Hey guys. I just want to say thank you to every single person who took a little time to write a review for my last two chapters. Kudos to you guys! I hope you guys like this chapter.

"Elsa, you're bleeding."

"Hmm?" Elsa crumples the note in her hand and squeezes it in her fist as if she can squeeze the ink from the parchment. Her head feels faint. They're travelling very fast back to the castle which isn't really helping. She forces a blank expression before meeting Anna's eyes, but the image of the note remains stamped in her mind. "Pardon?"

"Your arm, Elsa," Anna says, reaching forward and gently touching the underside of Elsa's left forearm. "It's badly cut."

A searing pain in the place she touched flares up and Elsa snatches her arm back, hissing.

"Ouch," she says dumbly, cradling her arm. When she takes her hand away to inspect the wound, it's covered in blood. As is the side of her dress, and the purple velvet she is sitting on.

Oh goodness.

"You need to dress it. I remember when I was about fourteen and I tripped and fell on this waylaid spear. It cut all the way down my shoulder." Anna bends down and lifts up the bottom of her dress, making to tear off a strip of the material. "It was horrible, there was so much blood, and I—"

"Oh, no," Elsa says, trying a smile that she suspects is a badly concealed grimace. "Anna, don't ruin your dress, it's not worth it. If I can make a dress, I can make a bandage."

Witch.

"Okay," Anna says, shrugging. "But I tried to make my own bandage once when I was nine and Dr Natvig had a fit when he saw it. Ordered me to never try and fix myself up again, to come straight to him. I mean…"

Elsa takes a deep breath and tunes out Anna's babbling. She tries to ignore how lightheaded she feels and glides her opposite hand over her forearm, concentrating harder than usual as she tries to fabricate the dressing.

Thin strands of ice weave together and wrap around her arm with her other hand waving up, over, and around the injury She is careful not to touch the actual wound lest she freeze it entirely (and she doesn't know if she's immune to frostbite yet). The icy gauze thickens as she continues to wrap it, tighter and tighter and tighter.

WITCH.

Elsa's hand jarrs and a monstrous icy spike springs from the carriage floor. The large spear-like icicle slices open her thigh and she gasps in pain. Anna squeaks and scrambles into the opposite corner. The coach jostles to a stop with the weight and she can hear the horses whinny, annoyed, the coachman trying to calm them.

"Oh gosh," she cries, "Anna I'm—Anna I—please I'm sorry—"

"Elsa," Anna cuts her off in a soothing voice. "It's okay it was a mistake, I'm okay. Calm down, I'm okay. You're—less okay."

Someone shouts, "Your Majesty!" and Elsa looks out the window of the carriage, frightened. She can see the lieutenant marching up towards them.

Anna reaches forward to lay a reassuring hand on Elsa's shoulder but Elsa pulls back sharply.

"No," she chokes. "Anna, I'm too dangerous."

How can she have let this happen? How can she have done this with Anna right beside her?

WITCH.

Oh goodness she can't breathe. She's a monster, she needs to get out.

There's so much blood.

She scrabbles at the handle of the carriage door but she can't move her arm the way she wants it to move. She's moving so slowly and she can't seem to push down on handle. Everything is so exhausting. The world is starting to spin.

Anna is talking to someone and they're talking back, she can hear it, but she can't make out any words. The volume is getting lower and lower. Her tongue isn't working fast enough to tell Anna to stop talking. And why is it getting dark?

(Can't breathe—)

Yes! She manages to get the door open—but it swings too far and she falls out and lands on her hands and knees.

The ground blossoms beautifully at her touch, lovely and blue and sparkling—

Somebody screams something that's close to her name, she knows, but the spots are blurring her vision and she's slumping, unable to

move.

(CAN'T BREATHE—)

More faint shouting—why can't everyone just shut up?

The beautiful blue in front of her is fading—oh no! She can't see much anymore.

She welcomes the darkness and relaxes into its warmth until everything is black and she doesn't feel.

All of her senses come back slowly, but at the same time. She can smell the rusty scent of blood mixed with the sharp smell of medicinal alcohol. She can taste that same rust on her tongue, and can feel some crumpled paper in her hand, the linen sheets under and over her body, wrapping her up so tightly she can barely move. Someone is humming beside her and she can sense the soft candlelight through her closed lids, but she doesn't want to open her eyes just yet.

The humming stops.

"I know you're awake, Elsa," says Anna's voice, low. "The temperature just dropped."

"What?" she says in a strangled voice, eyes flying open.

