Working through the day, slowly digging decent graves for the dead at the fort, Søren had noticed unsettling signs around the old building. He was familiar enough with mason's work to know what well maintained buildings looked like—and this certainly wasn't one of them. Even the accounting for the damage the queen's raid had inflicted, there was far too much wear unaccounted for. Ironwork that was rusted and exposed. Even the missing panes in the windows. The fort was not unimportant either, being the closest outpost Løkarna had to Arendelle. Even a token garrison could have held out against Weselton's soldiers if the fort had been maintained.
That there were no Løkarnan uniforms among the dead was very telling. No shallow graves nearby either. He'd checked earlier in the day, just to be sure. Which meant that Weselton had found the fort unoccupied and abandoned. The lack of supplies was another giveaway—aside from a couple of empty barrels with the Weseltonian crest on them, it was like the entire fort had been stripped bare. Why, Søren couldn't say, but unfounded suspicions raised the hairs on the back of his neck. There was something much deeper—and possibly darker—behind kronprinz Einar's request.
Because an abandoned fort meant Løkarna could no longer supply it with either men or materiel, possibly both. The former implied a war, or plague, or great disaster, and even though their relationship with Arendelle was fractious, Søren knew they could swallow their pride and ask for help in times of dire need. So that left the latter. A lack of materiel implied that either it was not being supplied, or was not being moved. Guild issues. Internal strife. Some kind of crisis. He couldn't be sure as to what, but that was where his suspicions led him.
Just like his suspicion that he was being watched. Something—or someone—in the forest was watching him as he worked, digging graves and moving bodies. Watching and waiting. More than once he'd turned at the sound of a twig breaking, or leaves being rustled by more than wind. Once there had been a quiet ringing, as if a small piece of metal had been struck by something. Maybe a branch against an empty canteen. He sighed, returning to his work. If the queen—or the princess—had sent a spy to follow him, so be it. If it was someone from Løkarna they might still be assessing him. And if it was someone who wished him harm, then let them try.
Søren smiled, finally understanding that small part of Vanja's personality. He smiled, but it went nowhere. Thinking of Vanja only reminded him of everything he'd done to hurt her. How he'd managed to fail everyone he cared about. He was nothing but a failure, and he couldn't see why Einar would want him. Except, maybe, just for his work. The one thing he could always throw himself in to. The one thing he had put above everything else. Now, the only thing he had left. He sat heavily, digging the shovel into the dirt next to him. Just for a moment, he would catch his breath, then it would be time to move another body. Even if they were the enemy, the dead should still be treated with respect.
It also occurred to him that perhaps Einar might appreciate the effort he was taking to clean the old fort. Repairing it would be a major undertaking for a number of masons, and at least a week of work. Considerably more to bring it back up to a real and respectable state. Before he moved the next body, he took a detour to the groundsman's hut he was using as a shelter, writing a few notes in his ledger. If work was all he had, he was going to do it right. As he set the ledger down a flash of red caught his eye, just moving into the main building of the fort. More curious than alarmed, he followed, calling out softly.
"Hello?"
There was no answer, but perhaps a scuffling of feet.
"I know you're in here."
Silence.
"Fine," Søren shrugged. "Just don't get in my way."
With that, he took hold of the body closest to the entrance and started dragging it outside. Even if someone was in the fort, they wouldn't find any weapons in there. It seemed all of the spoils had been taken after the queen's raid. Or by looters. It didn't matter either way—whoever it was wouldn't be able to threaten him.
"Stop."
Søren dropped the body he was dragging. He knew that tone. Slowly, deliberately, he turned to face the other man. Then he laughed.
"I said stop." The man was insistent.
"With that?" Søren gestured casually to the broken dagger in the man's right hand. "Please."
"Don't make me hurt you to prove a point."
Søren sighed heavily, standing up straight. The other man seemed to shrink back. "Can I get back to work?"
"Work?" The man seemed genuinely curious.
"Burying these men," Søren gestured around the room. "They might be the enemy, but they still deserve respect."
