A/N:

Someone asked if I have a tumblr... and yes I do. It shouldn't be too hard to find me. Although its not purely dedicated to Elsanna. It's my personal blog and filled with random stuff that I find amusing. With that said, HELLO TUMBLR ANON #1!

A big hello to new followers! Welcome to the club!

And a pat on the back for those who have stuck with me. This chapter will certainly test your loyalty. Again. =/

Sorry in advance...

Anna quickly retook her place on the grandstand, perching on the edge of her seat as she wrung her hands nervously. Her father's warm hand rested upon hers, stilling her fidgety motions.

"It'll be alright." The King whispered and Anna smiled gratefully at his concern.

On the field, Hans had taken up his position on the far right; his tan coloured stallion pawing nervously at the loose dirt. Hans armour was polished to a shine, contrasting against Elsa's which was a matte black that brought out the paleness of her hair.

The crowd stilled in anticipation, eagerly awaiting the sound of the horn that would signal the start of the duel. After a long minute, the blow horn resounded and both stallions lurched forward, kicking up dirt with their hooves as they charged down the field, spurred on by their riders.

Elsa held her lance steady, as she took careful aim. She could see Hans doing the same as he approached, his green eyes glinting with steely determination through the narrow slit of his helm. They were almost within striking distance of each other now; the roar of the crowd fading away as they concentrated.

Elsa leaned heavily to her right, evading Hans lance as it whizzed through the air to strike nothing. Had she not moved in time, the lance would have struck her squarely in her breastplate. Dangling dangerously out of her high saddle with only her thighs keeping her from slipping off and being trampled to death, Elsa jabbed with all her might.

The wooden lance snapped, sending splinters flying with a sharp crack that was quickly accompanied by a heavy thud of metal against dirt. Hans horse continued galloping down the field, riderless while Elsa tossed the broken lance aside. Yanking hard on the reins, her stallion reared on its hindlimbs before dropping back to the ground in a sudden stop.

Elsa swung her left foot over the saddle and slid down her steed's side. Before her boots hit the ground, she had drawn her sword, the blade reflecting off the orange glow of the sun as she advanced towards Hans on his hands and knees; taking some pleasure at the sight of dirt smears on Hans armour. She circled Hans like a hawk as he pushed himself to his feet, grimacing as he moved, the underside of his right arm where Elsa had caught him with her lance already beginning to bruise. Had it been any other opponent, Elsa would have ended the duel with a fatal strike while her opponent was on the ground; but she wanted to humiliate Hans. She wanted an outlet to vent her frustration but above all else, she wanted him to regret ever touching Anna.

A jealous woman is not one to be trifled with, even if you had a death wish.

The instant Hans was on his feet, Elsa struck with a sharp swing to his left that he barely blocked with his gauntlets. As soon as Elsa's sword had made contact, it was pulled back to deliver another blow that Hans managed to draw his sword to check. They kept at it for several minutes, checking and counter-checking each other with neither party gaining the upper hand.

It wasn't until Hans noticed the smirk on Elsa's face that he realised she was toying with him; stringing him along as one would a mouse by dangling cheese out of its reach. Fury broiled within him and he pressed his advance, blocking a strike with his left forearm then reaching forward to grasp Elsa's wrist and driving his knuckles into the side of her head with his other hand.

Elsa's helm flew off from the impact to clatter onto the ground. Hans had released her and she took several steps back. She had bit her cheek from the impact and warm blood flowed freely into her mouth that she promptly spat out in a spray of crimson that splattered across the dirt. Wiping off a trail of blood and saliva with her left hand, she returned her attention to a smirking Hans.

"Now we're even." He called out smugly.

"Enjoy it while you can." Elsa retorted coolly.

"Oh, I will. And I'm definitely going to enjoy pummelling you into the ground." Hans charged forward, his sword upright and held close to his body, poised to strike.

"Too slow." Easily sidestepping him, Elsa lowered her body, curling her arm and sending her sword in a swing that swept Hans's legs from beneath him before driving the hilt of her sword between his shoulder blades.

Hans tumbled gracelessly, his helm flying off as he fell and he landed face first into the packed dirt. A trickled of blood seeped from his broken nose as he pushed himself onto his hands and knees with a grunt.

"You whore. You broke my nose!" He snapped, eyes blazing in anger as he held his crooked nose with his free hand.

"That's rich coming from you." Elsa quirked an eyebrow in mock amusement.

Gritting his teeth at the snide insult to his biological mother, Hans rosed to his feet and lunged forward without warning, slashing madly.

Elsa twisted and twirled as she checked each of Hans's blows. She kept her sword close against her body, using her legs and body to absorb majority of the impact. She was at a disadvantage in terms of muscle mass and directly cross-checking Hans's attacks would only hurt her wrists. She had to fight smart; wait for an opening then strike swiftly.

