T/W: Violence
Sixteen Hours Since Kidnapping
Anna, as a child, used to get into all sorts of mischief. One of these was sneaking out after it was her bedtime. She would almost always get caught, by the maids, by her father, by Gerda, but it never deterred her from swiftly sliding out of the covers again the next night.
Why was she so adamant about not being in bed when she was supposed to be? Well, because Elsa's bedtime was two hours later than her own. So she would sneak out to the library, in hopes of catching a glimpse of her sister retiring from a night of studying, just so she could spend a few extra minutes with Elsa.
There was once, when she was eight, she had succeeded, and made it to the library undetected just as Elsa was departing.
The ten-year-old blonde's eyes widened as she watched her rambunctious sister bounce toward her. "Anna! What are you doing out of bed?"
Elsa had not been as good as hiding her emotions then, and Anna could see real fear in her older sister's eyes. She didn't let that affect her, though; she was much too excited at seeing Elsa again. "To see you! You're always busy studying; you never have time to play! Let's sneak into the kitchen and steal some chocolate! C'mon, it'll be fun!"
Elsa had never been very good at rejecting Anna's crazy ideas when they were together, despite being the more logical and reserved one. Or maybe she cherished the moments she was able to share with Anna just as much as Anna enjoyed the time spent with her. She allowed the frenzied redhead to grab her hand and pull her to the dark kitchen, where they rummaged through the food stores of chocolate like hungry bears ravaging through berry bushes.
Of course, they were caught. And of course their parents had come to investigate the ruckus. Elsa, infuriatingly noble, even as a child, had taken responsibility, even after Anna insisted that the idea was hers, not Elsa's. Guilt weighed heavily on her heart as she watched Elsa's platinum braid disappear between the doors of the kitchen.
She'd successfully made it to the library several times in the nights after, but she never managed to meet Elsa again.
At least now she knew why. Or maybe she'd always known, but was just too selfish to believe it.
Elsa had been protecting her. Elsa had always been protecting her.
Elsa always bore all the blame and fault.
That thought was the sole reason as to why she could withstand the pain that was rippling in her arms and legs.
With a triumphant snap, Anna wriggled out of the tattered ropes around her wrist. Groaning slightly at the torrid rawness of the burns, she rubbed them gently with her hands before taking the nail and proceeding with the next part of her plan; the bricks of the wall seemed loose, and she hoped there was only one layer of them. She was sure she could escape if she could manage to pull out several of them.
A chill wind blew through the narrow gap under the door, causing a shudder to rush through her and she huddled against the bales of hay. She wasn't sure what time it was, but the dimming of the light through the gap of the door told her that evening was approaching. She tore at the tar and glue between the bricks, pleased that it was so brittle and came off in chunks.
Footsteps rattled on the concrete, and she hurriedly wrapped the loose rope back around her wrists. The door swung open, and another tray was brought in to replace the previous one. This time, it was Hans, and he seemed furious.
"You have got to be fucking kidding me!" He was yelling. He abruptly struck her across the cheek. "That's what I wanted to do to Elsa, but now I can't, because she went and got herself fucking killed in an accident! Why is that damned bitch always a step ahead of me?"
She gasped at his words, almost forgetting that her hands were still supposed to be restrained. She tasted blood in her mouth. She screamed back at him, "What do you mean, she got herself killed? She's not—Elsa's not—"
"—DEAD!" He sneered back at her. "Some freak car accident." He clucked his tongue in annoyance. "Well, this means you're the heir now, Ms. Anna. Now there's no way your mother will ignore my demands. Although, there will have to be a change of plans. Maybe I'll have President Arendelle bring me the signed contract herself, and grovel at my feet for forgiveness. That does have a nice ring to it," he laughed maniacally. "Revenge for my brother."
Anna barely heard the rest of his speech after he had uttered the word 'dead'. Her world became surreal, like it was all a dream, like none of this was happening. This was a nightmare. It had to be.
Her breathing quickened, and she was silently pleading with some higher power to wake her up now, to feel Elsa's hands wiping away the hot tears that were spilling from her eyes, to hear Elsa's voice murmuring in her ear, to see Elsa in front of her, around her, holding her, keeping her safe.
Like she always did.
No.
No. The word was anguished in her mind, denial trying to shut out all her other emotions, and she was falling, spinning, crying, yelling, all at once. She was vaguely aware of Hans trying to scream over her cries of denial, and a sharp pain shot through her skull as he grabbed a handful of her hair.
