Elsa had obeyed Loki and gone to the upper levels—to her balcony. She had seen it all.
The duke's men were coming. She could hear them, sliding on the icy stairs and cursing their slow progress. She had seen the bigger one pull his companion back onto the stairs and then the two of them start up the stairs toward the palace. And she had seen the moment at which Loki had realized they were gone. But she had not been in time to stop Prince Hans. She had screamed Loki's name as the prince had pushed him into the chasm, but she could not guess whether he had heard her. Or whether he was already dead.
He said I couldn't hurt him. He was the one person I shouldn't have been able to hurt, and now I've killed him, too. This is all my fault.
There came a deep-voiced shout from behind her: "We've got her!"
Elsa spun around. The duke's men had arrived. They had crossbows, and they were aiming right at her.
"No, please," she begged. Not that she deserved their mercy after what she had done to Arendelle, to Anna, to Loki…
The larger man took aim and fired. Elsa flung up her hands reflexively and waited for the death she could not deny she deserved.
Nothing happened. Slowly, unbelievingly, she opened her eyes. The bolt had been caught in a shield of solid ice that had sprung up in front of her. Death, whether deserved or not, had been thwarted for the moment.
The men began to circle her, wary now.
Elsa was breathing hard. What should I do? If I let them kill me, will it undo the damage I've done? she wondered. Will it unfreeze Arendelle? Whatever I've done to Anna, might killing me possibly undo it?
"Stay away!" Elsa cried, sending another blast of ice along the floor as the men advanced again. Let me think!
The larger man tripped and tumbled over his companion, but they were on their feet again before she could react. They kept lunging toward her, and Elsa had to move quickly to keep them away, wondering all the while if she was even doing the right thing in trying to stay alive.
Turn. Blast. Dodge. Watch. It was a dangerous dance. They were on either side of her, attacking with barely a pause between. Just a moment! she wanted to scream. Wait just a moment while I figure this out! But they would not.
Loki. Was he dead? That was one thing her death could not undo. The wound from Prince Hans's sword would not vanish away once she was gone and her magic—her horrible, hateful, destructive magic—was ended. But could anything be done for him? Or was it too late?
She had made her decision. She wasn't going to die yet. Not until she knew whether anything could be done to save Loki.
The smaller of the duke's men was raising his crossbow to shoot. Elsa pushed against him with all her might. Spikes, razor sharp, sprang from the ground and pinned him to the wall at the shoulders, waist, and armpits. The crossbow still hung from his right hand. Elsa brought up her hand again, and another spike began growing towards his exposed throat, slowly, slowly. Just to keep him busy, she told herself.
She turned to the other. He was taking aim at her. Ice shot from her fingers and knocked the crossbow from his hand. She allowed herself a sudden smile at her precision.
He was frightened now. He was going to try to run. Elsa flung up barriers of ice on either side, not pausing to consider why she was stopping him. He was trapped, nowhere to go but the balcony. He could not reach her now. Elsa built up a block of ice in front of him, pushing him back against the doors. There was the sound of grunting as he pushed back, and then of cracking, tinkling ice. The doors gave way and smashed outward onto the balcony railing, shattering it. The duke's man was caught behind her ice block, slowly being forced toward the edge. Almost there…
"Queen Elsa!"
Elsa jumped as the cry behind her shattered her concentration. She whipped her head around and found herself staring into the face of Prince Hans. Murderer. A wave of hatred overwhelmed her. She would deal with him next. She drew herself up for one last push—
"Don't be the monster they fear you are," the prince cried.
All at once, Elsa stopped. She stared at the prince, barely comprehending. What was he saying? He was the monster.
But what, then, had she been doing?
Elsa paused, panting, looking from the man on her left whose neck she had nearly pierced with an icy spear to the man on her right clinging to her own ice to avoid falling to his death. The world seemed to have frozen. What had she done? She looked back at Prince Hans.
It happened in the space of an instant. The prince lunged. There was a shot, a whistling, then the sound of ice breaking. Elsa looked up. The chandelier was falling. She ran—she fell—she knew no more.