Chapter Forty-Two
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.
The blast threw her head-over-heels backwards, and Elsa's petite frame slammed violently upon the icy ground. The Snow Queen, startled by the sudden interruption, drew back. As Hans, still gritting his teeth against the pain in his shoulder, struggled to sit up, his gaze caught sight of the queen's face.
Her eyes were closed, her whole body entirely motionless. No breath raised her chest or moved her lips. For Hans, it was as if he had gone deaf, every sound, every thought lost in the emptiness of what had just happened. The word escaped his mouth in a stunned, almost-silent breath as he stared at her still, pale face. "Elsa…"
As if from a long ways away, an echoing began to grow in his ears, and something– something he'd forgotten, something that still mattered, although how could anything matter now, if Elsa were– were– he didn't dare think it, he couldn't, but that something drew his attention back, and he turned his head.
Reality flooded back again in full force as he saw the Snow Queen's icy face. Anna was screaming behind him, beating at the glassy doors of ice as she cried out her sister's name again and again. Kristoff, too, was futilely trying to pound through the barrier.
"Unexpected," said the Snow Queen, her voice coolly dismissive. "But, unfortunately for you, quite useless."
The prince stumbled to his feet as the Snow Queen advanced. "Prepare for death, young prince," she said coldly.
Hans took a step back, but refused to move out of the way. There was no way out now, but she wouldn't take Elsa's body. Not even if he had to die to protect it.
The Snow Queen raised a hand, and he shrank back, taking in a breath and praying it would be fast. The air around her hands began to glow–
And then, suddenly, the glow died. The Snow Queen looked at her palm, startled, her blazing eyes seeming to search for something. There was a slight sound in the silence, like the chink of ice on glass. She brought the hand closer to her face, baffled.
Another chink. Behind her, the mirror, too, began to fracture. Then the sound of a sharp crack filled the air. Those furnace-like eyes went wide, but it was too late; the cracks were already spreading up her hand and through her arm. The Snow Queen grasped at them futilely, trying to make them stop, but it was no use. Through the fissures glowed the red light from her burning interior, and she let out a little shrieks as the fire inside blazed hotter and brighter. The last glimpse Hans got was of the flaming light shining through the cracks in her face, before he turned away, shielding his eyes from the scorching glow as both the Snow Queen and the Mirror exploded into a million tiny pieces.
With sudden, almost shocking abruptness, the winds stopped. The two men looked up as the snow ceased to fall and the clouds above their heads seemed to roll back into the sky and vanish, leaving behind the dark night tinted at the edge of the eastern mountains with the gray of twilight on the horizon, and a thousand glittering stars overhead.
Again, as before, King Agnar was the first to recover. He sneered at the bishop, who was still looking in astonishment up at the clear sky. "Now, we end this."
The bishop glanced back, startled, but it was too late. The king brandished his hands and–
And… nothing. Agnar turned his hands towards himself, studying his blazing palms with obvious bewilderment. And yet, even as he watched, the fire slipped from his fingers against his will, splaying out in front of him, forming blazing figures of searing flame. Their eyes glowed menacingly red as they seemed to leer at him. "What the-"
He let out a sharp howl of pain as one of the figures caught hold of his wrist. The pain was as intense as if he had been branded; even in the split second before Agnar tore his arm from its grasp, an ugly red burn had imprinted itself upon his arm. The figure's form was not intangible energy, as fire ought to have been, but instead had a grip like iron. Another latched on to his shirtsleeve and charred it away. "Stop this!" Agnar roared. "I command you!"
The figures seemed to laugh, dark and jeering, and as if in agreement, they all advanced forward. "What are you doing?!" the king shouted as they seized him, by the wrists, by the shoulders, burning cloth, searing flesh.
"Dun dun dun dun!
Dun dun dun dun!" An awful chanting had filled the air around him as the flaming hands dragged him backwards to some unknown but undoubtedly horrible fate.
"The time has come to pay the fee,
So sign! On the dotted line!"
"No! Wait!" Agnar begged. "Please, I can do better, I can–"
"Dun dun dun dun!
Dun dun dun dun!
Too late to change now that you see,
So sign! On the dotted line!"
"Please, have mercy!" the king screamed.
Willum's eyes flew wide as he realized that the king's control over the hellfire had vanished. Without thinking, the bishop rush forward, his crosier clattering to the ground.
"For power's gain you sold your soul!
Your end, your deal, now pay the toll!"
"No, no…!"
"You'll pay your fine for the powers malign,
So sign! On the dotted–"
The chanting was suddenly muffled as the king felt the bishop's hands land on his shoulders. "Release him!" the clergyman bellowed at the hellish forms. "Release him, I say; he is not yours to take!"
"Get back, you fool!" Agnar shrieked, trying to push him away. "Are you mad?! Get away from me!" The hellfire surged again, accompanied by the menacing, beating chants. "Dun dun dun dun-"
"You must fight them, your Majesty!" Willum said fiercely, refusing to release his grip despite the fact that he could feel the heat scorching at his hands. "I beg you, stop resisting me; I can help you!"