"Listen here, bitch," he growled, face inches from hers, "your sister has screwed things up for me enough. So shut your mouth before I cut your tongue off."
She spat in his face, and he roared angrily, throwing her to the ground. She ripped her arms free and tried to strike him, but he reacted too quickly and stepped on her right hand, and she heard an ugly crunch, followed by excruciating pain shooting up her arm.
"I will kill you, bitch," Hans snarled, ready to step on her other hand.
"Hans, stop it; we still need her," Mark called from outside. Hans released her and left, locking the door behind him. She clawed recklessly after him, raking her nails against the door as it closed.
No, no, no.
Elsa.
Elsa couldn't be. She couldn't be.
Anna pounded the ground with her injured hand, tears springing to her eyes from the pain. Not the pain in her hand.
She realized she would never be able to apologize. She would never have a chance to remedy all her hurtful accusations, her harsh words, her wrongful assumptions. She couldn't take it back. She couldn't take any of it back. A whimper found its way out of her choked throat.
She wouldn't be able to thank Elsa for everything that she had sacrificed. Why had Elsa always been so selfless? Why was Elsa so kind to her?
She wouldn't be able to say sorry.
She couldn't accept it. Elsa couldn't be.
She was sobbing, head against the unfeeling brick wall, body crumpled on the ground, her will to fight extinguished completely by the sensation of her chest caving in on itself.
"I love you, Elsa," she cried softly.
And I'm so, so sorry.
Sixteen Hours Since Kidnapping
Alistair helped Elsa out of the flaming car, and she turned to throw her driver's license onto the seat. They hurriedly ducked into the vehicle that pulled up beside them.
Elsa looked up at the low cliff that they had driven off of, and fervently hoped the cover of snowy trees would hide them from the view of the other cars that had stopped on the highway to inspect the accident.
She hissed and rubbed at a bloody gash on her forehead; despite all the precautions they had taken, it was still apparently impossible to escape such a dangerous act unscathed. Alistair had prepared the car to cushion the impact, and it had made it significantly less jarring, but the side window had shattered on her.
It didn't matter, though. All Elsa could think of was getting to Anna.
"Did you run the light?" Ariel asked them as they got in her car.
"Yes," Alistair replied, rubbing his neck, "Hopefully they got a good shot of our faces. If not, the photo IDs we left on the seats should be enough to warrant missing or presumed dead status."
Elsa turned to cast a goodbye glance at her Mercedes-Benz, now a conflagrated metal pretzel against the large tree, the heat of the lapping flames making the silver appear almost watery, as if the car were crying for her.
"How long until we can get to Whistler?" she asked.
"An hour and a half," Ariel replied in the front seat. "In the meantime, clean yourself up."
Whistler Village was a small, touristy ski town, nestled at the foot of two BC Coastal mountains. It was also covered in a layer of snow. Behind it, Elsa could see Blackcomb Mountain, and as they approached the town police station, her heart hammered against her chest.
I am going to get you out, Anna.
She barely noticed the snowflakes that were beginning to descend, and how strange it was for there to be snow in June. She didn't question it, though; they were on a mountain after all, and there were more pressing matters to attend to.
As Alistair exited the car and headed for the police station, Ariel handed her a thick, large, white windbreaker, "Put this on; it's cold outside. And pull your hood up! You don't want anyone recognizing you! Your face has gotta be all over the evening news by now." She quickly obeyed, and her friend shoved a pair of boots in her face. "I didn't expect it to snow, but Alistair said there's always snow on the mountain anyway, so change into these, too."
Elsa was lacing up her hiking boots when Alistair re-entered the car.
"Okay, my old buddy inside told me that the van pulled in this morning. He didn't find anything suspicious about it, but he did say it was headed somewhere odd," Alistair caught Ariel's questioning glance, and muttered, "He did ask why I was still alive, but he knows me well know enough to understand when I'm not willing to talk. He won't give us away." He produced a large envelope from inside his jacket and pulled out a handful of papers.
They were pictures, Elsa realized. "They went deep into the Coastal mountains," he continued. "Now, I checked, and the only place that has shelter that deep into the mountains is an abandoned ski lodge, and if they are holding Ms. Anna, they wouldn't drive that way without at least stopping there."