Or she could create an opportunity.

Cross checking a blow with a wide swing of her own that jarred her wrists, Elsa moved along with the momentum, turning her body and getting well inside of Hans's striking range. Changing the trajectory of her swing into an upwards slice, the tip of her blade dragged against the dirt before driving through a kink in the chainmail and slicing muscle.

Hans shrieked in pain, staggering backwards as blood spurted from the underside of his left armpit. Elsa pressed forwards, driving the built-in knuckle duster of her sword hand into his jaw. There was a sickening crunch of lead against bone and Hans flew almost a foot backwards from the force before landing hard in a loud clatter of metal.

Elsa continued her advance, her lips set in a grim line, her eyes cold and empty. Towering over the whimpering figure of Hans clutching at his already swelling jaw, she pushed him onto his back with her boot, digging her heel painfully into his left shoulder.

The tip of Elsa's sword pressed against Hans's bobbing adam apple and he stared up at her with as much hatred as he could muster. With the late afternoon sun casting its rich orange hue against her hair, he could not help but admire her in that moment and he hated himself for it. She looked like an angel, with eyes as cold as ice as she stared unblinkingly down at him. Even on the verge of death by her hands, Hans thought Elsa beautiful.

"I concede." Hans muttered; his voice so low that Elsa almost missed it.

"What did you say?" Elsa raised her head to stare down her nose at him condescendingly.

"I said I concede." Hans spat out; the sharp point of Elsa's sword had drawn a pinprick of blood as it broke skin.

"You are a coward; a disgrace to the knights of your order and to your king."

"Better labelled a coward and live to fight another day than to die in vain." Hans grinned maliciously.

Elsa narrowed her eyes in suspicion, her lips parting to demand an explanation before the thunderous roar of hooves throwing up dirt caused her to seek the source of the interruption. Screams of horror filled the air as the spectators began scrambling out of the stands in panic. Her attention shifted to more pressing matters, Elsa stepped away from Hans and took several steps towards the Southern Isles side of the field.

The Southern Isles warhorses, a good forty of them rounded the corner and charged past the field in panic, leaving collapsing pavilions in their wake. One of the horses, a black destrier strayed from its herd, dragging the motionless figure of a knight whose foot had been caught in the stirrup. As the horse and its rider approached, Elsa noticed the Southern Isles knight's throat had been slit, leaving a trail of sticky blood that seeped into the dirt.

More screams of panic, clearly human assaulted Elsa's ears and she turned to watch in horror as the southern stands lurched to its side, sending fearful spectators tumbling onto the ground. A human stampede broke out as people shoved to get away from the collapsing debris in panic while those trapped beneath the rubble called out desperately for help or screamed in pain.

Another warhorse charged through the collapsing stand, further wrecking the supporting foundation and trampling several citizens in the process. A figure was sitting in the high saddle, slumped against the destrier's neck and visibly missing its head.

It was chaos and it all happened in less than thirty seconds.

Elsa's head was quickly churning out possibilities as it analysed the situation. Two dead Southern Isles knights clearly murdered with the assailant or assailants spooking the horses and inducing panic. An external attack from beyond the castle walls was improbable; there were far too many guards on patrol during such an important event like the tourney. That meant it was an attack from the inside; potentially opportunistic or worse, well planned to sneak right beneath her nose.

"ELSA!" The King bellowed as he leaned over the railing of the grandstand which was thankfully still intact.

The spectators on the northern stands had begun fleeing as well; parents slinging toddlers onto their shoulders or ushering children towards the stairs and to safety. A group of men had vaulted over the rails, rushing towards the opposite stands where they began lifting broken planks, trying to free the trapped beneath the debris.

"ELSA!" The King roared and Elsa snapped her head in his direction at the urgency in his voice and started running towards the grandstand.

"Take Anna and go!" He yelled down as Elsa neared the base of the grandstand.

"I'm not leaving without you and Mamma!" Anna protested as her father pushed her towards the railings.

"I'm not leaving you either! It's my duty to protect you!" Elsa shouted back in determination.

"Elsa, take Anna. I am ordering you as your king." He stated with finality.

"But – I can…" Elsa began protesting.

"Anna's safety is your priority. That is your duty."

Elsa pursed her lips and conjured up an ice griffin with an impatient wave. Pulling herself on its back, she called up to Anna perched on the rails, still vehemently fighting against her father as he carried her over the protective barrier.

"Jump, Anna!"

"We can't just leave them!" Anna yelled back in frustration. "I won't leave you or Mamma!" She grabbed at her father's jacket.

"Anna! Listen to me. You are our only true born. The future of our kingdom lies with you. You must live. Now, go!" Without warning, he pushed her off the rails to fall ten feet through the air before landing in Elsa's arms.

