Chapter Seventeen: To Swing from the Noose

Deep in the Dreamscape, Anna marveled at the flowers blooming in the trees, the air heady with their scents. The princess turned at the sound of faint purring to find a golden cat with green eyes watching her from a large rock. The cat seemed to smirk and winked, still purring.

"Freya?" Anna asked. The cat rippled and anna blushed with a squeak at the sight of her very-naked mentor sitting supported by her arms on the rock, completely unashamed of the assets she seemed to flaunt by simply lounging there. The goddess's eyes seemed to glitter as she Shifted back to a cat and leapt off the rock. The cat looked back at her and meowed before bounding away. Assuming that she was supposed to follow, Anna ran to catch up.

Anna ran for she-didn't-want-to-know-how-long before the cat stopped before the maw of a fissure in the earth. The cat leapt down onto a ledge within that opened up to the mouth of a cave. Anna followed and Freya led her into the cave. After a few minutes of walking in darkness (weird swaying darkness like everything else in the Dream) light appeared up ahead.

Anna and the cat entered a cavern lit by cracks in the ceiling that let in beams of sunlight. The sunlight and water that dripped from the cracks, it seemed, had nurtured a thin tree that twisted and filled the cavern, its branches splaying out across the ceiling. The only thin not thin about it was the huge knot in the center of the trunk. And in that knot sat a rusty sword, only the pommel gleaming in the beams of light.

The cat jumped into the trees branches and Shifted into the thankfully (if barely) clothed Freya, who simply looked at her with expectation. Anna looked from her mentor to the sword and took a deep breath. Clearly, this sword was real, or at least was real in the real world.

Anna reached for the sword, something inside telling her that this was right. She almost had it when cold crept into her veins. The Dream seemed to darken, like a cloud passing over the sun, and the cavern crumbled away to be replaced by the open branches of a massive tree.

Anna shrieked as she lost her balance, grabbing onto a vine to keep from falling. Anna looked around as the biting wind made the branches sway like waves on the sea. Jeez, how big was this tree?! The branch she was standing on was wider than the bridge that led to the castle, even as it swayed in the wind. The vine she was holding was thicker than her wrist.

Anna looked up at the barely-higher mountains, the light of dawn just beginning to emerge. A sharp snap caught her attention and she looked up to find a male figure cloaked in shadow in the tallest branches, a spear of wood poised over his head. The figure jumped, fell, and jolted to a halt. Anna screamed-

Anna sat up hard enough to fall off the bed, her still-going scream cut off with a grunt of pain. Elsa rose as well, looking down at her sister in concern. Had she stayed the whole night? "Anna, what's wrong?" the queen asked.

Anna stood, magically lighting the candles in the room, and swallowed thickly. "I think Alphonse is in trouble," she said.

In a hidden valley in the mountains, the man himself sat on a large branch, fingers working tirelessly as he wove strands of thin vines into an elaborate rope. Finally, the rope was long enough. Alphonse broke off a long, thin branch from the Scion and began looping the rope around himself, particularly across the shoulders and neck.

Alphonse finished his work and sat crouched on the branch, waiting. As the first rays of dawn emerged from behind the mountains, the most powerful time for change and transformation, he took a deep breath … and jumped. In a second the rope snapped taut, and he used that momentum to swing the spear-like branch into his side.

Alphonse tried not to scream, but it hurt. The loops around his shoulders kept the rope from snapping his neck, but they were still painful as the put pressure on his shoulders, nearly dislocating them. The rope tightened around his neck, cutting off his air as he gasped for oxygen. And the metaphorical spear in his side wasn't exactly pleasant, either. That branch, a clipping from a Scion of the World Tree, would keep him alive; but only just barely.

It was time to ride the gallow. To learn what Odin had learned.

Elsa tore through the castle in a literal whirlwind of snow, ice forming in her footsteps. Anna raced after her, part of her bemused at the fact that she was chasing Elsa for once, but the rest concerned for her sister and her friend. "Elsa, what are you doing?" she asked breathlessly. "You still need rest!"

