Chapter Text
The biting darkness of the winter night had long since descended on the kingdom of Arendelle when a heartbreaking scream echoed through the castle corridors. King Agnarr rushed out of his room, followed by his wife, their faces taut with anguish.
With a flick of his shoulder, Agnarr opened the door to his daughters' room, just as large flames began to dissipate in the hearth opposite the beds. Little Anna, a mischievous-looking redhead, turned towards them. Iduna, the Queen, held back a frightened cry when she saw Elsa, their youngest daughter, lying inert on the floor. The King rushed over to her, bending down to hear if her heart was still beating, for long, unbearable seconds.
"I haven't done anything," Anna justified herself immediately.
"Silence!" sighed the King.
He was always on the lookout for the slightest sound to indicate that his daughter was still alive. His own heart was drumming so hard in his chest and temples that it would surely prevent him from hearing anything. But at last, Elsa's chest heaved as she took a long, wheezing breath. The royal couple sighed with relief.
Agnarr looked sternly up at Anna.
"I forbade you to play together. You know how fragile her health is, she can't leave her bed.
"She's the one who insisted,” Anna retorted with a shrug and a pout.
Iduna went over to her eldest daughter and gently rubbed her head.
"It's nobody's fault, darling...
Anna didn't reply, simply watching wearily as her father lifted Elsa from the floor and laid her on her bed.
"Her hands are covered in ice,” he murmured.
He tucked a strand of platinum-blond hair behind his daughter's ear and absentmindedly placed a hand on her forehead. She was frozen.
He suddenly had an idea. He instructed his wife to keep an eye on his daughters and rushed out of the room, heading for the royal library. Iduna sat on the edge of the bed and took Elsa's hand, hoping her warmth would melt the ice. In vain. She tried to swallow her tears and look strong in front of Anna, who had just climbed onto her lap.
After several long minutes, Agnarr returned, a dusty grimoire in his arms. Ignoring the Queen's questioning gaze, he placed it on the table.
He frantically turned the pages, his trembling fingers skimming over words he could barely decipher. His face pale and tense, he glanced from time to time at his youngest daughter, curled up on the bed. Elsa's lips were blue and her icy hands, clasped to her chest, were letting out wisps of frost.
"Agnarr,” Iduna finally said, unable to bear the silence any longer. We've got to do something. Elsa won't last another night...
He didn't reply, absorbed in the yellowing pages he was flipping through with almost demented fervor. For weeks, Elsa had been complaining of a dull pain in her chest, as if an invisible weight were compressing her heart. The kingdom's healers had failed to explain this strange pain. But tonight, he had understood: Elsa's magic, an uncontrollable ice, was eating her from the inside out.
Meanwhile, Anna had risen to her feet and grabbed a wooden toy she and Elsa had been playing with earlier. Without her seeming to notice, tiny sparks flew from her fingers, dancing around her like fireflies.
"Anna,” her mother called softly. My darling, don't touch anything, okay?
Anna sighed and let the toy fall to the ground. It was completely charred.
Agnarr slammed the grimoire shut. The thud startled Iduna and Anna, but Elsa didn't move. Her breath had slowed even further, and every inhalation became a tug-of-war.
"The trolls,” he murmured at last.
He walked over to Elsa's bed and wrapped her in the blanket he'd laid her on.
"Trolls?” repeated Iduna with a forbidding look. "They're legends, Agnarr. We can't take Elsa all the way to the mountain in this state..."
"We have to, it's our only hope. If we don't do something, Elsa will die. You've seen what her magic does to her. It's destroying her heart."
***
The forest clearing was bathed in the silvery, almost unreal light of the full moon. The icy wind whipped at the faces of the royal parents and Anna, but they paid it no mind. Elsa, in her father's arms, was shaking uncontrollably. Her eyelids were covered with a thin layer of frost, and ice crystals had formed on her cheeks.
They came to rest in the center of a perfectly symmetrical, circular mass of rock. Anna, slightly worried, clutched her mother's petticoats in her tiny fingers. Iduna stroked her head to reassure her.
"Please help us!” exclaimed Agnarr.
No one replied.
"It's my daughter!” he continued desperately. "She's dying!"
A dull rumble suddenly sounded beneath their feet, shaking the entire clearing. Dozens of rocks rolled towards them. Instinctively, Agnarr placed himself between them and his family. The boulders stopped two meters from them and, before their astonished eyes, one by one the stones straightened up to reveal stocky silhouettes with sculpted, moss-covered faces.
"The King! It's the King!” exclaimed the trolls.
"Your Majesty,” bowed the one who appeared to be the oldest among them.
Agnarr knelt down and presented Elsa to the troll. The latter placed a hand on her icy forehead and closed his eyes.
"Magic has influenced her heart,” he murmured. "It's almost completely frozen."
"You must be able to do something!" pleaded Agnarr.
"I am, indeed."
A wave of relief washed over Agnarr and Iduna. Grand Pabbie, the troll, slid his hand through the air, and a blue light shot out of Elsa's body like a whirlwind.
"I can't remove her magic, but I can seal it. The ice will cease to eat away at her body, but she will no longer possess any power and have no memory of it."
"Do it,” Agnarr replied without hesitation. "Do whatever it takes for her to live."
Grand Pabbie nodded and, with another gesture, created a sphere around the blue light. The blue light escaped Elsa's body until it filled the sphere. It now contained the girl's magic, like wisps of smoke sprinkled with tiny crystals, swirling lazily within it.
The troll lowered the sphere, which came into contact with Elsa's body until it disappeared completely inside her. Her magic was sealed and could never harm her again.
"She is safe and sound."
Elsa was already beginning to warm up, and Agnarr expressed his thanks to Grand Pabbie, who smiled at him.
"What about Anna?” suddenly asked the king, turning around.
The little girl cowered instantly.
"She has magic too. Should we fear...?"
The troll approached the little redhead and held out his hand with a reassuring smile. Hesitant at first, Anna finally placed her fingers against the troll's cold stone palm.
"The essence of fire", he murmured. "Flames are wild, indomitable, and already too close to her heart. Attempting to seal her magic would consume her soul."
"So what can we do?” asked Agnarr.
"Anna will have to learn to live with her ever-growing powers. Fire is full of danger. She must avoid fear and anger.
Anna withdrew her hand from Grand Pabbie's, clearly relieved not to suffer the same fate as her little sister. A mischievous sparkle shone in her eyes.
"We'll protect her,” declared Agnarr in a firm voice. "She can learn to control it, I'm sure."
"I hope so, Your Majesty. Because if she doesn't, the hatred of her flames could consume Arendelle, and only an eternal frost could save us."
Chapter Text
Liv finally allowed herself to take a breath. It had been a long day, but at least the hunt had been fruitful, and tonight they would enjoy a feast worthy of their hard work, as soon as her father returned. It had been two months since he'd left on a diplomatic mission to Arendelle. Although she was used to his absences, that didn't make them any more endurable.
She slumped onto the stone railing, letting her arms hang limply, and let out a long sigh. Her warm breath formed a cloud of condensation, barely visible in the fresh autumn air. Outside Haliori, directly facing her, stood the two highest mountains in the whole kingdom, and between their snow-capped flanks, Arendelle, nestling in the fjord far below, could be discerned. Liv watched distractedly as a ship docked there, looking tiny from up here.
"Still dreaming of going there?"
