Author's Note:

We're almost done! I have had so much fun writing this story! And don't worry. I plan to write a second part to it later on. Can't wait to continue!

For those of you who have followed this story, you might be a little confused with why the title is different all of a sudden. I changed the title of the story from Freja's Daughters to Chronicles of Arendelle. I was pretty much making up the storyline as I went along, so I wasn't sure what to call it right at first. It turned out being more centered on the queen rather than her daughters anyways. (I hope to include the Elsa in later stories, however, and Anna eventually.) Anyhow, hope this clears up any confusion!

Enjoy this next chapter! Please continue your reviews and comments, followings and favorites!

Chapter 11

Freja felt like she had been waiting at the foot of the tour for days. Maybe even weeks. She pressed her hands against the cold stone wall behind her in apprehension. Her palms were sweaty, and they made a sucking sound when she pulled them back to her sides again. She crossed her arms over her stomach. Her nerves were making it was writhe like a wounded animal inside her, and she felt like she was about to vomit. Yep. She was. She leaned over the low wall and threw up into the courtyard.

Her mind seemed to be disconnected from her body. Every sound, every shuffle, made her startle. Of course, she could hardly hear anything besides the howling of the icy wind. The black cyclone of clouds hovered above her, threateningly, and the queen watched them swirl and spiral and change shape. She very nearly thought they were beautiful. Beautiful like a big mountain cat before it snapped your neck in its jaws. Freja shivered as she watched the darkening sky. So long as the clouds kept circling, it meant that Edvard was still in control, and Stellan and Hansel and all of Arendelle were still in great danger.

The queen looked up again and the tower, blinking as the snow stuck to her eyelashes and bangs. The snowflakes were large and perfectly formed, like they were carved by a sculptor. Freja wiped them away from her face.

"C'mon, Stellan. C'mon!" she mumbled to herself. He had to be up there by now… where was he? She craned her neck forward at an incredibly uncomfortable angle. The single window in the wall of the tower was empty. What was Edvard even doing in there, taking a nap?

At that moment, a violent change in the wind tossed Freja's braid into her face. She whipped it back over her shoulder. The clouds were changing! Something was happening! Above the howling wind, she heard an angry shout. She couldn't discern words from it, but she could tell it was her husband. Her breath caught in her throat. For a second that seemed like a month, everything held perfectly still. Then a figure appeared at the window. Out of the window!

"STELLAN!" Freja screeched. Her husband was hanging on for his life, clutching a stone ledge beneath the opening of the window, his feet scraping the side of the tower, but finding no traction on the ice incrusted castle.

"Hold on, oh please, hold on!" Freja couldn't breathe. Where was Hansel? Why didn't he pull Stellan up? Tears were streaming down the queen face, freezing on the way down her cheeks. She couldn't think. Pulling out her sword, she raced to the tower doorway. Up and up she climbed, for what seemed like ever, but she had never been moving more swiftly in all her life. She took the steps three, four at a time. She was halfway there. Three quarters of the way…

Freja burst into the tower. Within seconds she had taken in her surroundings. Captain Hansel was pinned beneath a block of ice twice as large as him. His head was bleeding. Stellan's hands where just barely visible out the window. His knuckles were white as snow. Edvard Beteran was standing next to the window, looking down at the king, his cold hands moving far too close to Stellan's quivering ones. Just one push and her husband would be lost.

"STOP, EDVARD!" she shouted as loudly as she could. She brandished her sword at him.

She was not afraid. And Edvard knew it. She saw the surprise in his face, as his eyes widened, and his jaw dropped, ever so slightly. Freja tilted her head to the side.

"What's the matter? Didn't expect to see me again? Expected me to die in a cave while you destroyed me home? Well, guess what? I don't die that easily! It's going to take a lot more effort on your part to drain the life out of me! Just you try!"

Clang. Freja's sword was knocked out of her hand by a shot of ice from Edvard. The look of shock had disappeared from his face, and all that remained was anger and hatred. He stood, staring at her intently, and an evil smile crept over his face. Suddenly he was next to her, his hand over her throat.

"So…" he said, his voice deep and calm, "You want me to kill you?"

Freja grasped at his hand, scratched it, but he didn't let go.

"It would be my genuine pleasure, my dear. But first, I want you to watch as I kill your husband. I want you to know that you could have stopped me, but you were too weak. I want you to know how you failed him. You failed your kingdom. And you failed your child."

A hand still closed around the queen's neck, Edvard turned, his free hand raised. A knife of ice formed in his palm, and he pointed it at Stellan.

"Maybe I'll just cut off his wrist. That's not a fatal wound, you know. Oh, unless, you need your hand for something, I don't know."

"No…" Freja choked out. Stars danced before her eyes, but for some reason, her head was completely clear.

Edvard raised the knife.

"NO!" cried Freja again. Her captor released his hold on her suddenly, flinging his hand away from her like she had burned him. Freja flung her arms out at him, hoping to push him hard enough to knock him down. But instead, a tingling sensation escaped from her fingers. A spear of solid ice sprung into existence, striking Edvard square in the chest. He stumbled backward, his eyes confused, then full of pain. Slumping against the wall, Edvard's head lolled. His breath stopped. The ice had pierced him right through his frozen heart.

Freja look at her hands. They seemed normal. She put a palm to her hand, trying to think. Now that Edvard was dead, everything seemed unfocused and confusing. A grunt from the window snapped her back to reality.

"Stellan!" she ran to him, clasping his elbow and pulling with all her might. He slipped into the room and flopped on the floor, breathing heavily, his arms out to the sides of him like limp noodles.

Freja fell on top of him, pressing her face into his neck. There were too many emotions inside her to contain. She was crying and laughing and smiling, and her lip was quivering. Stellan propped himself up on an elbow and hugged her. He looked over her shoulder at where Edvard had fallen. Their foe was glassy-eyed and slouched, lifeless, against the wall.

"How?" the king asked.

Freja looked at her hands again, "I have no idea."

She imagined herself, shooting out ice and snow from her hands. It was a strange thought.

"Am… am I, well, cursed, you think?"

"If you are, it's the greatest curse ever! It saved your life! And mine, and all of Arendelle!"

"But what if it turns my heart cold, like it did to him?"

Stellan ran a finger down her cheek. His wife was looking at him with her big blue eyes full of worry.

"That's impossible."

Then he kissed her.