"You can't help me! No one can help me!" His eyes were wild, even mad, his voice pitched with hysteria. "Get away, I say, get away!"
"Dun dun dun dun-"
"You can still escape!" Willum shouted. "Please, your Majesty! End this now, before it kills you!"
"I can't!" the king said wretchedly, voice breaking with despair. "I can't! Don't you see? They have me; I'm too far gone."
"You're not," Willum answered firmly. The flames billowing all around him were beginning to burn his hands in earnest now, but he ignored them, attention fixed on the man in front of him. "King Agnar, listen to me: do you think Heaven has abandoned you? Do you think so little of the mercy of God? All the Father ever wants is for His wayward sons to come home."
"The father's mercy?" the king demanded. "What mercy has he to offer me? I have never found any mercy on Earth; why should Heaven be any different?" He shook his head as he said, voice filled with bitter hopelessness, "I have no father."
And in that moment, the bishop saw beyond the monstrosity the king had become, beyond the tyrant and the traitor. He peered within, and saw a young boy—bright, talented, desperate for praise—toiling endlessly to please a harsh, uncaring father. The man, mistaking vulnerability for weakness, had refused to love anyone—no, not even his own firstborn. And Willum remembered his own father: a poor, illiterate bricklayer, ranked as nothing in the world's eyes, but always generous and kind, and in his love his children had seen an icon of Heaven. And at last, he understood.
"You have a Father, Agnar," the bishop said softly. "A Father who loves you very dearly, even now. A Father who never abandoned you." His grip grew stronger. "Please, let me help you; it's not too late."
"I don't deserve your mercy," the king muttered. Hellfire raged; despair was closing in. He'd failed, Agnar thought bitterly. He'd failed. The shard had changed nothing; he was still weak, helpless, unworthy…
But the bishop's hand was steady on his shoulder, despite the heat and the pain.
"Mercy isn't earned. Love isn't earned. It's just given."
The chants had faded to a whisper, drowned out by each benevolent word. Through the flames, the king's eyes found the castle at the end of the bridge. Arendelle. The kingdom had consumed his thoughts, his plans for more than a decade. Now here it was, frozen over, populace terrorized, a single man's warpath abruptly come to naught. Suddenly it all seemed so pointless. What was it I wanted here?
Proof. Proof that he deserved everything his father had so grudgingly left him. Proof that he was not a failure. Proof that he was a worthy son.
Your Father loves you. It's not too late.
And for a brief moment, he thought of his mother.
You are still His son.
The Southern king began to shake, taking in sharp, gasping breaths as he collapsed forward. Willum steadied him as the flames and voices vanished, and Agnar began to sob, sob like he hadn't done since he was a very small child.
"I know. I understand," the bishop said gently.
"Help me, please," the king wept. "Help me."
"You've been lost for a very long time. But it's all right now. You're home."
The broken man nodded despite the sobs that still shook his shoulders, and as if by some miraculous power, the King of the Southern Isles knelt to the ground, bent low in humility and gratitude.
Through the great frozen depths of hellfire below, there came a horrendous howl of pain and hatred, and all the prisoners of Hell knew that a soul had been lost to the Enemy once again.
Eventually, the scorching light died, and Hans opened his eyes. The Snow Queen was gone, not even little traces of ice remaining where she had stood. The Devil's Mirror, too, was nothing more now than an empty frame, the shards having been dissolved completely into nothingness. He looked behind him, startled, as Kristoff's axe and Anna's beating hands finally pounded through the icy wall, and they stumbled over the icy chunks into the cupola.
For a moment, they stood in stunned silence, before Hans remembered what had happened just prior to the Snow Queen's demise. "Elsa!" he shouted, whirling around in desperation.
He, Anna and Kristoff all hurried to where the Queen lay unmoving on the ice, like a blue-dressed ragdoll tossed carelessly aside. Elsa remained still and lifeless even as Hans knelt down and took her into his good arm, cradling her like a small child. Her face was pale, paler than he'd ever seen it. Her dark hair and eyebrows stood out stark against the porcelain skin, and her lips were tinged purplish-blue at the edges. "Oh, Elsa," Hans murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair out of her eyes. Her skin was cold as ice. "Why would you do something so foolish?"
The Queen didn't answer. He hadn't really expected her to. Hans felt a sharp burning begin behind his eyes, and the world blurred over.
"A true love's kiss," Anna suddenly breathed.
"What?" He looked up.
"An act of true love can thaw a frozen heart," she said, a flicker of hope blooming in her eyes.
"Anna– it wouldn't work, she… she's already…" He couldn't finish.
"You have to try!" the princess said fiercely, tears brimming in her eyes. "Please, Hans!"
He looked between her and the cold, still woman in his arms. If there was even the barest ghost of a chance Anna might be right, he couldn't falter now. Slowly, he tilted her chin up with his hand and leaned down.
His lips brushed gently against hers, and then pressed more insistently, a silent plea and prayer burning in his heart. He pulled back, not daring to breathe, hoping against hope…
A moment passed. And then another.