Anna snorts and smiles fragilely at her sister. She's sitting in a wicker armchair by the bed. "Just did it again."

Elsa struggles against the blankets, but only two of her four limbs are working properly. Her left forearm and thigh are tightly wrapped in gauze. They're so heavy and she's so tired.

Her head falls back against the pillows. It feels like it weighs a tonne. She looks wearily at her sister. Her mouth doesn't want to open for her.

"You lost a lot of blood," Anna says, looking at a spot about a metre above Elsa. There's a dimple between her brows but she's not quite frowning. Her voice is just slightly thicker. "And that mixed with the shock, boy. No wonder you fainted. They said they couldn't be sure they could help you. You were so pale—I mean, paler than usual. Cold, too." She fixes a frown on her sister. "You were freezing, though. So cold your heart rate slowed almost to a stop. But that meant your blood wasn't flowing as fast either. It wasn't pouring out of you like before. You were so cold. So lifeless. They patched up the wound but the doctor said he needn't have. The moment your blood had stopped flowing, like, ninety five percent, these little threads of ice started to weave themselves around the wounds. We didn't know what that meant, still don't. Your blood flow returned to normal soon after. Well, apparently your blood pressure is a little below average but you seemed fine. They didn't do much. Just a bunch of monitoring. You should have seen them; looking at you like your were a scientific experiment. I had to fight to have an hour alone with you. You've been out for a few hours. It's not very much, considering. Ordinary people would be out for a lot longer."

Indeed the slanted light of evening is spilling in through Elsa's half-covered windows.

"I'm sorry, Anna," she croaks. She has to force her voice around the lump in her throat, and the tears building up in the corners of her eyes are making it hard to see. "I'm so sorry. I thought I could control myself, I thought I'd never have to hurt you again. I'm so sorry."

She looks up to the ceiling and blinks back the tears, determined not to let them fall. Anna surprises her with a hug so tight she squeezes the breath from her lungs. She buries her head in Elsa's neck and mumbles something that Elsa can't make out.

"What?" she questions.

Anna lifts her head ever so slightly and says, "I said, you never have to be sorry for who you are." She steps back into the wicker armchair.

"It was a mistake. You were still in shock from this morning. It's okay, you're allowed to make mistakes. I'm fine, anyway, just a little surprised."

Elsa groans and kneads the heel of her right hand into her eye socket. "I thought I was supposed to be able to control myself now. I should be able to control myself!"

Her fingers dig into her palm and she feels that crumpled piece of paper again. Her eyes blink open, and this time when she tries to get out of bed, she manages it.

"Whoa!" says her sister, jumping forward to push her gently back down. "Where do you think you're going in this state?"

She's right; Elsa's in no state to move. Her head is spinning and she feels faint again, but this is too important. She throws her good arm over her sister's shoulders.

"Anna," she wheezes, "either help me or spend the next few hours trying to escape handcuffs made of ice. I need to call an emergency council meeting. It's vital."

Anna looks worriedly at her, but stays quiet. She grabs a nearby shawl and throws it over Elsa's chemise and petticoat. Elsa nods and grits her teeth.

Carefully, oh so carefully, she fashions a makeshift sling of icy fabric.

"Help, please," she says and Anna ties it around her arm and neck. She gets back under Elsa's arm and they limp the ten steps out of her bedroom together.

In the corridor outside they meet a young maid whom they send to call for the meeting in the council room. It's right beside her study, one floor down.

"Okay," Elsa pants. "It will take some time for them to be assembled. In the meantime, I can't arrive looking like this. Anna, would you mind awfully retrieving my crown from my room please?"

"Are you sure you can stand by yourself?" Anna doesn't move from under Elsa's arm.

"Yes, I'm fine, don't worry."

Her smile is weak, but it seems to do the trick.

Anna runs back into the room and Elsa takes those few seconds to redress herself in her powder blue lace. The icy material feels sinfully good on her. It crawls over her skin, braiding and knitting together and disappearing under the shawl over her shoulders.

It pains her to have her ice dress on again so soon. She thought she'd last longer than a week, but there is no question of her putting on an actual cloth dress in her current state. Nevertheless, she feels somehow ashamed of having it on, as if she is wrongfully advocating her powers. She feels like both the worst and best sides of herself are coming out.

"I found it!" Anna comes running out—and trips over her own feet, flying out of the door and crashing to the ground. "Ow. Hey! The dress is back."

Elsa chuckles and extends her hand which Anna ignores.

"You're hurt," she says, "remember?"

"You should be more careful," Elsa admonishes with a smile.

