AN: Hi. That's all I have. Enjoy!

*hands out more tissues*


Elsa sat on the dark pebbled beach with her arms wrapped around her bent knees. She wore comfortable light blue leggings beneath a beautiful silken dress. The hem stopped just below her knees and a slit ran up to her hip, allowing for a wide range of motion. Instead of her usual braid, her long hair flowed freely around her shoulders.

She watched the waves as they rolled and fell in a lazy pattern, feeling . . . calm. Content. Elsa could almost make out a faint rumble in the distance, a storm far out on the horizon. It seemed to be calling for her attention, but each time she reached toward the horizon her skin would flush and prickle, her chest would tighten until it was hard to breathe, and ghosts of pain would light up throughout her body. Something whispered to her and told her not to answer, told her that way offered only pain and struggle.

So, she didn't answer. Elsa shied away from the storm, dug her toes into the dark pebbles of the beach and watched the rolling ocean tides, feeling at peace with herself. She knew this place well, but not why she was here, nor what laid beyond this spot. She was used to having all the answers, because something had always told her it was her job, her responsibility, to have them, but for once, she found that she didn't mind not knowing. She didn't mind letting someone else worry. Her battles were done.

She sat there a long time, watching the waves steadily move. She drew her legs closer and folded her arms over her knees, rested her chin on top. She closed her eyes, and had just started to drift off when a fluttering light crossed her vision.

Elsa lifted her head and straightened, squinting at the light. It was a butterfly, glowing a pale yellow. It fluttered around her before landing on her arm. She tilted her chin, curious how creature had invaded her personal sanctuary. She realized the butterfly wasn't just glowing yellow but was made of pure light, and like a tiny sun, it warmed her. Another light fluttered past, this one of deep purple, and was soon joined by more, each a different color. The little yellow one took off from her arm to join its companions.

She watched, memorized, as the lights gathered in a tight formation, blending into a gorgeous prism of color. The light grew and stretched and began to take shape. A figure emerged from the light, a woman who stood before Elsa. The woman was oddly dressed, wearing thick pants and a shirt that looked to be patched together from some type of animal skin. Elsa didn't recognize the woman, knew only that, like the butterfly, she didn't belong here.

"Hello, little one," the woman said. Her voice was soft and smooth, like the hushed promises of a mother's lullaby.

"Who are you?" she asked.

The stranger dipped her chin and smiled softly, like a mother addressing a small child. "We are the Landvættir."

Landvættir. The name struck a chord, tugged at something in Elsa's gauzy memory. She scrunched up her face as she thought about it, until she remembered. "Land wrights," she said softly. "You're a nature spirit."

The Landvættir nodded. "And you saved us."

"I did?"

She nodded once more. "You freed us from the Vindarr."

Vindarr? Elsa didn't remember who or what they were, and when she tried, a ghost of pain flared throughout her body. Immediately, she let go of the slip of memory, not wanting to endure whatever came with remembering.

"The Sirma and the Landvættir have shared a bond for many centuries," the spirit continued. "Their leader had lost his way, and their eldest son followed his misguided steps, looking to take what was not his to have. Their rival the Vindarr had spent almost as long forcing the spirits into cages, stealing our magic. Thanks to you, the Sirma will be able to find their way again, and the Vindarr are no longer a threat."

Elsa wrinkled her nose. There had to be some mistake; she couldn't have done all that. She wasn't anyone important, she was just . . . Elsa realized she couldn't actually remember, but also that she also didn't care. Not with anything more than a passing interest. A feeling of contentment had fallen over her. She was at peace here, willing to let the problems of the world slide through her fingers like melting ice.

"Why are you here?" she asked. The one thing she did care about, because she had realized that while the spirit had been taking, the storm in the distance was growing stronger, the rumble nearer. Elsa felt a prickle of heat at the back of her neck, faint twinges of pain from various points of her body.

"Because of what you have done for us and our people, we have come to offer you a choice."

A choice? Something about the spirit's words caused a bubble of laughter to form in Elsa's chest. It was a lie, what they were offering. She made choices, but never for herself. Everything had always been decided for her, from how she lived to how she spoke to how she spent her time each day. She wasn't even able to choose which fork she ate dinner with. It was all set out for her, predetermined by those who came before her. Her life, her fate, her destiny, all of it a prison with gold bars and soft beds, surrounded by people watching, waiting for her to make some sort of misstep.

"Little one." The spirit crossed the short distance between them, kneeling in front of her. "At this moment, you lay on the precipice between life and death."

Elsa was fairly certain that was something she should be worried about, but really, she just wanted the spirit to leave before those feelings grew. She didn't want to worry, or care; she just wanted to stay in this peaceful feeling, this quiet contentment.

"I don't understand."

"You will." Before Elsa had a chance to move away the Landvættir pressed her hand against the top of her head.