He unfolded a map of Blackcomb, and tapped the spot with his index finger. "The snow gets deeper, though, and there shouldn't be any other lodging for miles around. Are you sure you want to do this? We can't get too close with the car, so we would have to hike about an hour up the mountain in the snow, and a storm is coming."
Elsa fixed him with a resolute stare, and he understood. "Alright. Let me drive," he said as he got out of the car and switched with Ariel.
Somehow, Elsa noted, Ariel had managed to lose her bodyguards, as the plan had required. She couldn't risk anyone else seeing her and disproving her supposed death. Elsa realized just how much she owed her friend; Ariel has been with her through all of this, and she reached out a hand. "Thank you, Ariel."
The girl rolled her eyes in the front passenger seat, "Please, Elsa. What are friends for? This isn't the first time I've escaped my bodyguards," and she winked. "So the location that you were supposed to meet Hans' guy; that's here?"
"Yeah, in the village. I expect they planned to verify the validity of the contract and then release Anna from wherever they're keeping her."
"Give me the location; I'll have my guys stake it out when I explain this to my dad."
Elsa scribbled the address on a scrap piece of paper and handed it to Ariel.
When they arrived at the edge of the woods leading further into the mountains, Elsa stepped out of the car, and turned to give Ariel a hug. She was surprised at how tightly her friend held her. "You've gotta come back safe, okay? Both of you. Remember the signal. I really wish I could come with you—"
"Your leg," Elsa smiled, feeling extraordinarily calm despite the dangerous task she knew she was about to undertake. All she could think about was Anna. All that mattered was Anna. "Thank you, Ariel. For everything. Remember to call your father."
"Promise me one thing."
Elsa pulled back, surprised when her eyes met Ariel's hard, unforgiving gaze. "What?"
"Never, ever, let her go again, you stupid idiot."
Nineteen Hours Since Kidnapping
Anna was still huddled against the brick wall when a gust of chilling wind swept through the dingy shed from the narrow gap under the door. This time, though, she barely noticed the cold. She didn't want to feel. She didn't want to feel her frigid fingers, her burning ankles and wrists, her stinging eyes, and the merciless pounding in her chest that reminded her she was still alive. She was rigid, lifeless, eyes red-rimmed and swollen, face streaked with tear marks. Her gaze was fixed on the ground, but she saw nothing.
She didn't want to live, if Elsa wasn't alive.
Why was the wind still making that annoying howling sound?
Why did that ant still have the gall to crawl across the concrete and disappear through the crack in the wall?
Every memory she had with Elsa was parading across her mind's eye, as if her brain was mocking her for being so stupid. So blind to the truth. So oblivious to what her sister had been sacrificing for her.
She would never get to apologize to Elsa.
What was the point of staying alive? There was no point if she didn't have Elsa.
Blood was pulsing in her ears, painfully reminding her that she was still alive, each drum more despairing than the last.
She was alive.
How could she deserve to be alive?
Anger surged through her, hot and ravenous. With her uninjured hand, she untied the bindings on her leg and stood up, chest heaving from the exertion. She kicked the door, ignoring the rebound in her leg. "LET ME OUT, YOU BASTARDS!"
She kicked it furiously again, this time splintering the wood. "YOU BASTARDS!" she screamed. "COWARDS!"
The door swung open, letting in another gust of cold wind. She was expected Hans, here to finish the job. Instead, it was Mark. She raised her leg and kicked him square in the stomach.
He yelped in surprise and caught himself on the doorpost. He raised a hand in surrender when he saw that she was about to kick him again. "Please," he whispered, "stop."
She didn't listen, and punched him in the jaw, welcoming the dull ache it brought to her knuckles. She was about to strike him again when he yelled, "—Elsa might be alive!"
She froze for a second. "Stop toying with me!" she cried, throat dry and raw from her weeping and screaming. "You can't even let me grieve in peace? Stop it," she sobbed. "Stop."
"Why would I lie to you? Look, I said she might be alive," he groaned, clutching his abdomen. "The police haven't found a body—" he broke off when she winced, "—haven't found definitive proof."
"Why—why are you telling me this?"
"Okay, I didn't mean for things to get this out of hand. I mean, Hans seemed like a good guy when I first met him, but now…" he looked over his shoulder nervously and closed the door. "He seems a little crazy, now, you know?" He laughed shakily. "And I don't know if he caused this accident for your sister, or something, but I can't help feeling like we might be kind of responsible for why she's… missing."