Anna laughs. She gets up clumsily and steps behind Elsa to tuck her messy plait into a knot at the nape of her neck. Elsa feels her fingertips brush her skin and can't help tensing. The ice is sparking across her skin and between her fingers and she moves a few steps away involuntarily, turning to face her sister. She tucks the strays into the bun herself.

Anna sighs quietly. She steps forward with the crown and they hear a crunching sound. There is a circle of frost on the floor where Elsa was standing. Anna determinedly ignores it and places the crown on Elsa's head anyway.

"There," she says, smiling with a fire in her eyes. "Fit for a queen."

"I'm sor—"

"Nope."

Before Elsa can protest Anna ducks under her arm and they make it about six steps before Elsa has to stop and sit down on the floor, feeling too lightheaded to continue. Her head drops into her hands and she groans.

"This isn't going to work, Anna," she grumbles. "I'm too weak."

She raises her head to look mournfully at her sister who plops down beside her.

"Well," Anna replies, "unless you have another one of those Marshmallow snowmen up your sleeve, we'll just have to deal with it."

Wait. "Anna… That's brilliant!"

"What is?"

Elsa doesn't answer. She rises, a little wobbly, and motions her hands. With a flash of blue light and a white cloud a snowman erupts from the ground.

"Woah!" cries Anna. "I wasn't thinking literally!"

Elsa smiles. Her snowman is built of blocks of hard-packed snow and it stops about two feet taller than her. It's smaller than Marshmallow by a long shot, but it'll do its new job perfectly well. It bows to her.

"Now," she says, stepping forward. "Take me to the meeting."

The snowman stoops to pick her up and she sits comfortably in its arms. She looks to Anna who is grinning like Christmas has come early.

"This is so awesome."

Elsa just rolls her eyes and the three of them make their way to the next floor down in the castle. It's not exactly uncomfortable, but she feels strange in the hands of living snow all the same. He seems so alive, despite being made of something so lifeless. It scares her a lot, actually, to know what she can do with her powers. It scares her, knowing she can bring things into this world.

She shakes her head and tries to push those thoughts out of her head. There's little point in going into the council meeting even more anxious than she is now.

"All right." Elsa stops them at the door. "Thank you." The snowman lets her down gently against the wall, so that she can use something to prop herself up. Then she waves him away in a whirl of snowflakes and blue glitter.

"Uh, what are you doing?" asks Anna.

"I don't think it would put me forward in the best light if I arrived in the arms of a living snowman, Anna," Elsa replies, fashioning a crutch of thick ice. She looks at her sister. "Not everyone is as excited as you are when faced with magic like this."

"Then they haven't had enough fun in a long time." Anna puts her hand on the doorknob when Elsa stops her.

"Wait," she says. "I need you to do something else."

Elsa hesitates. The crinkled edges of the note bite into her palm. She can't let Anna know about it, it would upset her. (Or worse, convince her of the truth of its message.)

She knows it's unfair of her to lie to her sister like this, after she's been so good, but she has to. Anna doesn't do well in formal situations, and frankly, she'd be a hindrance to the meeting. Elsa hates to think of her sister like that, hates to admit it at all, but it's just that she isn't cut out for it. She doesn't have the practical, rational, logical mind for it. She's far too excitable to engage in serious matters. But Elsa loves her for that. She loves that Anna comes as a respite. There is a lot of that child in her that never grew up.

"Ooh," Anna grins, "do you need a spy? I could totally be a spy!"

Case in point.

"No, not a spy." Elsa smiles. "I think it would be a good idea if you helped repair the damage you caused from earlier on. Bring Helga some flowers? It's important to show your subjects you care."

Anna sighs and her shoulders sag. She juts her bottom lip out and looks so much like a lost puppy Elsa has to resist the urge to place her hand on Anna's cheek affectionately.

"Fine," groans Anna, pouting. "You realise you're already lecturing me on proper princess duties? You're turning into Kai. Or Papa. I'll just take Kristoff with me. That'll be more fun."

Anna turns and stomps toward the staircase, still muttering about Kristoff and how when they were adventuring together it was so much less boring. (She'll have to look into this Mountain-Man-Mr Bjorgman. No man will touch Anna until Elsa has examined everything he is.) Elsa just shakes her head, the amusement only marginally abating her nerves of what is behind the doors. She can hear raised voices but can't make out the words.

She takes a deep breath and enters anyway, leaking her face of emotion and lifting her chin just the slightest.