"Enemy…" the man's whole demeanour changed. He screamed as he charged towards Søren. "You work for the witch-queen!"
"Not anymore." Søren's reply fell on deaf ears.
Ducking sideways to avoid an enraged stab, Søren wished he had a weapon on him. His fists might not be enough. He sidestepped again, trying to land a punch against the other man's stomach. His opponent stepped around the attack, jagged edge of the dagger ripping a savage chunk from Søren's shirt. The tip barely grazed his flesh. Søren tried again with a combination of jabs, trying to remember how he'd seen Vanja fight. The dagger caught him in the side, just above his waist. He tried to grab the man's wrist, to disarm him. The man responded with a savage kick, winding Søren and sending him staggering back.
The next attack was too obvious. It had to be some kind of feint. So instead of meeting it, Søren ducked sideways, rolling, desperately looking for something to use as a weapon. There. A nearly broken table leg. He gripped it and tried to wrench it free. The other man was getting far too close. No time. Søren kicked at the edge of the table, and the whole thing tumbled sideways, the leg finally breaking off as it was torn from his grasp. The broken leg clattered uselessly into a corner, and Søren cursed. But the other man was too committed to the attack. The other leg of the table caught him, tripping him sideways. He fell, just as the table came to rest against a chunk of fallen masonry.
Søren couldn't look away. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. The man threw the dagger, trying to get his hands under him. Søren felt pain flaring in his leg. As he dropped to one knee, he saw the horrifying spectacle of the other man being impaled by the wreckage of the table leg he'd tried to break free. There was nothing he could do. He felt sick, and faint, collapsing to all fours. And, terrifyingly, he somehow knew exactly how Elsa must have felt in that moment—forcing herself to watch Konrad. To watch all of them.
He looked away, but there was no way to banish the image from his mind. The blood pooling beneath the man's throat. The jagged splinters sticking out through the side of his neck. There was no way anyone could have survived that. Only after that realisation, adrenaline leaving him bereft of energy, did Søren really feel the pain in his thigh. It wasn't terribly deep, but the broken dagger had still managed to dig into the muscle of his leg. And it hurt. So did his arm. His ribs. His shoulders ached from exertion—but the fight couldn't have lasted more than a minute. Surely.
He managed a half-limping, half-crawling journey back to the groundsman's hut where he'd left his pack. With a little water from his canteen he tried to clean the wounds. He even found a couple of bandages buried in the bottom of the pack. He could stop the bleeding, and cover the wounds. But he had nothing with which to dull the pain. Maybe he deserved it, a treacherous part of his mind insisted. To start atoning for what he'd done. He laughed mirthlessly. Like that was even possible any more.
He fell back against the thin mattress, thinking only of the work to be done at the fort. It kept his mind from other things.
"You're rehearsing an apology, aren't you?"
Anna's words—so accurate, too—caught Elsa completely off guard. "Umm…"
"And you are normally the very soul of eloquence too." Anna's mischievous smile was too much. Elsa balled her hands into fists, a little of her magic spiralling softly against the edge of the table.
"You're doing this on purpose." She tried to keep the rancor from her voice.
"Well, yes," Anna's smile was much brighter, full of happiness instead of guile. "You've just been so tense since dinner."
"Have I?" But Elsa already knew the answer. She just hadn't thought it would be so obvious. Then again, this was Anna.
"Yeah, you totally have been, and then I realised you might be wasting your time." Elsa blinked. That most certainly was not what she'd been expecting to hear.
She frowned, partly in annoyance, confused. "I might be what?"
"I mean sure, I was bit upset that you told everyone at the council meeting, but then I realised you kind of had to tell everyone. You knew it would hurt my feelings, so you got ready to apologise later and everything, but I've been thinking about it through dinner as well, and then wondering if maybe that was unfair to you, too." Elsa couldn't quite see where Anna was going with this line of reasoning.
"Unfair to me?" She repeated it as a question, still somewhat confused.
"Well, there's a lot of stuff you apologise for," Anna moved closer, brushing frost from the edge of the table. "And I think you're doing it because you don't understand something about me."