Anna looked at him, and noticed that his hands were trembling. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead in the dim light from the lamp outside.
"I thought this was just going to be a quick and easy job, I mean, Pres—your mother signs, Elsa brings us the contract, and it's all over, everyone goes home safe and happy, no one gets hurt, but this, this has really, I mean, it's gone too far," his voice cracked, and Anna could hear the fear in it, "I didn't want anyone to get hurt. I just wanted to stop your mother." He dropped his head into his hands. "I wish I could've done things differently."
"Yeah, me too."
Mark looked over his shoulder again, and swallowed audibly. "I've gotta go. Please, just stay put, okay? I don't want anyone else to get hurt." He tossed a blanket at her and left, door slamming shut behind him.
The wind howled louder outside, as if it were screaming at her.
It blew against the shed, rustling the flimsy straw roof.
It roared against the door, like a thief trying to break in.
It spoke to her.
I'm going to get you out, Anna, I promise.
Her heart skipped a beat, and suddenly, her head cleared.
Elsa never broke promises.
Hope sparked in her heart. Elsa was alive.
Elsa was alive. She had to be alive. Elsa had promised to save her.
And Elsa never broke her promises. Ever.
Elsa was always there for her.
Twenty Hours Since Kidnapping
Elsa checked her watch, barely visible between the whirling blizzard and lack of light from the dense cover of foliage created by the trees. It was almost time for the exchange. She had no idea if her status of missing or presumed dead would defer Hans from harming Anna, but she hoped it would delay it, and at least give her more time to find Anna.
Her eyes watered as the stormy wind buffeted her, cheeks stinging, ears numb. She raised a hand in front of her head to try to block the bombardment of snow and hail. Every painful breath was difficult, so cold, as if her lungs were being frozen by the air. She trudged through the deep snow, each step taking considerable effort.
The hike up the mountain had taken longer than they expected, the storm slowing them down, and the snow being deeper than they had anticipated. She could make out Alistair's form in her peripheral vision, holding a flashlight.
She tasted iron at the back of her throat as her breath came in gasps, and she was becoming increasingly frustrated with her body; it was so weak, out of shape. Soft. Pampered. She was no good to Anna like this. Every molecule in her body was protesting movement now, every exhausted muscle fighting to work.
The wind was howling in her ear, stabbing at the wound on her head, screaming blame at her, but she endured it. It was what she deserved. This was her fault. She had to get to Anna. It drove her forward. Her index finger traced the shape of Anna's Olaf charm, pressed tightly against her palm.
Alistair led her into a shallow cave; it was wet and icicles dangled from the stalactites protruding from the roof, but it provided temporary shelter from the raging tempest outside.
"We're getting close," he declared as he lowered the backpack from his shoulders and settled on the stony floor. "I suggest we rest for a few before travelling the rest of the distance."
"It's almost time, Alistair," she reminded him fiercely. "We have to keep going, now."
"If I may, Ms. Elsa."
She peered at him, catching her breath. "What?"
"Something I've learned from serving yourself and your father for so many years—"
"Don't talk to me about my father," she snapped, the words sharper than she'd intended. Then she repented and sighed, "I'm sorry. I'm just—"
"I understand," he said evenly, and when she stared into his amber irises, she saw that he did. "Both of you, you always blame yourselves for matters that are out of your hands." When she was silent, he continued, keeping a cautious tone, "Ms. Anna's kidnapping is not your fault, Ms. Elsa."
"Yes, it is! If I had done things differently—"
"If you keep dwelling on the past, thinking about what you could have or should have done differently, you're going to miss the present, Ms. Elsa."
She was tired to argue with him. "What do you mean?"
"It's a never-ending cycle, if you keep thinking about everything you could have done differently, because you don't know if your actions, if performed differently, would have changed the outcome. And if they did, you don't know if the outcome is better or worse. You're distracted by your past. It's okay to regret, Ms. Elsa. Just don't let it swallow you, or you'll drown in it."
"It was my mistake, Alistair."
"If it was yours, then it was mine as well. And everyone else at the celebration who could have followed Ms. Anna out of that room and prevented her capture."
"Anna is my responsibility—"
"That does not automatically attribute her disappearance as your fault, Ms. Elsa. Your father tried to condition you to be perfect, as his father did him, but neither of them understood that the pursuit of perfection is an exhausting, infinite one. We are human, Ms. Elsa. We are not perfect, nor will we ever be."