The storm grew, quickly spreading across the horizon as the memories and pain crashed into her all at once, in the cruelest way. Elsa gasped, her throat cutting off a cry of pain as her sides flared with different brands of agony. She could feel warm blood seeping through her dress. Her wrist ached, and she couldn't move her right hand at all, where she remember now the bone was broken just past her wrist.

She gritted her teeth as tears filled her eyes, remembering the bodies of soldiers falling against her sheet of ice, the way the ice pierced Tyr's heart, the suffocating heat of the rock tomb. She wanted to close her eyes against the pain but each time she tried, images invaded her mind: a brutal battle, a vicious fight.

Then she remembered the kind smile and hopeful gaze of her sister, and the agony bloomed beyond description.

The Landvættir withdrew her hand and just as quickly as it had come, the pain faded away into a distant echo, waiting on the edges, leaving Elsa gasping for breath. She remembered everything. She tightened her arms around her legs, drawing herself into a tight ball and shook her head. She didn't want to remember, but like everything else, the choice had been taken from her. She just wanted to rest; she didn't want to fight anymore.

"Why?" she asked the spirit her voice thick and hoarse as she tried to talk around the weight of everything.

"Because, you must understand what you will be enduring if you go back, and what you'll be leaving behind if you stay."

Tears cut paths down her cheeks as she struggled through what the spirit was telling her. She didn't know how to make a choice like this, she didn't know if she could. She sniffled, trying to sort through the cacophony of tangled thoughts. She latched onto the first clear thread and asked, "What will happen if I stay?"

"You will be at peace, reunited with your parents and those that have come before you."

"And Anna?"

The Landvættir smiled softly. "She will be heartbroken, but in time and with help of those around her, she will heal and one day become Queen."

That didn't sound too bad. Elsa knew her sister had it in her to be a great Queen. But it would be selfish of her to leave her sister behind, to endure the loss of her last bit of family and drop the weight of a kingdom on her shoulders. Then there was Olaf and Marshmallow, and Rune. Their lives were tied to hers. When her magic faded, they would as well. And then her sister would be mourning the loss of more than one life.

"And if I go back?" she asked, curling in further on herself, remembering the pain from just moments ago. She couldn't imagine anyone surviving all of that.

The spirit tilted its head, looking sad. "We will not lie to you, child. Your body and mind have been through much, more than you are aware, and it is possible that the strength we give you may not be enough to endure it."

"So, I could still . . ." she couldn't even finish the thought.

"Yes."

Elsa felt her chest tighten painfully, understanding that she could go back, endure all that agony, and still leave her sister behind. But at least she would be able to say goodbye.

"You should know," the Landvættir spoke, breaking through her churning thoughts. "If you choose to return and survive this ordeal, there will be more trials ahead of you, many of which will be far more difficult than what you have already endured."

She had known that as a Queen, her life would be full of obstacles, tough situations, and choices, but she had a terrible sinking feeling the spirit wasn't talking about the normal issues that came with ruling a kingdom. She looked up; her eyes filled with the question she didn't want to ask.

She didn't need to. The Landvættir reached out and wrapped her glowing fingers around Elsa's, and she felt a comforting warmth seep into them. "Little one, you are very special." The Landvættir squeezed her hand, but her face fell, and Elsa was sure she saw tears in the spirit's eyes. "You have a great destiny before you, but there are also those who would attempt to use you for their own ends."

"Like Tyr and Markkus?"

"I am afraid so."

"And my sister? My friends, my people?"

"Their lives are inescapably tied to yours."

There it was. Elsa dropped her gaze to the pebbled beach. It always came back to her magic, a power she never wanted, couldn't control, and only ever brought pain. Whatever fate had in store for her, she would be dragging others through it with her. If they were hurt, or worse, it would ultimately be her fault. She squeezed her eyes shut, her breath hitching. "If I . . . if I don't go back, those people who want my magic . . ."

The waves rolled and crashed against the beach as the spirit remained quiet for a long moment, as if she didn't want to give her answer. When she spoke, her voice was full of regret. "They would have no reason to target Arendelle or her people. The monarchy would be nothing more than a sleepy trading kingdom tucked away to the north."

Elsa shook her head. She had already known the truth, but to hear it spoken out loud by another, that she was the cause of others' pain and grief. . . She looked up at the spirit, tears blurring her vision. "Can you take my magic?"

"I'm sorry, little one, but I cannot."

No matter what she did, she would be the cause of people's pain, of her sister's pain. But if she moved on, if she let go, then at least they would have a chance to heal. Her sister would still have a chance at happiness.

Elsa couldn't stop the sob that tore through her chest. This choice, it wasn't a gift. It was pain and hope, happiness and stress, family and war, responsibility and duty. It was everything good and everything bad rolled into one single package, one single moment. It was life and it was too much.

She couldn't breathe. She was drowning. She wanted the peace and contentment back, the blissful ignorance.

"What is your choice, little one?" The Landvættir asked patiently.

Elsa looked up at the spirit.

Tell her I wasn't scared.