Anna arrived at Elsa's room just as the queen emerged, fully dressed and clutching a sheet of parchment. She was staring at the paper as if it could tell her where Alphonse was. A quick look over Elsa's shoulder revealed a rough sketch of the world dotted with clover-looking shapes. What was-? Wait, was that Alphonse's handwriting?

The paper froze over in Elsa's frustration and she threw it at the wall. Elsa backed away, her anxiety rising as she thought about what Anna had told her about her dream. Elsa knew the stories - she knew exactly what Alphonse was doing. And she had a fair idea what vile birds had talked him into it. But how could she find him and stop him? The lands of Arendelle and its neighbors had the thickest concentration of Scions after Prussia and the Germanic lands. How could she-?

Elsa squeaked as she was swung around by the shoulders to lock eyes with her sister. "Elsa, calm down," Anna said, her lips tinged with blue. That detail snapped Elsa back to reality - the reality of snowflakes suspended in frigid air. Elsa placed a hand on Anna's, drawing strength from her presence, and dissolved the ice around them.

"Well, now that that's cleared up," Anna said, "I think it's time we find Alphonse." Anna sat on Elsa's bed, dragging down Elsa to sit with her, and closed her eyes. Elsa watched with awe as Anna's skin began to oh-so-faintly glow. Then she felt her stomach lurch and her skin crawl, as if she were sliding out of her own flesh. A moment later and she realized she had.

Elsa was staring at herself and Anna meditating on her bed, while a ghostly version of Anna in an off-the-shoulder dress floated beside her, clutching her wrist. Elsa looked down to find herself clad in her snow dress, like the one she had conjured during her flight to the North Mountain.

Ghost-Anna brushed her shoulder and pointed at something strange: a shimmering thread of light that circled Elsa and flew out the window toward the mountains and into an ominous cloud. Anna grasped the thread and surged forward, dragging Elsa with her.

The sisters, in their spirit forms, flew at lightning speed up and through the mountains to settle in the branches of a huge tree dancing in the wind of a summer storm. No, "huge" was too small a word. This tree was enormous (and even that didn't do it justice). Anna shook her again and pointed high up into the branches at a dark lump hanging from them, dancing on the crushing winds.

The sisters floated forward to find- Elsa would have shrieked if she could. Alphonse hung from the branch, tied in a rope of woven vines. His chest fluttered as if he were fighting for every shallow breath, his skin was pale as the snow around them, blood dribbled from his eyes and nose and blue lips.

And from the side of his torso sprouted a long branch that dripped blood, held in place by his iron grip. The mage coughed faintly and wretched with a hoarse gasp, clearly in unbelievable agony. Elsa floated toward him and tried to touch him, but Anna held her back. Oh right, they weren't really here.

Anna shrugged and shook her head before pointing up. Circling above them was a pair of black flecks. Oh. The ravens were keeping watch over him, making sure nothing went wrong. As if on cue, they darted down through the storm-winds and toward them with ear-splitting cries.

Elsa felt Anna drag them back, the scenery rush by in a long blur, they reentered their bodies-

Elsa fell off the bed with an ungraceful thud, groaning as every part of her felt sore. Her eyes fluttered open to see Anna, who had fared much better, preparing to lift her up. The pained smile on her sister's face spoke volumes. Anna was frightened for their friend and trying, at the same time, to reassure Elsa that he would be okay.

But she was wrong. There was every chance in the world that this would turn out everything but okay. Elsa's gaze hardened and she stood, looking into Anna's eyes with all of the royal and sisterly authority she could muster. "Anna, stay here. If Hans finds out about this, he might attack Arendelle while both Alphonse and I are out of commission. If that happens, you and Kristoff have to protect our people." The queen raced through the castle and to the closest balcony. She conjured an ice-hawk and mounted, the faux-bird ready to fly at her mistress's slightest command.

Before she could take off, Anna grabbed her wrist. "What are you gonna do?" the princess asked. Elsa turned to look at her sister, steely ice in her gaze.

"I'm going to save him," she said. It was not a plan. It was a promise.

Elsa clicked her tongue and the hawk shot away, headed for the storm, for the Scion where Alphonse hung.