She shook her head, unable to acknowledge his words. Her entire life she had been taught that being perfect was the only option, that the alternative would inflict damage upon herself and others; this was proven time and time again throughout her entire life with Anna, her time with Ariel, and even now. Mistakes were costly; she could not afford to make them. Perfection was mandatory. She was worthless without it. Imperfection was a luxury she could not afford.
"Perfection is a fleeting thing, Ms. Elsa," he said, as if reading her thoughts. "It is unattainable. It's unrealistic to work yourself into the ground in hopes of achieving it. You'll end up punishing yourself and others, just like your father."
Mention of her father triggered a surge of anger, frustration, shame, and last of all, fear, as it always has, and she flinched instinctively. She hoped Alistair wouldn't notice, but nothing escaped his watchful gaze.
"Your father made mistakes, too, Ms. Elsa. And he couldn't let them go."
She glanced at her watched. "We should depart," she deflected.
"Ms. Elsa, you need to stop punishing yourself for Ms. Anna's situation."
"Say what you want, Alistair, but it's not going to change the fact that I am liable," she responded flatly.
He sighed.
Twenty-One Hours Since Kidnapping
The wooden door opened again, and Anna was hoisted up by her arms. She didn't recognize either of the men who escorted her, but she was too cold, too tired to fight back.
She gasped as frigid air took hold of her lungs as she was pulled outside. It was freezing. So cold. Anna had never been this cold before. The snow and rain, it filled her lungs, suffocating her, biting at her exposed shoulders, face, and ears, stinging through the thin fabric of her dress. Her entire body was shaking with the cold. It was hard to control her muscles, they were shivering, trembling, refusing to move. She was practically being dragged into the ski lodge.
She spotted a faint light somewhere in the distance, amidst the snow and sleet, and somehow, she knew. "Elsa," she whispered.
Twenty-One Hours Since Kidnapping
They were close now. Elsa could tell. And the prospect of seeing Anna again made everything worth it. The painful throbbing radiating from her bleeding forehead, the wind cutting against her face, the loss of sensation in her ears, it was all worth it.
Alistair motioned for her to still, and he called over the wailing of the wind, "There are more guards than I expected, Ms. Elsa."
Braving the snow between them, she moved closer, "What do we do?"
"First, we need to find where Ms. Anna is being held," he said, holding binoculars to his eyes. "I don't expect them to have guns, but in case they do… Ms. Elsa, you should stay here."
"No. No way. I am coming with you," Elsa growled.
He sighed, resigning himself to their earlier conversation, and nodded. "Follow me."
She gave a curt nod in return, and crouched to the ground, eyes straining against the dense sheet of whirling snowflakes to inspect the distant ski lodge and the dark brick shed beside it.
Then she heard it.
Elsa.
At first she thought it was the wind. And then she thought it was her mind finally slipping into insanity, that it was wishful thinking.
But the way her breathing stopped and her heart broke into an agonizing sprint told her that it couldn't be anyone but Anna.
She would recognize that voice anywhere.
Anna.
It hadn't come from the lodge, not exactly. No, it came somewhere further from the lodge… near the brick shed.
"Did you hear that?" she hissed to Alistair.
He stared back at her, confused. "Hear what?"
Was it just the wind? It couldn't be.
"I heard Anna," she told him. "She's here—there," she pointed in the direction of the brick shed.
Alistair didn't question her; instead, he nodded, and changed their trajectory to the position Elsa had defined.
When they got closer, the wind carried the sound of voices. Alistair beckoned for her to hide, and she ducked behind the nearest bush in response. Two men dressed in black coats holding radios marched by them. Elsa was close enough to hear their conversation.
"…Hey, what do you think they're gonna do now that the heir is dead?"
"Ah, knowin' Hans, he's probably gonna kill the other one too, for his brother, y'know? To get back at the Pres."
"Yeah, probably. Let's go grab a couple of smokes…"
That was all Elsa could hear before they were out of earshot. She turned to Alistair, panic flaring in her chest, "They're going to kill her! They're going to kill her; we have to get in there now."
"There are too many of them, Ms. Elsa," he whispered back, "We need a plan. We can't just charge in there."
"We don't have time to think up another plan, Alistair. He might already know that my mother declined. He's going to hurt her. He's going to kill her," Elsa gasped. Then her mind came into focus, and she met his eyes with a piercing clarity. "We're out of time, Alistair. We're going with my plan."