Harold's voice made her jump. She turned to see the lord of Haliori step forward and lean against the railing beside her. Next to him, she looked extremely small. He was as tall as a beanpole, his jaw and features well-trimmed, and his devouring beard concealing a teasing smile. The thin crown on his head failed to hide the graying locks of his back-combed hair.
Liv replied with a smile.
"I can't help it. Ever since I was a little girl, I've heard my father's tales of Arendelle. I feel like I know every street in Arendelle without ever having been there."
"It's true that your father has a talent for oratory,” Harold conceded with a chuckle. "He's always boasting that it's because of this that he..."
"He achieved peace between the Northuldras tribes and Haliori,” Liv added with a mocking smile. "He can't stop talking about it between diplomatic missions."
This time, Harold laughed outright as he ruffled Liv's hair. The gesture, though affectionate, might have seemed inappropriate if it had been anyone other than Liv. But her father and Harold were good friends, and the lord of Haliori looked after her and her education when her father was away on business, which was far too often. She had come to think of Harold as an adoptive father.
The latter opened his mouth to speak again when, below, he saw a figure running at full speed towards the castle's main entrance.
"Who is it?” asked Liv.
"A messenger,” Harold replied simply, frowning. "Wait for me here, Liv."
Before she could add anything, the lord had already moved away and was hurrying down the stairs.
A strange feeling compressed Liv's chest and twisted her stomach. After a few seconds' hesitation, she left the balcony. She'd never been good at listening to orders.
She discreetly slipped out of her room and went downstairs. The corridors seemed colder than usual, each step echoing unpleasantly in her skull. When she reached the large throne room, she saw Harold standing in front of the messenger, his face pale and shut. Liv felt the warmth leave her own cheeks.
"What's going on?” she asked in a trembling voice.
Both men turned to her in surprise. Harold seemed about to speak, but his lips trembled. His face flushed and he couldn't lay eyes on Liv, who hadn't moved from the doorway. The lord of Haliori strove to remain upright, but his broad shoulders seemed crushed by an invisible weight, and his eyes had lost their sparkling mischief.
Finally, he took a deep breath.
"Liv... Your father..."
Harold's voice broke. Liv felt her legs give way beneath her. Discreetly, she leaned against the wooden door, which creaked slightly under her weight.
"No...” she breathed.
"He's... He's not coming back. His convoy was attacked by... By a group of Northuldras."
He was unable to say anything more.
"No!” Liv suddenly shouted. "It doesn't make any sense! They wouldn't do that! Why... why would they...?"
Liv burst into tears, and would have fallen backwards if Harold hadn't stepped forward to take her in his trembling arms. Her tears drowned in the thick fur of her coat.
"Why..."
The wind howled, shaking the windows of the small room, and its roar grew louder as it descended into the chimney flue, causing the flames to flicker. Anna was sitting in front of the hearth, soberly dressed, a few rebellious strands of hair falling over her face. The fire danced before her eyes but she couldn't see them, and the trembling of her lips had nothing to do with the cold. Behind her, Elsa, straight as an i, her frail figure hidden beneath a white dress, had placed her hand on her sister's shoulder. Her porcelain face showed no emotion.
An hour earlier, a ship had docked at Arendelle harbor, and a messenger had asked to meet them urgently. Anna and Elsa had received him in this small rectangular room, with only a wooden table and a few chairs, which was usually used for meetings between their father and a few advisors.
The messenger had just left the room, narrowly avoiding a vase thrown by Anna, whose shattered pieces were now lying in front of the door.
"It's unfair,” the redhead finally said. "They've already made the trip to the South Islands dozens of times. Why this time..."
"The South Sea is often traversed by storms,” replied Elsa in a hushed voice. "They've always managed to avoid them, but the climate has changed so quickly..."
Anna interrupted, rising abruptly to her feet. She moved to the window and gazed out over the city, one hand resting against the icy glass. Her breath drew an irregular circle of mist.
"They were King and Queen!” she exclaimed, louder than she intended. "They had to go back and rule Arendelle! It was their duty!"
Elsa reached out to put her hand on her sister's shoulder again, but she shook her off with an abrupt gesture.
"Don't touch me!"
The blonde drew back her hand, looking frightened.
"Who's going to look after us now? she continued angrily. And Arendelle? I won't be old enough to rule for another three years! They had no right to leave us!"
Caught up in an uncontrollable rage, she slammed her fist into the stone wall. A spray of flames erupted from the impact, and a scorch mark blackened her palm and the stone. Elsa gasped, but said nothing.
Anna leaned her head forward until her forehead was in contact with the window. It was cold. It did nothing to calm her thoughts or the storm raging inside her. She closed her eyes. A tear beaded and slid slowly down her cheek, before evaporating under the warmth of the magic she radiated.
Elsa looked at her, helpless. She wanted to speak, to tell her that she understood, that she felt the same pain... but the words choked in her throat. What was the point? Anna never listened when she was like this, and they both knew her words would be a lie.
Her eyes wanted to mourn their parents' death too. But she couldn't. It had been years since she had felt the slightest emotion.
A heavy rain was falling on Arendelle, as if the sky itself was mourning the loss of the royal parents. The drops made a deafening din on the surface of the sea, but from where the sisters stood, all that could be heard was the rustle of the breeze.
Elsa and Anna stood in the center of the circle formed by the court and the people, one step ahead of the others. Facing them, two tall menhirs had been erected. On their surface, among the ancient runes carved into the stone, were the names of Agnarr and Iduna.
Elsa, standing straight and motionless, stared at them without even seeing them, listening distractedly to the priest's drawling voice as he recited blessings in old Narrish. Her black dress brought out the pallor of the young woman's skin. Her face was impassive, but her fingers were trembling slightly.
She felt Anna's fingers slip between hers. She turned her head towards her sister, surprised, before gently squeezing her hand and resting her head against her shoulder. She closed her eyes to feel the warmth of her hand and to escape the vision of the menhirs.
Anna's face, red with anger and grief, contrasted with her sister's pallor. She had glanced at Elsa several times during the ceremony, searching in vain for some reaction, some glimmer of emotion that would confirm that they were sharing the same pain. Elsa was always silent, always in the background, as if expressing any feelings might break something inside her. For years, she had been looking for that trace of humanity on her face, and she had hoped that this time would be different. That the pain of grief would act as a trigger. In vain.
She had lost her sister when the trolls had sealed her powers. She had just lost her parents. Now, she was alone.
She lifted her chin, gazing determinedly at the steles. A dull heat was beginning to rise in her chest, a spark she didn't yet understand but which made her unable to stand still.
"In three years, the burden of the reign will be mine. I'll make it on my own. I won't let Arendelle fall apart."
The crackling of the fire echoed in the valley outside Haliori. Flames licked the dark sky as they devoured the pyre. Wild roses, white lilies, lavender and rosehips were scattered in great quantities around the corpse, covered with a white sheet. Their scents masked that of the flesh and were meant to soothe the soul of the one joining his ancestors.
As for Liv, she was far from soothed. Behind her, the townspeople, some of her father's friends, had gathered in front of the funeral pyre and were murmuring incantations intended to accompany their cherished one one last time. Harold stood beside the young brunette, a massive hand on her shoulder that almost made her sway. The lord of Haliori, usually so imposing, now seemed bent under the weight of grief and sorrow.