As dawn melded into the morning, Hans sat on the shore of his little island home, spinning shapes out of the mist while he waited. He had been waiting since dawn, and he would wait even long should it be necessary. The battle between his Maras and the Residuum had shown him that brute force wasn't going to win him Arendelle's throne. Before he took that kingdom as his own, he needed to weaken its defenses.

Hans felt a tingling sensation crawl over his skin, a sign that a monster (for lack of a better term) was near. Finally, he thought as he dispelled the elaborate knife he had formed. He swept his green gaze across the waters that surrounded his new home, searching for the subtle ripples that would herald his "guest". He didn't wait long.

From the water rose a thin, handsome man with hair so dark it seemed to shine a faint blue hanging over his face like a curtain, his eyes a deep muddy brown and skin so pale it seemed he had died. The smirk that Hans knew would usually be there was gone, replaced by a thin line of ire.

"I commend any man who tames the she-wolves," he commented in a dry, raspy voice, "but my respect for that only goes so far. Why have you summoned me, mortal, in this," he gestured to the seawater, "ghastly, salty mire." The figure, a Nokken, crossed his arms over his chest with a faint pout. Hans grinned and his eyes shifted color.

"Now is that really how you greet an old patron, Little Spelemann?" Loki asked. The Nokken's eyes widened in surprise at the title, his skin turning a faint blue in his kind's form of paling in fear. He composed himself and gave a slight bow.

"I had no idea you had returned, Silver-tongue," he noted. Loki grinned and returned to Hans.

"I have a request, Bornemann," Hans began, using the Nokken's true name. Using such was a term of respect if he had said it first, but also a veiled threat if he hadn't; monsters were picky about their names. That was one reason Odin had been so feared and respected: he knew every creature's name. "And I assure you, you will get much out of it."

Bornemann narrowed his eyes in thought, searching Han's gaze. Loki had been known as a magnificent liar, possibly the best ever, but the Nokken could sense a sort of honesty about his words. And he had to admit to himself, he was intrigued. Pickings had been slim, of late; perhaps this reborn god was offering help.

"What request would that be, Silver-tongue?" he asked with a faint smile.

Alphonse tried to concentrate, to move past the agony wracking through him, but it was a lost cause. Everything that he was was hurting, from the tips of his fingers and toes to his core to his very soul.

The jolt of the rope had been bad, but the constant pressure had long-since dislocated his shoulders, even if that had saved his neck, and his every movement made the pain flare up again. And with the wind whipping in this fearsome tempest, he was swung around like a ragdoll.

For who-knows how long, Alphonse had been gasping for air. The rope was tied tight and still had pressure from gravity and the winds. It left him just enough slack to not suffocate, but his core was tensed as he danced that thin line. He couldn't even get enough air to properly groan, no matter how his body wished to let out this pain, even for an instant.

Alphonse's skin was blue with cold, his body unable to divert blood to heat his skin. His limbs were cramped and had fallen asleep, the constant swaying feeling like fire ants crawling through his insides. His head pounded from the noose around his neck cutting off blood flow.

And of course, all of that was like a flickering candle beside the pain in his side from his makeshift spear clutched in his deadened hands, the one thing that had actually kept him alive. The life-like magic of the Scion formed a current of his life force; absorbing it, flaring it, returning it. The spear was possibly the worst part, even as it was the only reason he was still alive. Wait, was he still alive? Yes, or else the pain would be gone.

And through it all, Alphonse forced his eyes to stay open, even through the sting of the wind and red tears, to gaze into the branches of the Scion and into the depths below. Odin had hung for nine days and nights to learn the deeper secrets of the runes, to learn his fabled charms. Alphonse had no idea how long he had been hanging.

One odd aspect of the Scions was that Time seemed to flow differently around them. Yggdrasill had been a cosmic metaphor for the flow of Time, the shift of day to night, the changing of the seasons, the flow of life throughout the Nine Realms. The World Tree's Scions had inherited the barest hint of that aspect. Around them Time itself held little meaning. It slowed to a crawl in these branches, while moving normally outside.