She turned to stand, when a hand grabbed her shoulder. "Please, don't die, Ms. Elsa."
The ski lodge had definitely seen better days; it hadn't been used for many years, and the constant rain and snow on the mountain certainly didn't do anything to improve its conditions. For the most part, though, it was just dusty. Spider-webs coated the lofty rafters, and the square windows were coated with a sheet of permanent frost, rattling as wind and snow buffeted the building.
A fire was lapping voraciously at the dusty red bricks of the fireplace, its flames casting long shadows of the couches and tables onto the floorboards. Various candles were lit up all over the foyer, littered along the receptionist's desk, their glow tinting the sanguine wood with a nauseous yellow.
There was a video camera set up in the middle of the lodge's waiting area, where the fire was. Anna was tied to a chair in front of the camera, and Hans kneeled in front of her so that they were face to face. "Are you enjoying life as an only child?" he taunted, "It's a shame I couldn't make Elsa suffer before she died."
She thrashed murderously in the chair, neglecting the cold stiffness in her joints, hitting him with her forehead. The result was a rush of disorientation and a dull ache radiating from the point of impact, but she was satisfied, almost smug, to see him staggering backwards.
He reared back and retaliated with a slap across the face, the ring on his finger drawing a deep cut on one cheek.
She glared at him, "Elsa slaps harder than you do, Hans." At least, Elsa's had hurt more.
He pulled out a knife then, and pressed it to her throat, "I will kill you now, bitch."
Mark grabbed his wrist. "The video," he said.
Hans straightened and nodded, and Mark took his place behind the camera.
Anna's head was tilted back by a hand twisted painfully in her hair, and cold steel pressed against her neck.
"I want you to beg for mommy to save you, Anna," Hans snarled in her ear. "Ask her to save you. Beg to go home." When she was silent, he pressed the steel a little harder on her neck. "Come on, now."
A guard entered the room, and Hans released his grip on her hair. "Someone's here to see you," the guard declared, smirking.
Anna craned her neck toward the door, and all her air escaped her. Her chest closed down in a caustic vice, and a knife worked its way down her throat.
No.
No, no, no.
"Why?" she cried, "Why did you come?"
"I promised," Elsa replied, a bittersweet smile gracing her angelic features.
Anna wanted to scream.
"Well, well, well, her majesty, the Ice Queen, back from the dead?" Hans laughed. "Delivering yourself to me on a silver platter? Just in time to watch me carve up your sister's face."
Anna watched Elsa's jaw clench. Despite that, the blonde replied evenly, "Don't you want revenge for poor Henry, who just died in the hospital? You could kill me, Hans, and get away with it, because I'm already supposed to be dead."
Hans whirled on her, eyes wild with hatred and rage. "Get out," he roared at Mark and all the guards in the room.
Anna could tell it was a lie. She could see it in the apologetic cobalt that pooled in Elsa's beautiful eyes. She could hear it in undertone of regret in Elsa's weary voice. And even if she hadn't seen it, hadn't heard it, she knew, she knew that Elsa would never. She would never have done that to Henry Falk. Again, Elsa was protecting her. "Please," Anna pleaded. "Don't. Don't."
Elsa only smiled at her. "Close your eyes," the blonde whispered, the gentle words burying themselves behind Anna's eyelids.
When she was nine, Elsa was in elementary, and she spent all her free time in the school library, recesses, lunch breaks, all her free time.
There was once, seven-year-old Anna ran into the library, knocking into her and hugging her so tight that Elsa thought she might pass out from lack of air. She was so shocked that it took her a moment to realize that Anna was shaking, trembling, crying.
Elsa always thought Anna was adorable. The rhythmic way those twin pigtails bounced when the girl was running, the goofy one-sided smile, the endearing way she always called, "Elsa!" Elsa loved it all. And so she hated to see her sister cry. Detested it. Loathed it.
So whenever Anna came to Elsa crying, Elsa would disregard all consequences and ask, "What's wrong, Anna?"
The girl looked up at her, bleary-eyed, lip quivering, "Robby Adams stole my cookie."
Well, you don't mess with Anna without messing with Elsa. Clutching her sister's hand, Elsa led Anna back outside to the sandbox where the offending kid sat, munching smugly away at the stolen goods.