Liv wasn't crying. She'd already cried too much since the news of her father's death. She was staring into the flames until her retina hurt. Among the bouquets of flowers, symbolic objects had been laid out, a token of one's bond with the deceased; a medallion, a piece of clothing, a piece of jewelry. Liv had laid out all the objects her father had brought her from Arendelle over the years.
In the last few hours, she'd had time to think. The details of her father's death made no sense.
“Why would the Northuldras attack him, when he concluded peace between us years ago?”
Of course, the possibility of a dissident group could not be ruled out, but her instincts were telling her it wasn't that. Her father had just returned from Arendelle, which was on the opposite side of Northuldra territory.
“Arendelle...” the name popped into her mind.
Arendelle, the kingdom she had always admired through her father's stories, could not be behind such treachery. But doubt, once planted, was hard to ignore.
After the ceremony, she would announce her decision to Harold. She would leave for Arendelle. Her resolution made her tremble with rage.
“I'll find out the truth, Father. Whatever it takes.”
Chapter Text
Five years later.
The bells of Arendelle Chapel echoed in the cold spring air, punctuating a gray day when the sun had only deigned to appear for a brief moment. Anna, barely an adult when the weight of the crown had fallen on her, had taken the reins of the kingdom with a disturbing fervor.
Arendelle had changed.
The streets were witness to the harshness of these times. In the market square, where once stalls abounded with fresh fruit, bread and fish, there was now only a desolate emptiness. The fountain had dried up, leaving a thick silence hanging over the place. The villagers were alarmingly thin, their faces sickly, and their skin tone had taken on the color of the clouds hovering over the town. A few sparse flakes were falling on the town, but they were not snow. The royal castle was bathed in an immense blaze of purplish reflections, lit by Anna herself, sending ashes into the atmosphere.
It wasn't uncommon, as you turned a corner, to hear weakened laments. To see a woman trying to exchange her child for food. To hear coughing induced by the ashes. To watch your feet so as not to step on a body, without bothering to check whether its chest was still lifting. Citizens looked like ghosts, their skin covered in white ash. Those who had not yet seen their homes burn down were hurrying to avoid encountering the royal guard.
It wasn't uncommon, as you turned a corner, to hear weakened laments. To see a woman trying to exchange her child for food. To hear coughing induced by the ashes. To watch your feet so as not to step on a body, without bothering to check whether its chest was still lifting. Citizens looked like ghosts, their skin covered in white ash. Those who had not yet seen their homes burn down were hurrying in to avoid encountering the royal guard.
A deafening din arose at the end of a street. Anna, escorted by a handful of soldiers in black armor, was heading towards the market square with a determined pace. Behind her, Elsa followed, keeping a slight distance, leading the troop of warriors. The bent silhouettes of the villagers pressed against the walls to make way for this imposing troop.
The Queen had dressed that day in black leather boots, a long purple velvet gown with golden embellishments, and a thick cape trimmed with black fur that fell heavily over her shoulders, adorned with a clasp bearing the Arendelle coat of arms that she hadn't bothered to attach. Despite her thick outfit, she could feel the air rush against her skin. She was already looking forward to the suffocating warmth of her beloved castle.
As for Elsa, she was wearing a blackish-red tunic, over which she donned the same armor as the soldiers, black with purple highlights, but with discreet arabesques to distinguish her from the others. An elegantly crafted rapier hung at her belt, but a trained eye would instantly recognize it as a ceremonial weapon. Officially, Elsa was head of the royal guard and guardian of the Queen. In reality, she had never had to raise her weapon, her mere cold, unemotional presence being enough to inspire fear.
"This will only take a minute,” Anna asserted in a resolute tone. "I just want to check the shipments before going home."
She turned her head to her sister and smiled.
"Then we can have a moment to ourselves, just you and me."
Elsa responded to her smile. She had learned to imitate Anna's gestures and expressions to show her support. Anna had complained often enough that she felt like she was talking to a statue.
"As you wish, Majesty."
“Don't give me that, Elsa,” Anna replied with a chuckle, giving her an affectionate shoulder bump.
Their exchange drew curious glances from the few passers-by they encountered, but they immediately lowered their eyes before silently slipping away. They knew the cost of incurring the Queen's wrath.
When the royal troop arrived at the port, the iodized scent of the fjord immediately reached their nostrils. Rows of masts stretched to the horizon, swaying to the rhythm of the waves' slow rocking. The lapping of water against hulls echoed in the air, punctuated by the creaking of ropes and the squeaking of dock boards. At the center of the harbor agitation, a dozen peasants and sailors were busy, under the vigilant watch of around twenty guards, loading two ships with sails proudly hoisted in bright colors. Their green and silver stood out against the gloomy sky and contrasted with the Arendelle vessels displaying the red and black of the kingdom's new coat of arms.
Anna walked slowly along the docks, her heavy crimson cape billowing gently behind her as she observed the comings and goings of the men loading the freight - wheat, vegetables, meat locked in barrels filled with salt for preservation, and other foods that were becoming a luxury for her kingdom.
As the troop advanced, it attracted gloomy looks from the workers. Some mumbled among themselves, others muttered curses as they twirled a talisman between their fingers. Others spat out their chews as the Queen passed by. But no one dared to go further than this discreet contempt.
Fortunately for them, Anna only had eyes for the men loading the two ships.
"They're working slowly,” she noted neutrally, her voice barely perceptible.
A soldier straightened up at these words and barked an order to pick up the pace. One of the sailors, a stoop-backed old man too old to sail, staggered as he tried to lift a heavy crate. He stumbled, and the crate crashed to the ground with a thud, sending splinters of wood flying in all directions.
The old man remained cowering on the ground. Breathless, he looked pleadingly at Elsa and Anna for forgiveness. One of the soldiers, dressed in green and silver armor, approached him. He turned to the Queen, waiting for a reaction she would not grant. Encouraged by her silence, the guard flashed a cruel smile and raised his hand, ready to strike. The old man closed his eyes, his lips trembling.
“Enough,” intervened Elsa.
She stepped forward, looking severe, and grabbed the guard's arm. He glared at her for a moment. But he was quickly thrown off balance by the emptiness in the young woman's eyes. There was neither pity nor anger. Yet, without knowing why, fear crept into him, and he hesitated. Finally, he pulled away and stepped back, his teeth clenched in rage.
"Get up,” she ordered the old man in a calm but firm tone. "And hurry up and find another crate."
The old man complied, his hands trembling, and bowed awkwardly, his mouth blowing out a “thank you”, before walking away. Elsa returned to Anna, who had been observing the scene without a word.
"You're too merciful, Elsa,” commented the Queen.
“‘They won't finish the job if you wear them out,’ replied her sister. "Dead men won't load your ships."
But Anna had already stopped listening. Her eyes landed on one of the foremen, who froze at the sight of her. She told Elsa and her guard to wait here and advanced towards the man, who seemed to shrink in on himself as she approached.
"Majesty,” he murmured hoarsely.
"What is your name?"
"Meyer, Majesty,” he replied, lowering his gaze.
Anna repeated his name, and her cheeks flushed with anger. She was sure she knew this man - or rather, she believed to know who he was. Many years ago, she had asked a Meyer from the South Islands to help her with a thankless task. However, Hans had promised to take care of him once the job was done.
Meyer couldn't be standing in front of her. And judging by his behavior, he knew it.
"You look familiar, Meyer,” Anna whispered.
Despite her smile, her eyes weren't lying. She would have killed him immediately if she could.
