A/N: The last scene of this chapter was ... well, it's a little different from most of the rest of the fic, but it was so satisfying to write! I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

Consciousness seeped into Elsa's mind—and with it, pain. A dull ache coated her whole body like a thin blanket, but the pain in her head was like the slice of a burning dagger. It reminded her of the blade that Loki had given her at her coronation.

Eyes closed, Elsa held her breath and kept still. When the throbbing in her head subsided, she opened her eyes—and saw nothing. Terror gripped her heart until her eyes adjusted and she saw the details of a stone wall by a light shining behind her. She was in a small, cold, damp room. The surface beneath her back was flat stone, not ice.

The slightest move sent more white-hot thrusts into her skull. How had she come here? It was hardly less painful to simply lie there and think, but she had to remember.

It began to come back to her. She had been at the palace…there was the mob…no, soldiers, and those just a few…but enough. There were swords and arrows…and her ice…men shouting…the boy, the prince…Anna's prince…what was his name? The roof had come crashing down on her…

Elsa moved to rub her head, but her hand was weighed down. She struggled to focus her vision in the dim light. Her hands—had someone cut them off? No, she could feel her fingers, fighting against whatever contraption enclosed them, like a pair of iron gloves she could hardly lift. Who had done this? Who would have the gall to chain up their queen? The soldiers—strangers from overseas?

Hans!

"Queen Elsa! Don't be the monster they fear you are!"

She managed to sit up, now fully aware of her circumstances. She was imprisoned in a filthy cell, the shackles on her hands chained to the wall. Behind her was a tall, narrow, dirty window that let in a muted light.

Ignoring the pain, Elsa struggled to her feet and twisted against the chains to peer through the glass. What she saw made her hope she was dreaming, but the ache in her body and the cold weight of the iron was too real. It was the fjords at Arendelle, but buried beneath a pile of unseasonable snow—her snow. All the ships that had arrived for her coronation were still here, frozen at their moorings.

"What have I done?" she whispered to herself.

She heard footsteps in the corridor outside and the clatter of a key in the lock. The cell door swing open. Prince Hans himself peered around the door and then stepped into the room. Elsa tried to conceal her disappointment that he was alone.

Where is Anna? she wondered. "Why did you bring me here?" she asked. "How dare you—"

"I couldn't just let them kill you," the prince said.

Maybe you should have, she caught herself thinking. Maybe that would have been better for everyone. Out loud, though, she said, "You don't realize what you've done! I'm a danger to Arendelle." When he seemed unmoved, Elsa tried to summon her queenly voice again. "Get Anna!"

"Anna has not returned," he said. "For all we know, she was lost in the forest."

No, Elsa thought, that can't be. It would have been her fault if it were true. If I had just done as Anna asked, and come back with her willingly…But she had chased Anna and her friends away.

Like I chased Loki away.

Elsa pushed away thoughts of the Asgardian prince, only to feel another chill of horror when she remembered the blond stranger who had come with Anna. Why had Anna brought him to Elsa's palace, of all people? At the time, Elsa hadn't wanted—or cared—to know who he was. What a fool! What if he was the reason Anna had not come back? What if he had done something to her?

I will kill him, she thought. If he's hurt her…

"If you could just reverse this spell," Hans was saying, "stop this winter, and bring back summer…"

"I can't," Elsa said. How long until someone believes me? "If I could, I would have done it already! You have to let me go."

Hans looked at her for a long time before saying, "I will do what I can."

When he turned his back on Elsa and left the room, she knew that neither one of them really believed the other. Terror clenched her heart in a grip tighter than the shackles around her hands. Anna was gone—missing—and she was trapped here. Loki was unreachable. Winter had come too soon, thanks to her, and now no one believed that she was powerless to stop it.

I never did think I would be the best queen, Elsa thought. Her wildest nightmares, however, had never imagined such a disaster.

So caught up in her own fearful thoughts, Elsa had not immediately noticed what was happening to her hands. She looked down and saw that the fetters were growing colder and frosting over. Pulse racing, she tried to concentrate, focusing more energy than she had used even to build her palace. The metal turned almost colder than even she could stand. Finally, the weakened shackles burst apart, freeing her and sending bursts of ice everywhere. One jet of her frost ricocheted off another piece of ice and broke the window.