"There's a lot I don't understand about myself, either," Elsa looked down, trying to hide her face. "Things I might never understand."
"And I'll help you with that too, if you'll let me." Anna was suddenly very close, holding her hand. She couldn't look away. Not anymore. "I love you—" Anna held up her hand for a moment, letting their fingers twine together "—maybe not completely in the way you want, but I do. And I think you keep apologising about all these things—and explaining why you've done everything you have—because you're afraid I'll stop loving you. I'm pretty sure you've said it, too, just maybe not in those exact words. Even with thirteen years apart, I never stopped loving you. Okay, so we got into silly fights, and maybe I stopped being so persistent, but I never stopped loving you then.
"Why would I stop now?"
"Because…" Elsa swallowed, afraid to say it.
"You don't have to say it," Anna knelt down to hug her, whispering in her ear. "I already know, and I'm still here. I'll always be here, for you."
"Will you?" she couldn't keep the fear from her voice. There was hope, but also so much worry.
Anna broke the embrace, sitting heavily back in her chair, arm crossed, a disbelieving look on her face. "No. I won't let you do that." Elsa started to turn away until she felt soft fingers forcing her chin up. "Come on, Elsa, just look at me. Please."
So she did, looking at the set of her sister's shoulders, the way she seemed to simmer with indignation, and the spark of eternal mischief behind those turquoise eyes. A small nose. Lips set in a firm line that somehow couldn't hide a slight quirk of amusement. And as Anna's finger pressed to those lips, demanding silence, Elsa swore it was like her sister could read her mind.
"Okay, I didn't really mean it like that, but it's kinda… nice. Anyway—we know each other a lot better now. I know what hurts you, what you worry about, and the silly things you keep beating yourself up over. But I'm still going to be here when you need me. Even if you don't want me. Even if you think you're going to make me run away. Because I'm your sister, and I love you. Oh, and because who else am I going to disgust with salacious retellings of various bedroom antics."
"Anna!"
Anna's laugh echoed from the walls. "Ha. I saw that smile."
Elsa crossed her arms and gave her sister a stern look.
"You need some joy in your life, and if captain proper isn't going to provide it, then you're stuck with my stories."
Elsa felt her face fall. Stories and memories. Vital aspects of their new bond—maybe not so fragile anymore, but still vulnerable to this new threat. She didn't want to lay that all on her sister, not when Anna had been trying so hard to cheer her up and distract her from those selfsame worries. But reality was cruel, and she couldn't protect Anna forever. Or at all, sometimes. The independent streak was just too strong.
"Hey, what's wrong?"
"It's bad."
"What's bad, Elsa?" Anna's voice was laden with concern. "Your sadness?"
"No—not right now. Not this time," Elsa took a calming breath, then another, deeper. "It's about the troll magic."
"You're… you're afraid of it?" Trust Anna to cut right to the heart of it.
"Troll magic alters memories, we both know that," Elsa began to trace idle patterns of frost with her fingers, not trusting herself to meet her sister's gaze. "I saw it. You've felt it."
"Okay, I'm with you so far." Anna's voice was soft.
"Those memories don't come back."
"That we know of."
"It doesn't."
"Fine then. The memory can't come back. So…?"
"Anna, what is it that lets us know these things about each other?"
"Oh," Anna's blank look was terrifying. "Oh, gods…" The revelation was almost too much.
"I'm terrified of these new trolls using it as a weapon," Elsa gave her sister an imploring look. "Especially because I basically nominated you and Kristoff to be my emissaries to the trolls."
"Thanks for that," the sarcasm could have cut glass. It quickly changed to deep concern. "Because now I'm terrified of that too."
"It's worse," Elsa looked away, not wanting to see her sister's face. "I'm not sure our journals will be enough."
"Stinker!" It hurt a lot more than it should have. Also because Anna's hand had accidentally hit her crucifix on its chain.
"Ow. That hurt, Anna." Elsa rubbed her chest to underscore her words.