"I... I don't think so, Majesty,” he stammered. "I'm a humble foreman, nothing more."
Anna took a step towards him, closing the distance between them, and leaned forward slightly. Although she was shorter than the foreman, he had crouched so low that she towered over him by a head.
"Are you sure? You've never crossed my path before?” she asked with cold gentleness.
"No, Majesty. Never, Majesty!” he replied hastily.
Anna straightened up, visibly satisfied with his answer. She let a silence pass so heavy that a drop of sweat trickled down the poor desperate man's temple.
"Very good, Meyer. Carry on with your work. Make sure everything's loaded on time. And be careful at sea, the South Sea storms are terrible..."
The man nodded. Anna turned back, pulling her cape tighter around her shoulders. Her thoughts were racing. She wanted to deal with the problem immediately, but the place was too public, and Elsa was watching her.
She joined her sister and her guard and ordered them to return to the castle. Elsa had observed their exchange, but asked the Queen no questions. She felt no curiosity, and in any case, Anna always ended up telling her everything. To all her roles, the young woman could add the one of confidante.
As the royal troop left the docks, the sky darkened further. The streets were silent, except for the clanking of the armor of the guards marching alongside Anna, who wrinkled her nose. The street leading to the harbor ran alongside the slums, and the air smelled of mold and rotten fish. So she had no desire to linger any longer than necessary.
She was about to give the order to move faster when a movement caught her eye in an adjacent alley. Elsa had seen it too. She signaled the guard to stop, but too late.
A shout rang out. A man emerged from the shadows, hidden by a ragged black cloak, a hood covering his face. His bare, dirty feet pounded the slippery cobblestones with an almost animal-like desperation. His hand emerged from beneath his cloak, brandishing a rusty dagger, and he threw himself in Anna's direction.
“You monster!” he shouted.
Elsa reacted instinctively. In one fluid movement, she positioned herself in front of her sister, her arm outstretched to deflect the trajectory of the weapon. The blade lacerated the thin protection of her forearm. She felt a dull pain and staggered, but did not flinch.
Before she could draw her rapier, a guard struck the assailant in the back with a dull crack of his halberd. The man stopped and collapsed heavily onto the cobblestones, the dagger slipping from his fingers. The blade, stained with Elsa's blood, stopped beside Anna's boots. Silence returned, heavy and tense.
It had all happened in a matter of seconds.
Breathless, Anna grabbed her sister by the shoulders.
"Elsa! You're hurt!” she exclaimed, her eyes fixed on the bloody cut on her arm.
Elsa looked down, observing her wound with an almost clinical detachment. Then she looked back at Anna and replied with a shrug:
"It's nothing."
“Nothing?” Anna exclaimed, her expression taut with concern. "Let's go home. Now."
One of the soldiers approached to clean the blade of his halberd. Anna cast a disgusted glance at the man who had dared to attack her. His hood had slipped off during the attack, revealing a surprisingly young face, but one marked by thinness and the same pale complexion as the other inhabitants of Arendelle. His beard, bloodstained around the mouth, was starting to devour his face, and his empty eyes were exorbitant with the desperation that had driven him to act.
“Another one,” she thought, gesturing with her hand, invoking her powers.
"I want to know his identity, his family, his friends,” she ordered. "And above all, who sent him."
Without waiting for an answer, she motioned for her guards to follow, still holding Elsa's arm as if she feared she might collapse at any moment. As best she could, she tried to ignore the nauseating smell emanating from the body of the assailant, now engulfed in flames.
Chapter Text
The infirmary of the castle of Arendelle consisted of a small rectangular room where a few beds were lined up against the walls, separated by elaborately crafted screens. High arched windows pierced one of the walls, towering over the beds and offering an unspoiled view of the sparkling fjord in the distance. Fine white linen curtains filtered the sunlight, swaying lazily in a gentle breeze. Light-colored wood panelling, adorned with delicate floral motifs, lined the stone walls to mid-height.
A soothing coolness permeated the room, which did not displease Elsa, sitting on a bed. The infirmary offered her a welcome refuge from the suffocating heat of the castle, encircled by the perpetual blaze. She had therefore asked Anna to leave her room untouched, as well as the infirmary, at the request of the brave nurse Astrid, who had pleaded the necessity of maintaining this space at a reasonable temperature for medical reasons. There was a strangely pleasant herbal scent in the air, not unlike that of ginger, mixed with the more pungent smell of disinfectants.
Old Astrid was working in silence, her gestures precise and delicate as she was cleaning the wound on Elsa's forearm.
"You could have avoided this, you know,” sighed Anna, sitting on a chair facing her sister.
"You were in danger,” replied the latter, shrugging her shoulders with indifference.
The queen's eyes rested on the wound, which no longer looked so terrifying now that it had been cleaned.
"Is it bad, Astrid?” she couldn't help asking.
"No, Your Highness. A superficial wound, but the ashes had to be cleaned to avoid infection. Where did I put that ointment...,” she murmured, searching through a wooden box lying nearby.
Finally, she grabbed a small terracotta pot and unscrewed the lid. The scent of mint and resin filled the air as she picked up a dab of ointment on her fingertips.
"This may sting a little,” she warned, before spreading the ointment over the wound.
Elsa held back a shiver as the balm came into contact with her skin. The cold, almost numbing sensation quickly intensified, accompanied by a tingling sensation that drew an involuntary grimace from her.
“ 'A little',” she breathed through her teeth.
Astrid and Anna gave her amused smiles.
Once the ointment had been applied and the wound bandaged, the nurse withdrew with a final bow. The sisters turned to each other, a more serious expression on their faces.
"I wonder what drove that man to act,” began Elsa. "He knew he didn't stand a chance against your personal guard."
"Stupidity,” Anna dismissed with a wave of her hand. "The slums are notoriously bad, we should have taken a different route."
"He was so thin... hunger must have driven him to despair."
Anna raised her head abruptly, her eyes shining with restrained anger.
"That's probably it,” she replied. "They don't approve of the agreement with the Southern Islands, so they're trying to attack me... Us."
Her voice trembled slightly, and her fists closed on her knees. Elsa hesitated for a moment, uncertain.
"It's not what I..."
"The more time passes, the more the cells fill up. The number of reports of suspicious people in these quarters keeps increasing. Do they think it's that easy to rule?” continued Anna, giving vent to her anger. "Can't they see I'm doing all this for their own good?"
Seeing the tears welling up in Anna's eyes, Elsa leaned over and grasped her hands, looking at her with tenderness - or so she hoped.
"They don't know all the sacrifices you've made. One day, they'll realize."
Anna raised her head, surprised by the unusual gentleness in her sister's voice. She took Elsa's hand and placed it against her cheek, closing her eyes. Its freshness contrasted with the fire roaring inside her. The young blonde was pleased to see that her gesture had brought her the comfort she'd been hoping for.
"Thank you,” she whispered, smiling slightly. "I'm glad you're here. We're all we have now."
"I'll always be by your side, Anna."
Elsa's eyebrows had furrowed slightly in concentration as she tried to modulate her voice to simulate love and tenderness. This seemed to satisfy Anna, and a gentle silence settled between them.
Anna gently released her sister's hand, determination gradually replacing the gentleness that had settled in.
"I'm going to increase patrols in the slums. These people need to understand that their actions have consequences,” she declared, her voice growing firmer.