Elsa flexed her fingers, stiff from their imprisonment, and then blasted more frost through the window and its surrounding wall. Carefully she picked her way across the shards of ice, stone, and glass and climbed out the hole. Dark clouds swirled above her, and the snow was falling thickly. She could feel the wind grow steadily stronger—a result of her own stormy emotions.

I still can't control it, she thought again. I admit it. Happy now, Loki?

"She's escaped!" someone behind her shouted. Elsa gasped. There were men at the cell door.

"Get her!" Was that Hans' voice? "She is under arrest for treason!"

With a few flicks of her wrist, Elsa summoned a snowy staircase. The one was not as decorative as the one at her palace, but it would serve. She slid more than ran down the steps until she reached solid ground—or rather, the foot-deep snow blanketing the solid ground. Without looking back or trying to discern the voices still shouting above and behind her, she rushed forward into the flurry, determined to find whatever remained of her sister.

Elsa began to cross the icy fjord, trying to stay in a straight line as she moved toward the mountains. There was a ship to her right. But the snow came even faster, driven almost horizontal in the wind. The air felt like a solid wall that Elsa could not push through. In mere minutes, she could see neither the mountains beyond her nor the ship that had been only a few feet away, and she lost her bearings.

"Anna!" she called out hopelessly, the gale snatching away her words like a hawk's talons.

There was nothing to do but keep moving forward. But as Elsa struggled against the storm she had created, she seemed to be no closer to the opposite shore. Not that she could have seen it, but she lost track of how long she had walked, apparently going nowhere.

What have I done? Elsa asked herself, over and over. What have I done? Can it get worse? Will I freeze the whole world? Could anyone survive this—even me?

In the fairy tales she and Anna used to read as children, the death of the wicked witch usually broke the spell. Was that what it took? Could Elsa make that sacrifice, to save her sister, her city, and everyone else?

I never meant to be wicked, she thought. I shouldn't have to die for this. But do I have a choice now?

"Elsa!" a man called out, his voice barely audible over the shrieking wind. "You can't run from this!"

She knew it was not Loki, as much as she wished it to be. She looked over her shoulder and saw Hans' chestnut-brown hair and black cloak through the snow.

"Just take care of my sister!" Elsa said. If she turns up alive.

"Anna returned from the mountains weak and cold," Hans said. Joy rose up within her at hearing that Anna had turned up alive, but something in the prince's response kept her in check. "She said that you froze her heart," he added.

"No," Elsa whispered. She said she was fine!

"It was too late," Hans said.

Was? No…no, no, no…

"Her skin was ice, and her hair turned white."

Elsa did not want to believe what she was hearing, but why would he lie? Staring at Hans, Elsa thought of the snow-white streak in Anna's hair. I did that to her, Elsa thought. I did all of this.

Finally, Hans spoke the fatal words. "Your sister is dead because of you!"

It was a sentence Elsa had been dreading for ages—in truth, for the last thirteen years. It was as though the ice beneath her feet had broken, plunging her into the icy waters, though she really stood still and silent. The freezing wind, blowing snow, and dark ceiling of clouds faded away, and nothing mattered anymore. Elsa turned away from Hans, hardly realizing what she was doing.

"No," she whispered again. After a few staggering steps, Elsa collapsed onto the ice. The contact made a thunderous sound, and the wind came to a halt. The blizzard yielded, and even the snowflakes stood still in the air, but Elsa could not care.

Why Anna? Why my little sister? Everything I've done to protect her was all in vain. I am the wicked witch. Of course I have to die to break the spell—and it's no less than I deserve. Anna shouldn't have been the one to die. I tried so hard, but it was not enough.

I'm so sorry, Anna…

Elsa did not know how long she lay sobbing on the ice. Out of nowhere came a girl's voice, almost like Anna's.

"No!" the girl shouted.

Then there was a great cracking sound, and a gust of wind. Elsa looked up and saw the figure of her sister standing above her. Scattered on the ground, not far away, were shards of a broken sword. A little further away, Hans was sprawled out on the ice.

"Anna!" Elsa shrieked, climbing back to her feet. Where did she come from? Hans did lie! Was Anna alive this whole time? Did he have her locked up, too?

