Author's Note:

Well, I'm planning on really cracking down on this over the next few days! Hope you all are enjoying reading as much as I am enjoying writing!

The trees were flying past her so quickly that they blurred as they passed Freja's frame of vision. Cronin Wood was alive with the late morning sounds of birds. Not that the queen was conscious of the tranquility of her surroundings. She felt that she was in a trance; she was thankful that the horse she was mounted on followed unquestioningly behind Stellan's, removing any need to concentrate on riding as the two kings and two queens galloped at full speed through the wood. Freja squinted toward the sun, bleeding through the trees to the east. It must have been approximately nine o' clock. Five hours. That was how long her daughter had been missing.

Fear crept into Freja's stomach and she clenched the reins. Her knuckles whitened.

The child of Edvard Beteran… She has inherited his power. His soul.

Carney's words echoed loudly in her mind, shrieking at her like gulls at a loaf of bread. And they were eating her away on the inside. Her thoughts flashed back to last October, when the chill of Edvard's magically induced winter clung onto her lovely home of Arendelle. She remembered that moment in the tower, as the sorcerer was about to murder her husband, the old pain and fear and terror returning. A jolt rattled through her and she clutched onto her horse's mane as Freja relived the strange sensation that had overtaken her at the point she had unwittingly shot sharp prongs of ice through the heart of the Ice Lord.

His power. His soul.

What was going to happen to her baby? Was there magic in Elsa, too? Was she a monster, too?

No! Freja shook her head, furious at herself for giving these ideas a foothold. Her daughter was completely ordinary.

But then why would Alazair want her?

A loud neigh and a hand on her thigh snapped her back to the present with a start. Stellan was standing next to her, looking into her blank face with worry etched deep into his own. She hadn't even noticed that they had stopped riding. Freja gulped back the tears for the hundredth time as she turned and let him ease her down off the horse.

The remnants of the old dam loomed ominously before them. Green algae grew in stagnant puddles along the decaying, wooden canals. It had been decades since this dam was used for anything. She remembered it being shut down when she was a child. On her right, Stellan looped her arm through his. The intended comfort made Freja feel shaky inside, and a battle raged with her emotions. On her left, Rosie and Thomas also gazed down at the abandon dam.

"Where are they?" Rosie asked in a hushed voice.

Silence followed as the four of them examined the forlorn scene beyond them. Suddenly, Stellan's elbow tightened around Freja's arm.

"There!"

Smoke was snaking thinly, hardly visible, from a gap in the failing woodwork.

"They're… they're…"

"They're underground," Thomas finished Freja's sentence, "I spoke briefly to the son of the architect before we left. There is a whole series of tunnels built underneath the dam. They were used for smuggling, back in the day."

Without a word, Freja took off running in the direction of the smoke.

"Freja!" Stellan hissed, chasing after her and grabbing hold of her arm. She looked back at him with tears looming in her eyes and struggled against his grip.

"Freja!" he said again, pulling her closer to him, "Shh. Listen, please. We need a plan. We need to know how to get in there. If Alazair knows we are coming, he could take off into any one of those tunnels and escape!" Stellan glanced desperately at Thomas for help.

The King of Corona motioned as he spoke, "Over there. There's an entrance to the tunnels."

The hole in the wall of the canyon in which the dam sat went pitch black about ten feet in. Torches were lit, and Rosie sputtered as she wiped spider webs from her face. Silence followed. It was a deep, dreary silence that everyone was aching to relieve, if not for the fear that Alazair could be just around the corner.

Freja was listening so intently that her ears were starting to ache when she heard it. A very frail, very faint cry. In the orangey torchlight, she glanced at Stellan to find him looking back at her. He had also heard their daughter. Elsa was near!

Alazair muttered to himself as he stuffed a bite of bread into his mouth. Why did kids have to be so moody? Elsa was crying again, not very loudly, but enough to irritate him as he finished his supper. The noise died down gradually and he smiled to himself. Maybe she had finally fallen asleep. However, no sooner had this thought entered the miracle man's mind did Elsa's wailing start up again, louder than before. Grumbling, Alazair rose and stalked over to the cradle, peering down at the princess, his teeth showing.

"What?!" he hissed, "You need to shush up, now! You aren't hungry, you don't need a changing. You need to sleep! Just sleep, and it'll be so much easier on both of us."

The baby's eyes were wide and alert, and her face grew turnip-colored as she glared up at him, her bawling picking up in intensity. Alazair groaned. The sooner he smuggled Elsa out of Corona, the better. His had associates that he could count on to tend to the bodily needs of the child about four days ride south, but he didn't want to risk moving her now, while the kingdom was on such a high alert. No. They would wait in hiding for a while, let the excitement die down, let the hope dwindle, and then, after her parents had moved on, they would leave.

"Quiet!" Alazair spoke sharply, and Elsa flinched in surprise of the sudden noise. Stillness followed. But it was silent only in the hidden room in which they stayed. Alazair's head shot up as he heard the soft, urgent whispers on the other side of the wall.

"I know I heard her," the queen's voice was muffled, but she was obviously very near, "I did! She was so close!"

Alazair glanced at the baby. She was listening keenly, her mouth opened slightly in mid-coo. The miracle man held a hand at the ready, prepared to clamp his palm over Elsa mouth, should she decide to scream out again. He fought to still his rapid breathing. Elsa murmured in her cradle, and this time it was Alazair who flinched. He held his breath.

Freja's trembling voice was so near he could have sworn she was in the room, "Elsa?"

At the sound of her mother, Elsa let out a loud shriek, only seconds before Alazair's hand closed over her mouth. But it was too late for subtlety now. Alazair drew his breath in deeply and thought of fire.

"Elsa! Elsa!" Freja shouted, scratching at the muddy wall with her bare hands, "She's on the other side! I heard her!" Why did there always have to be some kind of barrier between her and the people she loved? Why could she not have had a normal pregnancy, a normal family reunion, a normal labor? Why wasn't she home, safe in Arendelle, rocking her baby by a warm fire?

Thomas brandished the rusted pick axes he had picked up earlier from the floor of the tunnels, tossing one to Stellan. Freja continue to dig at the wall in desperation. She felt so helpless as pain shot through her fingers, her nails tearing against the gravelly rock and mud seeping into her raw flesh. Rosie's slender arms closed around her waist, pulling her backward, away from the wall. Away from Elsa.

"No… Rose…"

"Let them work," her sister whispered in her ear, hugging Freja from behind, but also holding her back. Then she added, "We'll get her, Freja. I promise."

Seconds ticked by like hours as Thomas and Stellan dug away at the wall. Then, in between the clanking of metal against the wall, an infant's cry rang out again. The whole company's eyes widened.

"Elsa!" Stellan yelled, throwing his weight against the wall, "Alazair! You monster! Give her up, Alazair! You are going to wish you were never born!"

Suddenly, Thomas's pick axe hit something more solid than the rest of the muddy wall. A creaking emanated from before them, and a door swung open slowly, eerily, to reveal an orangey-red light that was glowing and wafting from the secret room. Heat rolled out the door, so thick and powerful that it was very nearly visible, and everyone took a step back in shock.

Alazair stood just a few feet past the doorway, his bare arms spread before him, bright pink with the waves of flames rolling off of them. Behind him, Elsa screamed. The Miracle Man flashed his teeth in a horrendous grin, the thrust his hands forward, fire roaring toward the princess's rescuers.