She stood up suddenly, crossed the room in a few steps and stopped facing the window, opposite to the bed where Elsa was still sitting. Seen from behind, she looked imposing, crowned by the sun that was just beginning to decline through the thin layers of ash.
"I can't let myself look weak,” she murmured, more to herself than to Elsa.
There was a new silence, during which Anna took long breaths in an attempt to calm herself. But memories of the attack kept coming back to her, fueling her seething rage.
A rustle behind her caught her attention. She turned away from the window to see Elsa stand up and dust off her tunic.
"I'm going out for a while,” Elsa declared simply.
Anna frowned, surprise briefly crossing her face, quickly replaced by concern.
"Going out? After what's just happened? Why would you?"
"You know I can't stand the heat in the castle. I'm going down to the fjord to get some fresh air."
Faced with her sister's increasingly worried expression, she felt the need to add:
"I'm going to take off my armor and keep a cape on. No one will recognize me and I won't go far."
"But what if someone...,” Anna began, taking a step towards her.
“ I have nothing to fear," Elsa assured her.
Anna didn't seem convinced, but she couldn't force her sister to stay. She sighed, walked over to Elsa and cupped her face in her hands.
"Promise me you'll be careful."
"I promise, Anna."
Elsa gave her a slight, confident smile, hoping it would be enough for Anna. She couldn't understand her concern. And the warmth of her hands against her cheeks was unpleasant, as if she'd brought her face too close to a fire.
Anna looked at her for a few more moments, obviously looking for reasons to make her stay, but gave up the battle with another sigh. She answered her smile before finally letting go of her face.
"Come back soon, okay?"
"I won't be long,” replied Elsa as she left the infirmary.
The castle gates closed behind Elsa as she adjusted her hood. Free of her armor, she felt freer, lighter. The patched cloak she was wearing sufficiently hid her face and clothes. Which was vital, given where she was planning to go.
As she crossed the bridge separating the castle from downtown Arendelle, she glanced over her shoulder. She seemed to feel Anna's gaze on her. She dismissed the thought - her sister had locked herself in her quarters to write letters, as she'd told her.
"Forgive me, Anna...," she whispered.
Once she'd reached the end of the bridge, all she had to do was turn right onto a winding paved staircase to reach the fjord below. She passed in front of it, went around the dried-up fountain of the town square, and plunged into the heart of the city, towards the lower quarters.
Reinforcing the patrols might have been enough for her sister, but Elsa couldn't settle for that. Someone had tried to attack Anna, the only family she had left, and if he wasn't alone, she had to know for sure. She couldn't just stand there.
The unpleasant, pungent smell of the slums washed over her as the cobblestones disappeared beneath an uneven layer of packed dirt and dried mud. Roofs of whitewashed tiles gave way to coarse thatch, some torn or blackened by recent fires. The air, already heavy, carried hints of burnt wood and garbage, intermingled with a stagnant humidity that clung to the skin.
The alleyways narrowed around her, forming a maze of passages so tight that two people would have struggled to pass each other. Wooden and stone walls, cracked and oozing, seemed to lean towards her, as if to look her over. Windows here were few and far between, often boarded up or obstructed by threadbare curtains. Even in the middle of the afternoon, daylight struggled to penetrate these dark corridors, replaced by an oppressive gloom.
Elsa was wandering at random, determined to find some clue that would confirm her suspicions, even if it meant venturing into the darkest corners of Arendelle. But she had to admit she had no idea how to proceed.
As if in response, a sudden chatter sounded in front of her. She froze, all her senses alert. Instinctively, her hand came to rest on the guard of her rapier, hidden beneath her cloak.
The clamor of voices came from a small improvised market, tucked away in a square much narrower than the marketplace in front of the castle. Elsa approached cautiously, holding back a grimace at the stench that now mingled with that of the alleyways: that of badly preserved fish, moldy leather and dying vegetables.
She pushed her way between the passers-by, so thin she was afraid she'd break them if she touched them, as she pulled her cloak tighter around her face. The stalls were rickety, made of stacked crates, ill-fitting boards and torn awnings, and overflowing with goods as diverse as they were questionable: wilted vegetables, grayish bits of meat, pieces of discarded fabric in faded colors, and a few worn objects, no doubt salvaged or stolen.
Elsa stopped in front of a stall where pieces of stale bread lay next to overripe apples. Beside her, a man was feverishly counting his few coins stamped with Anna's face. When he met her gaze, he suddenly closed his fist on his meagre treasure and squinted suspiciously. She immediately turned away and walked towards an old man offering trinkets laid out on a patched sheet on the floor.
She didn't know exactly what she was looking for, but instinct urged her to stay. Maybe someone would say something, a word, a whisper that would confirm her suspicions.
"You seem lost, little sparrow,” came a voice from behind her.
Elsa froze but didn't turn around immediately. Her hand reflexively tightened on the handle of her rapier. Slowly, she loosened her grip before pivoting in a stiff movement.
Before her stood a young slender woman. Her curly brown hair was hastily tied back, a few strands falling around her face lit by sparkling silver-blue eyes. She was wearing simple clothes, worn leather pants and a shirt too large for her, but she exuded an almost disconcerting assurance.
"I'm not lost,” replied Elsa in a neutral voice.
The young woman raised an amused eyebrow before kneeling down beside the trinkets Elsa was examining a few seconds earlier. The merchant glanced at them suspiciously but remained silent.
"Are you looking for something, then?"
"No, nothing,” Elsa retorted hastily.
The other burst out laughing as she straightened up. When she met Elsa's gaze again, a mirthless smile floated across her lips.
"Then you've come to the right place. In the slums of Arendelle, we're nothing. Nothing but people forgotten by the crown."
At the mention of the royal object, some passers-by gave them evil looks before spitting on the ground. Elsa raised her eyebrows. She knew that Anna was a firm ruler, making tough decisions to keep the kingdom stable. But to arouse such hostility...
She thought back to the threats and curses whispered on their path, to the fear in the eyes of the dockworkers, to the desperate attack on Anna earlier. What if this wasn't the first time this had happened? Anna had never told her about such outbursts. Was it possible that she had deliberately hidden the extent of the situation from her? Elsa shook her head. No, Anna had never hidden anything from her. These people didn't realize the sacrifices her sister had to make to protect Arendelle.
Yet what she saw here looked more like abandonment than discipline.
She approached the brunette and lowered her voice so as not to be overheard by passers-by:
"I'm surprised by... the tension here."
"Tension?" repeated the young woman. "I'd call it misery, starvation, despair, abandonment, fear. This is what the people of Arendelle have been living with for two years! Where do you come from to be surprised?"
Elsa opened her mouth but changed her mind at the last moment. With a grim expression, she turned her head away. A silence settled between them. The brunette spoke again:
"Follow me. If you want to see what reality is like, I'll show you."
Without waiting for an answer, the woman turned on her heels, her brown curls dancing on her shoulders as she walked away down the alley. Without hesitation, Elsa followed her.
They came across a woman sitting on the threshold of a crumbling house, a toddler asleep against her chest, his breath shallow. The rags covering the mother's body revealed her ribs, and her cheeks were deeply hollowed, a sign of painful hunger. At her dirty, yellowed feet, a small, cracked wooden bowl held a handful of tarnished coins. The brunette stopped and rummaged in her pockets for a moment, before dropping a piece of stale bread into the bowl. She smiled sadly at the poor woman, who thanked her in a breath.
