in rage. His hand flamed like hellfire, ready to end this, ready to make them pay-
No!
Something inside him screamed in fear, and he realized, like a man coming out of a trance, that he'd been about to- about to-
He put his hand down at his side. The blazes flickered and died, leaving the remains of the stores charred and glowing cherry-red. The soldiers stared at him, stunned.
"Go," he told them darkly. "And tell your queen that if she's as smart as I think she is, she won't come after me."
They stood there, frozen in shock. "Go!" he shouted roughly. "Or do I need to persuade you?!" He lit his left palm ablaze again, and the soldiers turned tail and fled.
Hans watched them go, and then extinguished the flames once more and sank weakly to his knees, looking around at the charred shops, the deserted town square. He realized he was trembling. His mouth was dry and full of smoke.
"You said you knew the legend," said a silky voice behind him. He didn't have to look to know it was the Snow Queen. "You know what the Mirror does."
"Elsa beat it," he muttered. "She beat you."
"Is that what you've been resting your hopes on?" He didn't answer. "Poor fool. The Queen hadn't yet been baptized when I found her. You, on the other hand…"
A pale hand curled over his shoulder; frost skittered across the smoking sleeve of his coat. "You can try to suppress it," the sorceress said quietly, "to fight the power inside of you. But you can't hold it back forever. And as far and as fast as you may run, young prince, you will never be able to escape that thing you most fear: yourself."
With the last word, something large and heavy clattered to the street in front of him. In the glinting red light from the smoldering coals, Hans saw that it was his sword. She must have found it in the forest.
Somewhere far down inside him, something broke.
"But it doesn't have to be this way," the Snow Queen continued. "All you have to do…is give me the shard."
He shook his head numbly, clenching his hand around the glass.
"Then what will you do?" she asked harshly. "Where will you go?"
For a long moment, there was silence. Then, he picked up the sword and sheath, re-buckled it around his waist, and said lowly, "…Take me away from here."
The Snow Queen considered this, and reasoned that it was the next best option. "As you wish, young prince," she said simply, and pressed finger to the back of his neck. Hans stiffened straight as he felt his body seize up. A terrible, aching cold spread over him, and he began to panic as he found he couldn't move. He collapsed and fell onto his back like a log. With his last ounce of strength, he closed his hand tight over the burning piece of glass.
Then, the darkness swallowed him whole, and he knew no more.
From behind the ruins of the burnt bakery, the translucent little fire-being, with her wide gold eyes and her candle-like form, watched the fearsome ice sorceress lift the man up as if he weighed no more than a child and place him in her great ice sledge. Careful not to be seen, she crept forward and leapt onto the back of the nearest runner. For a moment she was afraid the ice would melt, but it held firm, as if no heat could possibly thaw it.
She let out a little noise of fright as the sledge took off into the night sky and clung tightly to the runner's supporter. Faster and faster they went, over the fields and towns, small ones, big ones, farms and ports and little lonesome houses near the sea. She closed her eyes tight as they passed over a big town and a beautiful castle, trembling for fear of the height.
Soon enough, the sleigh descended down from its journey and landed on the snowy slopes of a large mountain, before a grand castle made entirely of ice. The Snow Queen stepped out of her sledge and waved her hand. From the earth there arose two great and terrible giants, made entirely of ice and wielding heavy ice battleaxes. The fire-being shrunk down underneath the sled, hoping not to be seen.
The Snow Queen approached the ice castle. As she did, a much smaller snow giant stood from the snowdrift he'd been sitting on and stomped forward, crossing the chasm in a single leap and landing before the icy staircase with an earth-rumbling thud. "STAY BACK!" he roared, icicles protruding from his arms and back.
The Snow Queen was unperturbed. "Take him down, boys," she called to the ice giants behind her. They hefted their battleaxes with foolish grins. The snow monster's fierce expression faltered.
The fire-being let out a gasp of fright as she heard the sounds of slicing and a mournful howl of pain. Her flickering form wavered as she trembled, while the Snow Queen returned to the sledge. She lifted the man out and carried him to the stairs, now guarded by the ice giants, and ascended to the top. The being peeped out from behind the sled and watched the sorceress push open the great ice doors and carry the man inside.
"Let no one pass," the sorceress instructed the ice giants. "If anyone tries to enter this palace, take them hostage and bring them to me." The giants nodded their monstrous heads once and turned to stand guard as the ice queen disappeared into the castle. The great ice doors closed with a rumble, and then all was silent.
The fire-being crept out from her hiding place fearfully and looked to the guards. They didn't seem to notice her, small as she was, and she let out a little sigh of relief. "Don't worry, Uncle," she said resolutely. "I'm going to go find help." And with that, she started the long trek down the mountain, in search of someone to aid her creator.