The conversation in the room stops, and they all rise to greet her. They bow and she nods and their eyes watch her as she limps around to the head of the oval table. It's hard to look dignified with a crutch and she can feel each of their stares like a hot needle in her skin, burning through her flesh to see the monster she truly is.

Her breathing is the loudest thing in the room right in this second. It crashes against her eardrums like storming waves.

She manages to make it to her seat and she sits down. Breathes for a moment. Forgets the ice in her veins. Ignores her anxiety. (It doesn't work.)

"Gentlemen," she begins. She's determined to look them in the eye. "I brought you here to discuss what happened at approximately midday in the square. I presume you have all heard."

They nod.

"It has caused quite an uproar in the town, Your Majesty," says a man, whom she recognises as the General, in a deep gravelly voice.

She hums in agreement. "It was an organised attack. There was a note attached to the arrow which expressed unwelcoming sentiments toward the Crown."

(WITCH)

She steels herself and opens her fist. She smoothes the square of parchment down on the table and pushes it toward the middle of the table.

She feels as if she's baring her entire self to them, as if they can see her very skeleton. This is what she knows, and what everyone else knows, she is. She is an abomination to be slaughtered.

The few seconds of silence makes it worse.

She starts to speak after the loaded pause. "It is clear that they meant to aim that arrow toward me. With this predisposition toward the reigning monarch of Arendelle, we can only assume that whoever shot the arrow has a hostile inclination to the kingdom. I move to initiate a plan of defence immediately."

Her anxiety augments as the note is passed from hand to hand, going round the entire table and placed back in the middle just so the word is facing her. She feels as if it is accusing her, blaming her for being such a dreadful, rotten creature. (It's right.)

She hears a tiny crackling noise and catches the ice on the armrests of her chair under hands, trying to will it away and knowing it's not going anywhere.

She looks around the table and everyone stares dubiously back at her.

She raises an eyebrow.

They share glances with each other and an understanding seems to pass through the group that she can't understand. This throws her off and even she can feel the temperature dropping a degree or two.

This isn't the first time she has met with the council; in her past three years as Crown Princess prior to her ascension to the throne she has met regularly with the council, deciding the fate of her kingdom with them much as she is now. She has known them since she was twelve years old and just beginning to accompany her father to the meetings on her only (very brief) trips outside her chambers. They have watched her grow up to be the queen she is and there is a careful bond of trust formed between them over the years. At least there was. Now that she has shown her terrible secret to the kingdom-the world-she is sure that bond is broken. Entirely nonexistent.

The General clears his throat then speaks in a gruff voice. "I second Your Majesty's motion. Gentlemen, an assassination attempt on our Queen is a declaration of war on Arendelle. Everyone who agrees say aye."

A beat passes and the breath hitches in her throat before she hears quiet assent from the men gathered around her table. Only one "Aye", comes a few long moments after the rest.

The hesitating man is tall and wispy. His thin-wire glasses are performing a balancing act on a huge yet narrow hooked nose. Long spidery fingers caress white musketeer facial hair that frames a scowling mouth. Elsa is sure not to stare at him longer than she would the rest.

Still, there is a new tension in the air, one a lot more dangerous and unsettling. Those few seconds she spent looking at him cut into her like nothing she's known. Something has crawled under her skin, sending shivers up and down her back without pause. His eyes are an icy blue, paler than hers, so translucent yet so full of hidden thoughts. It frightens her.

She recalls the first day she was introduced to the man—Ivan Bratvold. He had seemed shrewd and distrusting even then. His scowl, she learnt, is a permanent fixture on his face, never wavering. He was a Count, and a top merchant and businessman in the kingdom. He won his place at the late King's side by being among the cleverest of men.

She was seven that day. Her father had brought her to her first Council Meeting, to show her what it was like in the world of politics. She'd been so excited. And then he had set her on edge with his strange glare, like her skin was translucent, and he could see the storm swirling within her. He had been the only one, without speaking more than two sentences in the five hours the meeting took place, to make her feel like she was most unwelcome.

She's never felt so exposed and vulnerable after that, even when she'd revealed to her whole kingdom the monster she really is. At that time, she'd been scared and desperate and like what she'd done was wrong. He had made her feel like her entire existence was wrong. (He was right.)

Elsa's attention is diverted by the defence plans being roughly sketched by the General. She tries to pay attention and ignore the eyes of Bratvold. She's not a child anymore.

General Toov begins to sort through the different specialised areas of the military that he wants to assign to different places, and Elsa settles herself for a long night of intricate defense strategies and barricades, trying not to let the ripples under her skin show.