All of this passed in a fevered haze through Alphonse's mind, his higher thoughts beaten and broken by the onslaught of suffering. The only thing that kept him sane was a single image. He thought of Elsa: her sapphire eyes, her platinum hair, her kind smile and gentle laugh. The smallest things that acted as an anchor of his sanity.

What he didn't hear, his senses closed off from the world by his haze, was the cawing of vexed birds.

As Elsa approached the whirling clouds that hid the Scion, that hid Alphonse, she prepared herself for what may come. Hugin and Munin would be waiting for her - that much she knew. Not only that, but the nature of the Tree itself might be fighting against her. Elsa gathered every shred of the eldritch power that danced beneath her skin. Now was not a time for control, it was a time for release. For the second time in her life it was time to Let IT GO!

The clouds enveloped her, the winds trying to knock her hawk from the sky, and Elsa screamed. Raw, pure, clear. And in a burst of blue-white light the winds stopped in their tracks, suspended by her own powers. Snowflakes hung in the air as if Time itself had stopped, her own hawk's movements halted.

Elsa searched the branches that surrounded her for Alphonse, finally settling on a high branch. A small dark lump hung from that thin branch, gently swaying in the non-winds. Elsa snapped her fingers, stirring her mount, and darted for the prone figure. As she drew closer, a piercing shriek cut through the air, balking her hawk.

A pair of black birds rose from beyond Alphonse, rapidly drawing in. Birds that made her own mount look like a newborn chick. Okay, I did not see that coming, Elsa thought. The queen drew on her power, the magic acting intuitively, and formed a blue longbow of flexible ice. She plucked a strand of hair and a sliver of magic took that too, enchanting it into a bowstring and lashing it into place. Elsa breathed, focusing the storm inside her, and brought the bow up to draw. Through sheer muscle memory, she drew back, an arrow of crystal-blue ice forming to full-draw.

Elsa aimed for a split second. And she fired. The arrow lanced out, but fell before it hit a bird. The instant she released, her hawk darted forward. The arrow sliced through the rope holding Alphonse up and the sorcerer fell. Branches slowed him down as Elsa dived for him, arm outstretched. As he neared the ground, Elsa caught up and grabbed him, holding him close as her hawk pulled out of its dive and flew them to safety.

Elsa focused on their destination, her Ice Palace of in the distance, trying with everything she had not to look at Alphonse until they got there, even as she clutched him to her like a lifeline. The that unearthly cry echoed across the sky again. Elsa sighed and settled Alphonse onto the back of her ice-hawk, gently lashing him to it with strands of steel-hard ice.

Elsa shifted around and lifted her bow, two arrows of ice nocked as she drew back. She focused on the massive ravens approaching, harnessing her powers. The arrows began to glow with unearthly light, then to shine like beacons. She drew a half-breath and fired, her arrows lancing out to strike each bird in the chest. A split second of no effect, and then the birds began to howl, and to change.

Ice spread across the massive ravens, hoarfrost coating them from the inside out. With a final screech, the ice covered their heads and the birds fell, fell, fell to shatter against the face of the mountain. Elsa turned away and silently ordered her mount to land, wherever it could. The faux-hawk settled into an icy cliff shadowed by pine trees and Elsa took him down.

The mage settled, Elsa finally took a true look at him - and had to bite back a gasp. Alphonse was paler than death itself, his lips bluer than her ice dress. His eyes and nose were leaking blood, his nails were stained black, veins along his neck the same. The queen removed his shirt to reveal blackened veins all along his body. His neck was circled by a harsh scar from the rough fibers of the rope.

But worst of all was the branch in his side. The wound was raw and red, barely avoiding true infection. Blood oozed from the wound in a thin line. And worst of all, the branch itself seemed to pulse with some unearthly energy.

Elsa placed her fingers against Alphonse's neck and waited. And waited. Elsa's eyes widened in panic. He had no pulse! Shoving down her fear, Elsa placed her palms on his chest and pressed, just as she had been taught. Three times, and check - nothing. Again - no change. One more time - still no pulse.