Wrapping her arms firmly around the struggling redhead, Elsa commanded the griffin to charge away from the chaos.

"Keep her safe, Elsa."

There was far too much noise to hear the King's words, but Elsa could make them out from the movements of his lips. Nodding curtly in acknowledgement, she saw the King raising a hand in a small wave before the griffin took flight.

"Come, my love. We must go." The King ushered his wife towards the stairs, glancing back as sharp cracks filled the air and the southern stands collapsed fully like matchsticks.

The Queen clawed at his sleeve and he turned to face her in confusion, taking in her features warped in surprise. Her lips were parted in a silent scream that had died in her throat, her eyes bulging in shock. His gaze fell lower and landed on the protruding point of a sword disappearing back into her chest. Blood seeped through her gown, staining the pale blue blouse in a crimson red that spread quickly across the fabric. With a low gurgle as her lungs filled with blood, she slumped forward into her husband's arms, fingers clutching his jacket in a death grip.

"I…" She never got to complete her sentence as the light left her eyes and her body went limp.

"No….no… NO!" The King roared in denial, roughly shaking his wife's lifeless body in an useless attempt at waking her.

"Don't worry. You will be joining your beloved soon." A voice snidely commented and the King glanced up, his features twisted into a snarl.

A large man with dark brown hair, neatly trimmed moustache and dressed in the indigo and magenta coloured tunic of the Southern Isles wiped away the dripping blood on his sword a disdainful smirk on his face as he emerged from the shadows of the stairs.

Lowering his wife's prone body to the ground, he had his fingers wrapped around the man's throat in a heartbeat. The King watched in unbridled fury as he slowly pushed his sword into the man's chest, making certain to drag out the process for as long and as painful as possible. He looked into the man's eyes, listening to the sounds of ragged breathing that slowly gave way to chokes. The man's sword had clattered to the ground, bouncing down the steps as his grip slackened.

The King stepped back, letting the lifeless body slid unceremoniously off his sword to tumble down the stairs and land in an awkward heap. Grief shook him to his very core as he turned back to his queen, dropping onto his knees and slamming his fist into the platform in anguish.

xxx

"We've got to go back. Elsa. Please! They are my family." Anna begged, struggling wildly in Elsa's grasp.

"They are mine too. But you heard what your father said." Elsa's face was impassive though the thin layer of frost coating her gloves showed her anxiety.

They had been flying for the past five minutes, the griffin taking them high into the cloud cover with the late afternoon sun on their backs. Elsa had no idea where she was taking them, only that she was bound by duty to serve her king. Well serve and protect; but the latter clearly wasn't working out at present. It was against her entire being to run but the King had been right. Anna was of utmost priority.

"Then as Princess of Arendelle, I command you to take us back." Anna snapped.

"It's my duty to protect you." Elsa responded through gritted teeth.

"Well. I'm going back. So if you intend to protect me, you'll just have to come along."

Anna slammed the heel of her palm into Elsa's sternum, causing the blonde to gasp and relax her hold. Breaking free, Anna sidled down the griffin's back, free falling through the air.

"Damnit, Anna." Elsa managed to gasp out as Anna disappeared into a clump of cloud.

Urging the griffin into a steep dive, she flattened her body against its back; reducing the amount of drag. What in the blazes was Anna thinking?! They were several hundred feet in the air. A fall from such a height would require a shovel to scrap her remains off the ground.

Squinting against the wind howling past her, Elsa could just make out Anna's fiery red braids fluttering as she tumbled through the air. Murmuring softly to her flying steed, the griffin responded in kind, folding its wings tightly against its body and tucking in its limbs. The pull of gravity on their heavier combined weight soon allowed them to reach a level height with Anna's body. Elsa leaned over the griffin's broad back as they plummeted towards the earth, snagging Anna around the waist as they sped past her, still accelerating in their descent. Yanking Anna back onto her lap, Elsa used her body to trap the redhead against the griffin's back as it unfurled its large wings. Their descent slowed gradually and the earth stopped rushing up to meet them as they glided through the air.

"I thought so." Anna stated triumphantly, eliciting a muttered curse from Elsa.

"Don't you ever do that again. What if I hadn't gone after you?" Elsa chided, brows furrowed.

"I knew you would." Anna replied nonchalantly wrapping her arms around Elsa waist.

"And what did you think that little stunt would accomplish? Now that I've caught you, what's to stop me from taking you away again?"

"Because I know you wouldn't, Elsa. You are worried too." Anna pointed out.

Elsa remained silent for a long moment before speaking softly. "We'd better hurry back."

Anna nodded, her arms tightening their hold around Elsa's waist.

"Fly fast, little one." Elsa placed her palm against the griffin's neck, the beast squawking in response before flapping its wings harder.