Further on, a young boy, as thin as a skeleton, was scratching the ground with a pebble. In his dull eyes, Elsa could still see hope, perhaps a childish hope of unearthing food or a treasure for his family. Near him, an old man, probably his grandfather, was scraping up the remains of a half-decomposed fish.
In front of a leaning house, a man was rummaging through a pile of garbage, sorting out the bits that could be eaten or resold. He raised his head when he saw Elsa and the young brunette, encircling the pile with his arms as if afraid they might steal it. He watched them pass with a wicked eye. Next to the house, in a darker alley, there was a distant lament. Elsa squinted and distinguished a woman, from behind, kneeling beside a far-too-small figure.
Finally, they reached a wider street where silence seemed to weigh more heavily than elsewhere. In the middle of the road, the cobblestones were black, marked by a half-faded human silhouette. Elsa stopped, her eyes fixed on the ground.
"It was a farmer,” the brunette murmured, her voice suddenly deeper. "He tried to keep back part of his harvest to feed his family. Anna burned him alive right here, to set an example."
The image flashed before Elsa's eyes as she stared at the burnt cobblestones. The intense heat, the gut-wrenching screams, the nauseating smell... She held back a gagging gasp. She tried several times to open her mouth, but immediately closed it again, as if the smell she'd imagined was seeping in. She suppressed a shudder and finally managed to articulate:
"What about the others? Those who saw the scene?"
"They watched, like you're watching now, because they had no choice. If you don't obey the Queen, you end up like him. His wife was sent to the dungeons and his two sons forced to work in the fields, watched over by guards."
The young woman turned to Elsa, her lips pursed, visibly upset.
"This can't go on,” she declared in a resolute tone. "People are murmuring, anger is roaring, famine is driving them to the edge of despair."
She took a step closer. Elsa wanted to step back, but her body didn't respond, her eyes still fixed on the blackened mark.
"We fight, we struggle, and one day, we will put an end to her reign of terror. If you're ready to join us, come and meet me in the slums. I'll let you think about it."
She began to walk away, heading back into the slums, when Elsa finally regained her composure. She turned around and exclaimed:
"Wait! Who are you?"
The young brunette turned back to her, a smile on her face.
"Call me Liv,” she replied, before disappearing around a corner.
Chapter Text
A milky-white sky lay over Arendelle, veiled by thick clouds that smothered the sun's rays. The fire surrounding the castle had subsided slightly, and for the first time in weeks, no ashes were falling on the town, giving the streets and rooftops a welcome relief.
Three days had passed since Elsa's excursion to the lower quarters. Three days she had spent debating with herself, wanting to ask Anna for explanations, then changing her mind. On the few occasions the Queen had crossed the corridors, she'd been in the company of advisors or absorbed in piles of documents, her face scowling in concentration.
Today, however, Elsa had convinced her sister to get some fresh air. She herself couldn't bear to be enclosed for so long, no matter how spacious the castle was. They had walked through the gardens, picking the rare flowers that had survived the biting cold of the beginning of the year. Their steps had led them to the top of the hill where two menhirs stood - their parents' graves.
They had been standing there for several minutes now. Anna had knelt down, placing their meagre bouquet in front of the stones and murmuring prayers half-heard, her eyelids closed. Elsa preferred to stand with her hands clasped in front of her, waiting for her sister to finish. The wind was sweeping over the hillside, and intruding unpleasantly under her tunic.
She realized that Anna would probably reproach her for not mourning. So she imitated her, approached a menhir and pretended to pray, placing a hand on the cold, worn surface. She would have liked to cry, to express the love she felt for her parents. But there was only a great emptiness inside her.
"Do you think they were happy?” she finally asked, staring at the moss that partially covered her mother's name.
Anna turned her head towards her sister, surprised by the question. Then she frowned, thinking for a moment.
"I'm sure they did. They loved Arendelle, and the kingdom loved them back. They were kind and righteous, and Arendelle owes its posterity to them. And they loved us above all,” she added after a second's hesitation.
"What about you? Are you happy?"
Elsa turned to her sister, who wavered, taken aback by her question. She recovered quickly and stood up, nervously dusting off her dress.
"Being Queen isn't exactly how I imagined it. Sometimes I feel I'm capable of facing anything. And then there are days when it's terrifying. The duties, the responsibilities, knowing that every choice, every gesture, can turn the lives of hundreds, thousands of people upside down. There's no one to guide you, but you. You're the one everyone's watching. You tell others which path to take. It's up to you to make choices, sacrifices and concessions."
Anna paused for a moment, the words weighing more heavily than she had intended, before looking up at Elsa, seeking an ounce of comfort from her sister.
All she found was an absent gaze, as if her words had collided with an invisible wall.
"Speaking of choices,” Elsa continued slowly. "Is the alliance with the Southern Isles... reasonable?"
Anna sighed, but couldn't hold back a saddened smile. She had heard this question many times from her advisors when she had taken the crown.
"I know what you think, and what the people think. That's where our parents were heading when they died. But we need this alliance, Elsa, I need it to protect Arendelle."
"Protect it from what?” asks Elsa.
"For a start, from all those people who don't understand the extent of my decisions,” replied Anna sharply. "From those who think ruling is easy, from those who think killing me will solve their problems. From those who think they can do better than me. From those... Ouch!"
Anna jumped, a sharp pain radiating from her hand. She looked down to find her hand clenched, blood dripping between her fingers. She had clenched her fists so tightly that her nails had cut into her palm.
Without a word, Elsa pulled a handkerchief from her pocket. She approached Anna, took hold of her injured hand with an almost mechanical delicacy and began to wipe away the blood.
"You should be careful,” she murmured, her gaze fixed on Anna's palm, which she was bandaging with care.
Anna watched her sister, looking for a trace of empathy, of genuine concern, but found only a disturbing calm. Yet something about this precise, almost tender gesture, touched her more than she wanted to admit.
When Elsa was done, she turned back to the menhirs in silence. Her face closed, she was obviously lost in her thoughts. Anna arched a mischievous smile and slipped behind her sister's back before putting her arms around her shoulders.
"I know you're worried about me,” she whispered in her ear. "But everything's fine. Everything's going to be all right."
Elsa put her hand on Anna's and leaned her head against hers. She hooked a smile on her lips, but her eyes were still veiled.
The rumbling of doubt persisted in her ears, buzzing and insistent. She tried to shake it away.
"You were wrong about one thing,” she finally murmured.
"Which one?” asked Anna.
"You said you had no one to guide you, that there was only you. But I'm here. I'll always be here, Anna, by your side."
A tear of gratitude rolled down the Queen's cheek, and she tightened her embrace, as if afraid that one day this presence might slip away.
"You're right."
Anna's office door slammed behind her back as she let out a sigh. With a nonchalant gesture, she lit a crackling fire in the imposing stone hearth that dominated the wall to her right.
The left wall consisted of a huge bookcase, with the exception of a family painting that sat in its center, the subdued sunlight revealing the brushstrokes. A light layer of dust on the shelves indicated that the Queen hadn't had the pleasure of delving into the books for some time.
The desk itself, imposing and elegantly carved, sat in the center of the room, in front of the high windows. It was buried under tall stacks of parchments, books, inkwells and dry-pointed quills.
Anna sat behind her desk, mechanically scanning the maps and reports awaiting her attention. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, letting the scent of lavender, arranged in a vase in the corner of the room, fill her lungs.