Elsa grimaced as her heart began to break. Part of her denied the evidence, almost desperate for Alphonse to be alive. But Elsa was an intellectual, her mind rooted in reason. She knew the truth. Alphonse, her hero, was dead.

Pain lanced through Elsa's heart, seeming to spread through her veins to every crevice of her being. It was like losing her parents again. It was like watching Anna's frozen body protect her from Hans. And yet it was different. Alphonse was different then them, her feelings for him were … different.

Tears finally fell as she realized the truth. Elsa had fallen for this wandering mage. His determination, his understanding, his protectiveness, she had fallen in love with him. And now he was gone …

Elsa held Alphonse's face in her hands and sobbed, her very soul seeming to crack as she pressed her forehead to his. She didn't know how long she stayed there. It didn't matter. Elsa swallowed thickly, her tears spent and placed a gentle peck against Alphonse's lips. Goodbye, she thought, and embraced him tighter.

In a grey void, a young man opened his eyes, deep blue eyes, and lifted his head. Even as he looked down, the void changed, grey grass appearing underneath him. It was neither soft nor brittle; it simply was. He looked up to see grey clouds, neither still nor soupy; they simply were.

The young man ,who couldn't remember his name, stood up, suddenly clothed in a grey shirt and pants, his feet remaining bare. Where was he? Who was he? He didn't remember anything except … a woman. Pale hair, blue eyes, kind smile. The image melted away into nothingness, but he still knew. There was a woman.

"You're a long way from home, boy," said a voice. The young man spun around to find he was not alone. Before him stood a tall figure with broad shoulders, deep wrinkles covering his face and arms. And yet, everything about him radiated strength. He was dressed like the young man, aside from a faded blue cloak and a broad-brimmed hat, his eye covered with a worn black patch.

"We only have a little time," he said. The old man lifted a broad hand, the palm faintly glowing, and the young man clutched his head. Faint whispers echoed in his ears, whispers of secrets he could not understand. The old man drew closer and touched the young man's chest.

"Be free," he said, and there was the sound of chains snapping. The young man screamed in pain, but his cry faded into a faint sigh as warmth enveloped him and pushed the pain away. He touched his lips as they seemed to tingle. Light enveloped him, a swirl of red and blue.

Then there was nothing. Nothing but warmth.

As Anna and Kristoff sat together, hands woven together as they waited for elsa to return, they felt something. Something that seemed to wash over them in a faint wave. Something warm and soft and familiar. What was that?

Hans was polishing his sword when he felt it. The sensation made him jump, his chair falling as he stood. No, it couldn't be!

As Elsa sobbed into Alphonse's chest, her hand clutching his shirt, she felt something warm cover it. Her sobbing faded and she opened her eyes to see Alphonse's hand covering her own. She looked over his face, brushing hair from his brow, and he took a strong, shuddering breath.

Alphonse coughed and his eyes fluttered open. "Elsa?" he asked.

"Alphonse?" Elsa sobbed. He coughed again and cleared his throat.

"Did I ever mention I like strong women," he whispered with a grin. Elsa laughed, tears once again falling, and crushed him in a hug, which he returned as strongly as he could. Elsa pulled back and they looked into each other's eyes. They drew closer and their lips brushed.

No interruptions, no destiny, no monsters interrupted. Both had their first kiss, and warmth enveloped them. They pulled apart and- smack! "Ow!" Alphonse cried, "What was that for?!" Elsa jammed an accusing finger at him.

"Never do something like that again!" the queen demanded, stunning the mage into silence.

"Yes ma'am," he replied. Elsa's scowl melted into a relieved smile and she clutched him closer to her, an action he was all-too-happy to mirror. Wrapped in each other, there was no demigod sorcerer. There was no Snow Queen of Arendelle.

There was only a man and a woman who had been through Hell and found each other.

"Spelemann" is Norwegian for "fiddler". The Nokken's name comes from a famous Norwegian violinist named Ole Bornemann Bull. "Spelemann" is Norwegian for "fiddler".

Hope you guys like it! I've been looking forward to this chapter since I started! And it's still far from over!

Comments and reviews are more than appreciated. Thanks guys and gals!