"Where'd you get that cookie, Robby?" Even as a kid, Elsa's eyes were capable of throwing piercing daggers.
"I f-found it," the kid replied, hands shaking under the weight of the older girl's glare.
"Really?"
It wasn't long until the boy collapsed under the pressure of Elsa's burning glower. "Your dumb sister gave it to me!" He cried.
And then his face met Elsa's fist. The impact knocked him backward, tears sprang to his eyes, and he fled, crying for his mother.
Anna was giggling beside her, and Elsa squeezed her hand in silent agreement.
That night, her father had beat her extra hard with the belt, the cold, merciless metal leaving trails of burning scarlet in its wake. But that night, no matter how hard he beat her, she would not acknowledge that it was a mistake. She didn't cry. She didn't beg for forgiveness.
Because the smile on Anna's face had been so, so worth it.
That was what she was thinking about when a knee collided with her abdomen, and she doubled over, falling to the floor. She couldn't feel her ribs anymore; Hans had swiftly smashed them with several successive kicks to her sides, the sickening crunch still echoing in her ears.
"Scream!" He demanded.
She felt him pick her up by the collar of her jacket and roughly throw her against something wooden. There was a sharp pain in her lower backside. She had landed against the corner of a drawer? Bookshelf? She fell to the floor again with a thud. She still didn't make a sound.
"Beg for your life!" Hans growled, growing more desperate as he could not elicit a response from her.
It was getting harder to breathe, but there was not nearly as much pain as she expected, which was a surprise. She almost thanked her father for his conditioning exercises, for raising her threshold for pain. It was surprisingly easy to suffer in silence.
There was blood building at the back of her throat, and she spat it out at Hans when he lifted her by the collar of her jacket again. She was vaguely aware of something warm and wet spreading on the back of her head, but the sensation was fleeting, rudely interrupted by the crack of her shoulder when she was tossed against a glass coffee table in the corner of the room. Pain shot up the right side of her body, the side she was lying on, and she realized there were glass shards stained with red on the ground in front of her.
"Why won't you beg?!" He demanded.
Ariel's going to kill me. She half-smiled as Hans angrily threw her again, this time colliding against the edge of a table. This jacket is ruined. It was so strange, how calm she was. It was almost as if she was used to physical trauma, so used to it that any crippling physical pain could not really hurt her.
She felt free. Her entire being was resonating with pain, and she felt free. Because for the first time, she wasn't Elsa Arendelle. Not here. She didn't have corporate responsibilities. She didn't have inheritance responsibilities. She didn't have to lie to Anna. She didn't have to distance herself from Anna. She wasn't expected to put on an act. She only had one goal: to keep Hans focused on her so that he could not harm Anna. And she didn't have to pretend to be someone else to achieve it.
It was one thing she was doing right. It was one genuine thing that she was doing for Anna, as Anna's older sister.
She didn't have to conceal for this.
And it felt so good. To have nothing else weighing her down.
Someone seemed to be screaming in the background, but Elsa couldn't hear it over the blood rushing in her ears, the pounding in her chest. She opened her eyes and tried to focus through the throbbing in her head. Anna was crying. How she hated that. Tears never belonged on Anna's face.
A wolf's howl echoed from the outside. She blinked. The signal.
Now, she could fight back.
She assessed her position in the room. She was right beside the fireplace, the heat of the roaring flames licking at her face. Hans had his back to her; maybe he thought she was already dead. He was taunting Anna.
"You see, Anna? Elsa's no match for me. Not when I have you. Her weakness." He laughed, the sound bouncing off the taunting walls.
He was wrong. Elsa tried to tell Anna with her eyes. He's wrong.
Anna's look of self-loathing and self-blame hurt Elsa more than any of the wounds on her battered body. Elsa was painfully well-acquainted with those two particular emotions.
He was going to pay for that. For mocking Anna. For the cut on Anna's cheek. For the bruise on Anna's forehead. For the marks on Anna's ankles and wrists. For all the tears on Anna's face. He was going to pay for all of it.
Anna was not her weakness. And she was going to prove it.
Shards of ice in her joints and bones scraped together as she tried to push herself to her feet. Even gritting her teeth was painful, but it helped her focus. Focus. Don't feel. There was a sharp stinging in her leg. Was a bone broken? Glass shard? She wasn't sure.
His back was still to her, but Anna had noticed her. She could see the fear that flashed in the teal eyes that she lived for, and it propelled her to stand.