"It was supposed to," she heard Anna sigh heavily. "But I shouldn't have taken it out on you. Wait…"
The way her sister just trailed off there, Else knew she was putting something crazy together. "What?"
"Troll magic alters memories, right?"
"Right…"
"And when Pabbie altered my memories, what did he tell you?"
"That he would take away your memories of the magic."
"Anything else?"
"Oh…" Elsa let out a gasp. "He said the love would remain."
"Because love isn't a memory, you giant stinker—it's an emotion."
"So you think…?"
"Hope, I guess," Anna sighed heavily. "I have to be realistic about this, right?"
"I hate that I've forced that on you too."
"I had to grow up one day," Anna laughed softly, surprising Elsa with a kiss against her cheek. "Doesn't mean I always have to act it, though."
Elsa sat in the middle of the ballroom, silently fuming. Swirls of frost decorated her chair with traceless patterns. She didn't want to let her frustration show, but she also didn't want to keep everything bottled up. And there was Anna, somehow calm and serene, sitting in the snow a short way off, Rask perched on her shoulder and nibbling on an errant snowflake. Elsa huffed, gently batting aside another large snowflake with the back of her hand. She wanted to thaw the room, not freeze it again. She looked back at Anna, who seemed annoyingly unperturbed by her failure to thaw anything tonight.
But now, a small part of her was once again afraid of calling on her powers. Afraid she might be touched by that great force again, becoming a conduit to something far greater and more powerful than she could ever describe. She was afraid of what it meant—the implications behind the spark, and divine right to give life. She knew only one person that could help her navigate that strange path. Right now she tried to focus on the immediate problem, wishing that practising magic didn't have to involve Anna all the time—wishing she had the dedication and resolve to explore these ideas herself.
"You sure you're okay?" Anna's voice was light. Mostly.
Elsa just shook her head. "I don't know," she sighed heavily. "I should be able to thaw this with a thought."
"So something's obviously stopping you tonight."
Even though it had been meant as a simple observation, Elsa wondered about the truth behind her sister's words. Because maybe the something stopping her thawing the ballroom wasn't in her. Maybe it was because she refused to reach out to that conduit of power, rather than in spite of it. She was still afraid to reach past that invisible centre, to turn through a space that wasn't a space to find the source of her magic. And afraid because if it broke through and wasn't as benign as she hoped, Anna was right there.
"Anna?"
"Yes?"
"Could you please wait outside for a moment."
She could see the protest Anna could make already, and then Anna was just walking for the door, not smiling, but not angry. She looked worried. "Can I peek?"
Elsa almost laughed, smiling as she placed a hand against her head. "Like I could stop you."
"That is both unfair and entirely accurate." Anna stuck her tongue out as she closed the doors, then opened them just far enough to peek through. "Hey!" Rask had scrambled up through her hair to perch on the crown of her head, looking intently into the ballroom.
Taking a deep breath, Elsa closed her eyes and reached inwards, brushing against her magic, a question and a thought answered with a wordless spark and a feeling of joy. A tear fell when she felt papa brush her hair, and heard the melody of her mother's lullaby. She felt the grief of her parent's death, and the shock at being forced so far away. She could feel the joy and fulfilment of creating an entire palace of ice, enjoying the sense of purpose and direction, the power of making thoughts reality. She felt a spark of anger at being used, freezing the waters around her. A fury and dark purpose she could not oppose as a man was cursed to freeze. The deepest sorrow and tentative brush of contact as she tried to recover from watching an execution—and the sudden release of everything that had never been intended.
Then, at last, feeling the reach of another. A truth beyond truth, and power beyond power. A thing that simply was. A source. She could feel how she had helped to shape it, to channel it, and make it safe to flow through her. Hot tears of shame fell against her lap.
Because not once in those thirteen years had she thought to simply reach back as she felt the magic struggling forward. To wordlessly ask it why. She couldn't see the frost covering her tears as they fell, or the snowflakes swirling around her. But she could feel a gentle hand against her shoulder—a hand that could not belong to anyone who still lived. But the memory was still so strong. She felt an ephemeral embrace—could almost smell a hint of her mother's perfume. And in her mind she could her a melody, something soft and insistent, like nothing she had heard before. With a start she realised that her magic had its own needs, but it could never ask before.