Even though the decision to return brought some measure of calmness, Elsa couldn't quite shake her worry. Who knew what awaited them back in Arendelle? What if they were flying straight into a trap? She couldn't take such a risk, not when Anna's life could be in danger; but she couldn't leave her obligations behind either.

Serve and protect. That was her sworn duty.

xxx

Kristoff pushed his way through the crowd, making for the grandstand. He had seen Elsa and Anna take off into the air on the back of one of Elsa's creations minutes earlier and dread had filled him. With Elsa away, that meant the King and Queen were left unguarded. Relief flooded his being when he finally caught a glimpse of the grandstand, grateful that it had been spared from whatever had flattened the southern stands. At the top, he could just make out the King's hunched over a figure on the ground.

Squinting a little from the distance, Kristoff jogged closer, his armour clanking noisily with each step, his pollaxe bouncing against his pauldrons. The northern stands were empty, the spectators had long made for the bridge leading back to the safety within the castle's battlements. The southern stand however was still in utter chaos, knights from both factions and castle guards milled around the area, helping to sift through debris and freeing the trapped or guiding the injured to the infirmary. In the distance, he could hear the shouts of men and neighing horses as they tried to calm the beasts or at least keep them away from the civilians.

He had rushed into the Southern Isles base at the start of the pandemonium, quickly tracing back the blood smears to a small tent near the back of the base. The dead knight had been slayed with his own sword, the weapon in question stabbed into the dirt ground and the knight's helm resting on its hilt like a makeshift grave marker. The terrified screams from the spectator stands had alerted Kristoff and he immediately did a quick sweep of each tent in the area for another murder site. It had not taken him long before he lifted the flaps to a tent and found the unattached head of a clean shaven, young man sitting at the foot of a similar sword and helm grave marker.

There had been no trace of the murderer, not even a sign of a scuffle in either of the sites. Kristoff was hardly an expert on the matter but he was willing to wager his armour that the murderer, whoever he was, had disguised himself to fit in with the Southern Isles men. He had faith that there was simply no way anyone could slip through the castle's security. Not finding anything else of suspicion, Kristoff had made his way back to the field; keeping a keen eye of his surroundings lest he missed something.

Kristoff's eyes widened as he finally made out the limp figure of the Queen cradled against the King's chest. The King's gloves were soaked with blood, the white material so drenched with the bodily fluid that it left sticky red prints over everything it touched. Kristoff broke into a run, his feet pounding heavily against the ground as he closed the distance in brisk strides, barely noticing the burning in his calves from the strain of propelling the additional weight of his armour on top of his own body mass.

Leaping across several wooden support beams that had fallen across the field, he caught sight of movement from the corner of his eye. A brief shimmer of sunlight reflecting off metal that flitted pass his vision, drawing his attention to the topmost bleachers that was level with the base of the grandstand platform.

A stocky man with sandy brown hair crouched by the wooden bench, propping up a loaded crossbow on the seat. He peered down the sight, aligning the arrow to the oblivious King only a few feet away. The arrow head shimmered as the weapon was adjusted, reflecting light into Kristoff's eyes.

"Archer!" Kristoff bellowed in warning, but his voice was drowned out by the noise from the broken stand behind him.

The man, dressed in a squire tunic with the Southern Isles crest glanced at him, and smiled deviously before turning his attention back to his target. His gloved finger curled around the trigger as he squinted down the sight, reaffirming the trajectory.

Kristoff skidded to a stop, knowing he would never reach the man in time. Grasping near the butt of his pollaxe, he swung the weapon around his head as he would a lasso, letting the heavy weapon pick up speed before releasing it. The pollaxe twirled, rotating on its own axis; a spinning arc of gleaming blade and pointed tips that slice through the air towards the man.

But Kristoff was a split second too late.

The squire had squeezed the trigger, sending the notched iron cast arrow to whistle through the air from the tension.

The instant the arrow took flight, Kristoff pollaxe buried its blade into the man's shoulder; the force of his throw so great that it pinned the man to the wooden bench behind him. The world seemingly slowed as Kristoff followed the trajectory of the arrow, his mouth parting to call out a warning only to hang open when the arrowhead plunged into the King's chest, piercing through his heart and exiting from his back in a spray of crimson.

The King looked up in surprise then, meeting Kristoff's horrified gaze before he crumpled onto his side. With an inhuman surge of strength that he somehow mustered even in the face of imminent death, he dragged his sluggish body towards his wife. He was aware of the coldness seeping into his very bones, chilling him to the core. Just a little bit more, he was so close… With his last breath, the King took his beloved's hands in his, pulling her body into his weakening arms before giving in to the peaceful lull of eternal sleep.

Not even in death, will they be apart.

A/N:

I'm really jealous of people who can write AND draw.

I wish I could draw... I've got so many scenes in mind that I'm not doing justice to with words. Blah. My stickman drawings look terrible too. =(