There was a fire iron resting on the floor, its tip buried in the hot coals of the fire. Her arms were burning with protest as she extended them to grasp the coarse iron.
Come on.
Move. Walk. Just a few steps.
He's going to hurt her.
Pain punctuating every step, she mustered the last of her strength, and swung the iron at him just as he turned around.
"How—" was all he could get out before the hot tip struck him on the side of the head, and he landed on the ground with a loud thump. He writhed on the ground, screaming, clutching his head where the iron had burned it.
She dropped the bar of iron, and stumbled to Anna, legs barely enduring the rest of the distance, causing her to land at Anna's feet. "Elsa," Anna cried, voice choked. "I'm sorry. It's all my fault."
A cold rage coursed through her, temporarily chasing away all the pain and as Elsa reached up to untie one of Anna's hands, she declared, with as much certainty as she could muster, "No, no, he's wrong. You're not my weakness."
"Oh, yeah?" Hans had gotten on his feet again, eyes watering, one hand still clutching the ugly burn on the side of his head, and she crawled to her feet to face him. Her vision was blurry, probably from loss of blood, but she never felt more determined to defend her words.
She and Hans circled each other, and she tried to ignore the stabbing pain in her right leg. He must have noticed, though, because he aimed a sideway kick right at her leg, where the glass shard was protruding from, and it punctured deeper into the flesh, causing her to stagger to the ground.
"You're no match for me, Elsa," Hans growled. He picked up a shard from the floor, ready to slice at her.
Elsa laughed, "No, Hans. You're no match for us."
Anna, freed from the chair, had crept up behind him and bashed him on the side of the head with a lute. "Don't—"
She struck him again, "—touch—"
And again, "—my—"
And once more, "—sister!"
He lay on the ground, crying out, "Guards! Guards! Mark! God dammit!" And when they didn't come, he pleaded, "Stop! Stop it! Please! Fuck!"
Anna dropped the lute and raced to Elsa's side. "Call… for… Alistair," Elsa groaned, the words bubbling through the blood in her mouth.
Anna did, gaze turning to the entrance when the Russian bodyguard burst in through the doors of the lodge. He immediately went to Elsa, but she grumbled feebly and pointed to Hans' prone, moaning body on the ground. Alistair understood and dragged him away.
Arms encircled her, cradling her head. Anna was crying again, and Elsa brought her hands up to wipe those unwelcome tears away.
"Hey, you saved me," Elsa managed to whisper, smiling up at her weeping sister. "Are you okay?"
"Am I okay?" the redhead repeated incredulously, sniffling. "You're so stupid! Why, why did you come?" she sobbed, eyes clouded with pain and misery. "You could have died! Are you okay?"
Oh, Elsa had forgotten. Sympathy pain. She'd been careless again, but it was okay. It's okay. Because Anna was safe. "I'm okay. I'm sorry," she managed to croak. "I'm so sorry, Anna, for everything. I'm stupid," she agreed, grinning. Even that hurt. But at least it wasn't an act.
Anna hugged her tighter, choking out, "No, this is all my fault. I'm so, so, sorry, Elsa."
Elsa cupped Anna's cheek, stroking away the tears with her thumb. "You gave me the strength to get up," she whispered, "I couldn't have done it without you." And then she laughed, even though her ribs were on fire.
"You're laughing at a time like this?"
Elsa dug in her pockets and pulled out the Olaf charm, "I'm happy, Anna." And she meant it.
Tears pooled in Anna's eyes again, "I think that's the first time you've ever said that to me."
"Oh," Elsa replied weakly, still smiling, "Anna, I'm always happy when I'm with you." Anna bit her lip, and Elsa could see the question looming in her uncertain eyes. "You can say it," she answered.
"I love you, Elsa."
She smiled in reply, slowly slipping into unconsciousness. The blood loss was getting to her. Her entire body was in agonizing pain; there were glass shards still protruding from her right side, one of her legs was probably fractured, her head was aching in every crevice and each breath hurt more than the last, but Elsa could not remember when she had ever felt happier. She didn't have to pretend that she was okay. Because she really was okay.
They were on a mountain, miles from civilization, she would be facing severe reprimand when she returned, but, for the moment, she couldn't care less.
She was here, with Anna. She was home.
Anna was safe. Hans could not hurt her anymore.
And, at that moment, Elsa could not feel more accomplished.