She smiled through the tears. "I'll be your voice then."
The melody seemed to fill the air around her, nothing more than simple strings—a simplicity that somehow gave it weight beyond what it should have had. The words were already in her mind, and as she sang she wasn't sure if it was her singing to the spirit, or the spirit singing to her…
This is me for forever
One of the last ones
The one without a name
Without your heart as compass
As she sang, Elsa could feel the power building within her. She could see the snow around her spiralling up and disappearing in a shower of scintillating light. She could also see Anna, still watching through the gap in the doors, already enraptured by the performance.
This is me for forever
One without a name
These lines the last endeavour
To find the missing lifeline
The words had meaning, truth deeper than she could know. She felt it within her soul. The last of the seidr, and she needed to find… something. Something for her magic and the spirit behind it. Something to forge the magic and herself into one. Something like the great conduit, or a gift from the Divine.
Oh how I wish
For soothing rain
All I wish is to dream again
My loving heart
Lost in the dark
For hope I'd give my everything
But she had hope. She had Anna. And those words couldn't be Thyrí's. Still she sang, the song changing around her as the ballroom began to thaw. This wasn't her, this was the true spirit of what she could call upon.
My flower, withered between
The pages two and three
The once and forever bloom gone with my sins
That made no sense, until she remembered a time so long ago. She'd been five, and insisting she was great at pressing flowers. The first time she'd felt truly betrayed by her magic. Because when she'd picked it up to show her mother, it had frozen and shattered. Only now could she feel the sorrow and regret the spirit felt for that momentary slip.
Walk the dark path
Sleep with angels
Call the past for help
Touch me with your love
And reveal to me my true name
Another dream came flashing back to her. Of stars falling into the sky, and being reborn into something new. She had seen the darkness inside, and had surrounded herself with guardians to pull her back. She had called for help without knowing; drawn back to the bautasten by Thyrí. Afterwards, she had reached inward, to find that secret connection. She could feel the magic growing, reaching somehow up, trying to meet her. To gain release through her.
The magic coursed through her, filling the ballroom with thawing, swirling snow. She could see the force of it driving Anna's dress and braids to the side as she tried to hold the doors closed. Elsa screamed in fear, reaching out—to stop the magic, to catch Anna; she couldn't say. It was as if time itself had stopped. Snow flurries were frozen in midair, streamers of crystal flakes behind them. Anna's expression was frozen—not in fear, but awe. Not a single sound could be heard. The world began to spin, and a flurry of snow exploded as she fainted into its embrace.
When she managed to open her eyes, she could feel Anna gently cradling her head, resting it against her lap. "Don't scare me like that!"
The only thought Elsa had was wondering why the ballroom was still spinning if her snowstorm wasn't.
As she lay there in a daze the words came to her. To finish the song. She sang the last verse in a whisper.
Oh how I wish
For soothing rain
All I wish is to dream again
Once and for all
And all for once
Nemo my name forevermore
Name forevermore
"Elsa?"
She smiled, moving to sit in the snow with her sister's help.
"Nemo?" Anna's voice was mixed parts confusion and concern. It almost sounded as if Anna was using it as a name.
"No… what?" Elsa gave her sister a confused look.
"I had to learn latin as well. It means no-one, doesn't it?"
Elsa nodded slowly. "I think so."
"Then whose name is Nemo?"
"I think… my magic," Elsa sighed, trying to find the right words. "It's not alive, but it's not just some force either. It has a spirit, it has desires, and needs too, I think. I could feel so much…"
"It supports you, too," Anna beamed widely. "I saw what happened, when you reached out to try and protect me."
"How I stopped the magic?"
"You're not in your chair."
"Not right now, no." She wasn't sure what Anna was trying to say.
Anna was breathless. "Elsa, I saw you stand."