She opened her eyes again with a resolute look, ready to work. She slid one of the reports onto the map of Arendelle that covered almost the entire surface of the desk, grabbed a quill, dipped it in the ink and began to read. It took her some time to realize that she had reread the same sentence several times without paying attention, twirling the tip of her feather between her fingers.
With a sigh, Anna gave up, throwing her head back against the back of her armchair. Her gaze fixed on the dusty chandelier above her, she pondered.
"I should explain to her,” she whispered.
It was one thing for her advisors to question the alliance with the Southern Isles. But Elsa had never doubted herself. Her sister had always been on her side. It wasn't her habit to question her about alliances, let alone show any interest in politics. Elsa had always taken a back seat on such matters. She should have been happy that her sister was finally taking an interest in her reign, but in reality, it troubled her more than anything else.
She doesn't trust you.
Anna shook her head at the thought. It was simply laughable. She didn't understand - that was all. How could she? Nobody could. Everything Anna had done, since she took her place on the throne, had been motivated by words only she could remember.
“Only eternal cold can save us.” Grand Pabbie's voice rang as clearly in her ears as if he was standing next to her. These words had haunted her for years, feeding an anguish she dared not confide to anyone.
Sometimes she dreamt of it, terrible nightmares in which a shadow stretched toward her, paralyzing her legs, creeping up her arms, squeezing her chest, suffocating her. She'd wake up with a jump, her sheets soaked with sweat, her hands clutching her neck to chase away this invisible threat.
The mere memory of this nightmare was enough to make her pale. Anna leaned over, opened a drawer with a sharp movement and pulled out a parchment, which she unrolled on her desk. Another map of Arendelle lay before her, profusely annotated at the northern mountain, where she envisaged every possibility of attack.
The eternal cold could only come from there. From those sharp, frozen peaks that never melted even in the middle of summer. It didn't matter who - or what - lurked in those peaks. Anna's fingers tightened on the edge of the map.
She had made sure to protect Arendelle, with the help of the Southern Isles soldiers. It was costing her dearly: her reputation, her sleep, the provisions and morale of her people. But she had no choice. She had to protect her kingdom. No matter the cost.
A knock on the door brought her out of her dark thoughts.
"Come in."
A soldier came through the door. He stopped just inside the doorway, as if reluctant to enter. His dull gray gaze, veined with fatigue, quickly scanned the room, never settling on the Queen. In his late forties, dark circles deepened his eyes, and a fresh scar crossed his right cheek. His unkempt beard and salt-and-pepper hair pulled back made him look like a man too worn for his age, a man with little faith in anything except, perhaps, the orders he was given.
He was holding his helmet to his chest like a shield, twisting it nervously. His behavior puzzled Anna, who could already feel a hint of exasperation inside her.
"Well, speak,” she ordered in a weary voice.
"Majesty... I bring you information about your sister."
Anna straightened up immediately. The eternal cold and the northern mountains vanished from her mind.
"What do you mean?” she asked, trying to hide her concern.
"It seems that Lady Elsa was spotted a few days ago in the lower quarters of Arendelle..."
"Is that all? She can still wander wherever she likes, even in this stinking pit."
She lied to you.
She remembered what Elsa had told her in the infirmary. She'd said she was going to the fjord. Why would she lie to her?
Anna shook her head. It must have been to avoid worrying her after what had happened that same morning.
"That's not all, my Queen,” continued the guard in a trembling voice. "It seems she was seen with a suspicious woman."
"A woman?" repeated Anna.
"Yes, Your Majesty. Our soldiers on post have not been able to identify her companion, but we believe she may have a connection with the resistance."
These last words left an unpleasant sensation in Anna's mind, a numbing cold that invaded all her limbs. The fire in the hearth roared, its high flames flooding the room with hellish heat.
"Why wasn't I informed earlier?" she barked.
The soldier took a step back, huddled in on himself.
"We wanted to check our information, and the guards who saw her didn't... Well... We deliberated until we decided that I should be the one to tell you the news."
"I don't care about any of that. Find this woman. If she's still in town, I want her arrested and questioned. Immediately!"
"Yes, Majesty!” he replied, straightening up with nervous rigidity before retreating, not without relief.
The door slammed behind him, leaving Anna alone again with her thoughts.
Elsa, with the resistance? That couldn't be. Maybe she didn't know who she was talking to. Perhaps the guards had made a mistake. After all, she was her sister, her only family, her best friend and confidante.
She lied to you that day, and she was questioning your reign even this morning.
Elsa had never lied to her. She had never been interested in Anna's politics. She was content to stand back and watch, to protect her when she was attacked, and to listen when Anna needed to talk.
Her eyes drifted back to the map on the table. The eternal cold. The northern mountains. Those frozen peaks, covered in snow and ice... Anna had been so focused on Grand Pabbie's prophecy that she'd forgotten why her parents visited the trolls in the first place. What if the eternal cold was...?
Anna shook her head, closed her eyes for a moment and inhaled deeply. The flames in the fireplace seemed to quieten as she eased the pulsations of her heart. This was ridiculous. Elsa was her sister. She could only trust her.
But you're hiding things from her too.
She opened her eyes again, and her expression hardened. She had good reason to keep certain things from her. Her reign and Arendelle's well-being were at stake. But if Elsa was lying, if she really was involved with the resistance... then she would destroy everything Anna had sacrificed to protect the kingdom.
She couldn't let that happen. Anna straightened in her chair, her hands clenching on the armrests.
She had to know for sure.
Chapter Text
Night had fallen on Arendelle, enveloping the kingdom in darkness. Only the castle, surrounded by its eternal blaze, shone like a beacon, a small sun casting its dancing light over the sleeping town.
In the grand salon, heavy velvet curtains had been drawn, plunging the immense hall into darkness. Only a few candelabras, placed at regular intervals on the table, struggled to illuminate the room with their trembling glow, casting fleeting, misshapen shadows on the walls. The fireplace, usually the warm heart of the room, remained cold and silent, made useless by the omnipresent heat that bathed the castle.
In the center of the room, the table, oversized and austere, stretched across most of its length. The dark oak table and chairs, which usually served the royal family, were also used to host councilors or banquets, which explained its imposing size. Yet only two cutleries had been set at one end of the table.
Elsa was sitting at the end of the table, Anna to her right. Their faces, unevenly lit by the candles, seemed to be made of porcelain. The shadows that danced across their faces deepened their features, giving them the appearance of ghosts floating in the half-light.
Anna was eating with appetite, her cutlery clinking against her plate. Between mouthfuls, she twirled a lock of red hair around her finger, a childish habit she had never really lost. In an attempt to break the silence that enveloped them, she spoke up:
"I bumped into Gerda earlier as I was enjoying the gardens! She was trying to calm down two maids who were arguing about... I don't know what... Anyway, it's not important! I had to intervene, or they would have come to blows! You should have seen their faces when I approached! I told them that if they didn't find a solution, they'd have to scrub the stables for a month!"
She burst out laughing as she plunged her fork into her mashed potatoes. After talking so much, almost without taking a breath, her breathing had quickened. She stuffed an impressive amount of mashed potato and meat into her mouth, then looked up at Elsa as she chewed, to see her reaction to this amusing anecdote.
Elsa hadn't flinched. She pecked absently at her plate, her eyes resting on the delicious food without seeing it.
It was not enough to discourage Anna, who, after swallowing her food, immediately caught her breath:
"Oh, you know what? I've got an idea! I thought we could throw a spring party! Something grand, with music, fireworks, maybe even a ball... What do you think?"