Even if he had been lying then, what he said was true now. Anna was frozen solid, still as an ice sculpture, eyes wide and arm outstretched. She looked as though she had been trying to catch—or block—something. Elsa's tears began anew as she looked at her sister's dear features, now cold and unmoving when once they had been warm and lively.

Elsa threw herself at the statue, embracing her as she had been so afraid of doing when Anna was alive. She was protecting me, Elsa realized through her sobs. She succeeded where I had failed. You shouldn't have done it, Anna. I'm not worth it. You should have let me die.

Losing her sister for the second time in mere minutes, Elsa succumbed to her grief and once more lost track of time. She clung to Anna's frozen corpse, making every silent wish she could think of. Gradually, she grew aware of the ice softening beneath her arms. She ignored it until she felt movement. She looked up, and saw Anna's eyes looking back at her—blue, clear, and alive.

"Anna?" she asked, her heart leaping within her chest even as her mind could not immediately believe it. Her sister responded with a smile, and Elsa pulled her into another hug, warm and tight. "You sacrificed yourself for me," she said, her voice clogged with tears.

"I love you," Anna said.

Still? Elsa marveled. Why?

"An act of true love will thaw a frozen heart!" came a voice by her feet.

Elsa looked down and saw the little snowman, Olaf. "Love will thaw?" she repeated. "Love!"

It was as though her own heart were warming. The magic surged within her, and she suddenly knew what she could do. Elsa stretched out her arms, sending her energy in a different direction. The wind stirred again, a balmy breeze this time. The snowflakes drifted upward, taking with them their fallen brethren. The clouds above separated like a curtain, revealing the sun upon his blue stage. The icy fjord cracked and melted, and Elsa felt a rumble beneath their feet. She did not know that they had been standing on the deck of a sunken ship until it rose from its watery tomb, lifting them skyward.

"I knew you could do it!" Anna said, just before the sisters embraced again.

Prince Hans groaned and rubbed his jaw as he heard the jangle of a padlock behind him and the guard's retreating footsteps. It was dark down in the ship's hold, the only light from a lantern swinging just outside the bars of his cell. He heard shouts and stomps from the decks above as the crew made ready to sail to the Southern Isles.

He gingerly touched his nose. The water had washed the blood away, but it still felt broken. The one good thing about being moved down below was that there was no one to mock Hans' bruised appearance.

At least, he did not think so.

Hans sat up, his back to one wall, facing a dark corner where the lantern's scant light did not touch. Had something moved there? Was that breathing he heard—or just the rats that no doubt multiplied on this filthy ship? He watched, hardly taking a breath himself, but saw no movement. He was certain he saw some kind of shape.

He stood up, and the shadow followed his movement. When he saw that it was only his own silhouette, he rolled his eyes.

"Don't be a fool," he said to himself, scoffing. Prisoner he may be, but he was still a prince on his own ship, and here he was, scared of the dark and his own shadow. "It's nothing," he muttered.

He turned aside to look out between the bars, even though there was little to see there, either.

"Is it?"

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Hans looked back at the other end of the cell. Out from the darkness stepped a man—tall and thin, with long black hair and an otherworldly pallor. There was a menacing glint to his eyes. Hans could not see his hands.

The young prince instinctively took a step back, but his shoulders bumped into the ship's bulkhead. He reached out to grasp one of the cell bars to steady himself.

"Who are you?" he asked. "What are you doing in here?"

One thin, pale hand was at his throat before Hans could even glimpse it. He gurgled for breath, but the hand only pressed harder, its strength inhuman. His head pushed against the wall, Hans clawed at the man's hand and wrist, to no avail. His already bulging eyes opened further when he saw the dagger in the man's other hand—a shining silver blade, with a gold handle inlaid with rubies the color of blood and flame. Hans tried to shout for help, but the fingers around his neck left no room for air, either coming or going.

The man sheathed the blade in the young prince's belly, sending pain and heat surging through the rest of his body. He twisted the dagger's grip, and Hans shuddered and squirmed in his silent agony. The prince thrashed his legs, but remained upright against the bulkhead, so strong was the hold on his throat.

"I am here to collect on a debt," the stranger said.