Elsa didn't move.
His face twisted into a grimace, and the tears he'd been fighting spilled down his cheeks. Anna let out a shuddering gasp and buried her face in Kristoff's chest. "I'm sorry," Hans whispered to the lifeless queen, closing his eyes in defeat. "I'm so sorry…"
Outside the broken walls of the cupola, the dawn of holy Christmas morning spilled rosy over the frozen land, bringing shouts of joy and relief from the villagers hiding in the forests below. As the wild and strange blizzard that had begun to spread across the earth faded to nothing, many souls throughout the whole world, both great and small, rejoiced as they were called by the church-bells of many steeples to hear the Holy Mass, and witness to the Light that had at last arisen over the dark and frozen world. But atop the mountain, all was silent and cold and still, as the three souls mourned the loss of she who had been their beloved queen, their sister, and their friend.
Then…then, ever so barely, Elsa's face twitched. Slowly, her cerulean eyes fluttered open, blinking and squinting. They frowned as her vision came into focus, and saw that the man holding her was crying. With gentle fingers, she reached up and brushed away the tears from his cheek.
The prince opened his eyes, shocked, and looked down. "E-Elsa?"
Anna looked over sharply, her eyes flying wide. "Elsa!" she cried, bounding forward out of Kristoff's grasp and nearly tackling her older sister, who was still being held protectively in the prince's arms.
The elder laughed and shifted so that she could hug her sister back. "Anna."
"You scared me half to death, you big dummy!" the younger mumbled, pulling back and wiping her eyes.
"I guess this means we're even, huh?" Elsa said, trying to joke about the matter although it was clear she was pretty shaken.
"D-don't say that," Anna said, sniffling. "Elsa…"
"I know, I know," the elder said, smiling. "I love you, too." Anna hugged her again briefly, and then drew back. Kristoff took her into his arms again. The couple glanced at each other and smiled, Anna still wiping her eyes. Elsa grinned at this, and then looked back up to Hans.
For a long moment, neither knew quite what to say. In the end, Hans fixed the problem by pulling her in and embracing her fiercely. "Don't you ever do that again," he ordered.
"What, save your life?" Elsa chuckled.
"I meant nearly getting yourself killed." The feeling of her warmth and movement in his arms was enough to bring more tears to his eyes, and he shut them tight. Anna and Kristoff tactfully pretended not to notice.
When they broke apart, and Elsa smiled. "I guess this means you and I are even now, too."
Hans managed to smile back, understanding exactly what she meant. "I guess we are," he agreed.
He stood up, lifting her with him, and then set her solidly on her feet. Elsa swayed a little, and he steadied her. "Easy. Can you walk?"
"I-I think so." She took a step, and stumbled. Anna quickly caught her by the shoulders.
"Maybe you need some help," the princess recommended sagely. "You both might, actually."
Elsa let out a little gasp as she looked to the prince. "That's right, you're hurt!"
"Ach..." Hans winced badly as the adrenaline abruptly lost some of its potency and he gripped his right shoulder. "I wish you hadn't reminded me..."
"Let me see that." Kristoff took off his scarf and made short work of putting a messy bandage over the wound. He helped the prince ease the arm into Elsa's broken satchel as a makeshift sling and added, "Keep pressure on that; Grand Pabbie should be able to fix you both up if we get you down the mountain quick enough."
With Anna guiding her sister and Kristoff helping the prince along, the four made their way through the destroyed castle and outside into the dawn. They paused for a moment at the foot of the stairs, blinking in the warm light, and then descended the staircase to the hilltop below. As they walked, Elsa called out, "Olaf! Ovn! Marshmallow!"
To the surprise of none but Hans, three figures rounded a rock formation ahead of them and came hurrying (or, in the case of Marshmallow, lumbering) up to the small group. "Elsa!" Olaf cried, nearly skipping with joy. "Ooh, I knew you could do it! I knew it as soon as the storm went away. And look; we fixed Marshmallow!"
The snow-monster behind them made a noise of happy contentment, and Elsa giggled. Then, her attention was drawn to the third figure, who was standing at Olaf's side. "Hello, Ovn."
"Hello," the fire-being said shyly. She looked to the prince, who was standing, shocked, at the queen's side. "Uncle! Oh, I'm so glad you're alright!"
"You—I made you," Hans recalled, stunned. He knelt down before the floating figure. "You're incredible. What's your name?"
"Ovn," she replied, clasping her translucent hands behind her back.
"She saved our lives," Elsa informed him.
"But how? You're so-"
"-Small," Ovn finished. "And weak. Yes, I am. But sometimes the small and the weak can do great things, Uncle."
"Yes," he answered, smiling slightly, "Sometimes they can." She beamed back.
"We should start making our way down the mountain," Anna advised, patting Sven's nose affectionately. She looked to Elsa, and it seemed to the elder sister that the younger had a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Trust me, it's a long way home."
And together, the four young royals and the two magical beings set off down the white slopes, the snow sparkling in the bright dawn of Christmas morn.