She sought her sister's eyes, but Elsa still didn't react. She insisted, but her optimism was beginning to fade:
"It could be fun, couldn't it? A moment to breathe, forget everything..."
Elsa shrugged slightly and let out a barely perceptible “Mhm”.
Anna's enthusiasm immediately subsided. She put down her cutlery and pushed her half-empty plate away with a long sigh.
"You could say something,” she remarked, trying to control her emotions.
Elsa blinked, as if suddenly returning from a distant dream, and looked up at her sister. She could tell the latter was waiting for an answer by the way her eyebrows were furrowed in displeasure.
"Yes, why not?"
She hoped that these all-purpose words, pronounced in a neutral voice, would be enough to satisfy Anna.
She was wrong.
Anna fell against the back of the chair, which creaked slightly. She continued to play with a lock of her hair, so hard that a few ginger strands remained between her fingers. Elsa's eyes flashed back at her, and she realized she'd just done something stupid, immediately lowering her gaze to avoid upsetting her sister any further.
"What's got into you lately?” asked Anna. "You're talking even less than usual, and you haven't even touched your plate. I even asked the cooks to prepare Fårikål, your favorite dish."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize and tell me what's going on,” she urged.
"Nothing, don't worry."
Anna stared at her for a few moments. Usually, Elsa would just stand there, returning her gaze without doing anything, like a frightened deer. Today, she was stubbornly avoiding eye contact. The Queen heaved another sigh, feeling her patience waver. Her eyebrows were so furrowed they were almost touching.
"Some guards told me they saw you going into the lower quarters the other day."
"Yes, it's true,” Elsa said simply.
"You told me you were going to the fjord."
Elsa didn't answer. A silence fell between them, stretching more and more painfully.
"I'm sorry,” Elsa finally replied.
Anna banged her fist on the table, which echoed like a thunderclap, startling her sister.
"Stop apologizing, dammit!” she exclaimed. Do you realize how unbearable this is? I'm doing everything I can to bring us closer together, to turn us back into the sisters we once were! But you do nothing, remaining distant and completely closed to the world, to me! I can't stand your silences any longer! It's as if nothing touches you, as if everything slips away from you! I'm trying to help you, but how am I supposed to do that if you hide everything from me? Do you think I'm stupid? That I haven't noticed you pulling away from me these past few days? That I haven't noticed you questioning my way of ruling? And when I confront you with your contradictions, when I tell you that we've seen you go somewhere you shouldn't, you continue to apologize instead of explaining! I don't care about these excuses you don't even mean! I'm always the one who has to carry everything, understand everything, do the right things! You pretend to care, without ever really being there, because you're just a shadow of the sister you used to be! Just for once, could you give me the impression that you're still human?"
A resounding crash erupted behind her, as if to punctuate this last brutal sentence. Anna came back to herself.
The silence seemed deafening, and she realized with horror that she had screamed, that she was out of breath, and that she had suddenly stood up, violently knocking over her chair. Tears had welled up in her eyes as she shouted at Elsa, and were now streaming down her cheeks. She widened her eyes when she saw her reflection in her sister's big blue eyes, realizing the violence of her words.
She took a deep breath to calm herself, put the chair back and sat down again, swallowing hard, her throat tight.
"I'm sorry,” she murmured, her eyes closed.
She opened them again to see that Elsa was once again staring into the void in front of her. Her face remained impassive, yet it seemed to her that her lower lip was trembling. This was impossible, of course. It was just a trick of her imagination brought on by the flickering candelabras' light.
"I just... I feel lost, Elsa. I don't know if what I'm doing is right or wrong anymore. And you seem so distant... so cold. It scares me. Because if you're not with me, I don't know what could happen to this kingdom."
She gave her sister a weak smile and placed her hand on hers.
Elsa withdrew it immediately, as if the contact had burned her skin. Without addressing her a glance, she stood up in a slow, mechanical gesture before Anna's worried eyes. She crossed the room, the clatter of her shoes echoing alone in the heavy silence, and left, leaving poor Anna alone.
The Queen held back a sob. She had gone too far, she knew it. She'd always managed to contain her anger, but the pressure had built up without her realizing it, and she'd vented all her rage on Elsa, who hadn't asked for anything.
Her silence is the proof you've been waiting for. Why would she lie to you, having always been so honest? Why would she refuse to explain, hiding behind apologies?
Anna swallowed again. With a trembling hand, she beckoned a servant to come closer, and asked to see the guard who had reported the incident to her earlier.
She didn't like what she was about to do, but she had to be sure, once and for all.
Elsa's footsteps echoed through the corridors, leading the young woman who knew where. All she knew was that she needed to get away from her sister.
It was all very strange. She hadn't felt anything in years. No emotions, no empathy. So why did it feel like a blade was piercing her heart? Why was her breath so fast and labored? Why were Anna's words still ringing in her ears? Why... why?
She came to herself as she passed Anna's office door. She took a few steps back and placed her hand on the cold handle. Visions danced before her eyes; she and Anna, playing in the gardens with their parents. Anna, with her feet in a small pond, having fun splashing her. The sound of their laughter in the summer sunshine. Then everything disappeared, absorbed by the sight of a burnt silhouette on the cobblestones of a decaying street, accompanied by the smell of burning flesh. This memory immediately dispelled Elsa's hesitation, and she turned the handle.
Without the usual light from the flames in the fireplace, the room was plunged into semi-obscurity. The dusty chandelier struggled to diffuse its dim light, barely revealing the outline of the mess on the desk.
Elsa took a long breath to calm her racing heart. Careful not to make any noise, she walked over to the imposing dark wooden desk. On the wall, the portrait of their parents seemed to be staring back at her.
"Forgive me, Father, Mother...,” she whispered.
She began to rummage through Anna's desk, hoping to find something, anything, that would justify what she had seen. Her gaze wandered quickly over the map of Arendelle, heavily annotated in red ink at the northern mountain, then she opened books, files and reports at random.
Several minutes passed, during which she began to wonder what she was doing. If her sister caught her here, she'd have good reason to scream at her.
She pulled a drawer open, but it resisted her. Curious, she pulled a pin out of her hair and tried to pick the lock. She had spent so much time bored in her room that, to escape the heat outside, she had preferred to immerse herself in obscure and even questionable books. One of which clearly explained how to pick a lock using a hairpin.
A click sounded, and Elsa was pleased to see that she remembered the book's instructions perfectly. She pulled the drawer again.
In vain.
"Oh, come on!” she hissed through gritted teeth.
She withdrew the pin from the little lock and noticed that one end was missing. A small sigh escaped her lips as she realized where the click had come from.
She went in search for the drawer's key, hoping that Anna wouldn't keep it with her. Why was she so obsessed with this simple drawer? She had no idea. She was desperate to find answers and absolve her sister, to find justification for her words.
To her relief, she found the key hidden under an open book. She inserted it into the lock and turned it. The drawer opened slightly with a small bounce.
It was filled with parchments, ink bottles and bundles of letters. Elsa skimmed through them quickly, but nothing strange caught her attention... until her eyes were drawn to a handwriting in glittering ink. She took hold of the bundle of letters held together by a small cord and held it up to the light.
The ink was fine, slightly tilted, elegantly drawn in emerald-green ink. The dates ranged from a few months ago to, for the oldest, some time before the death of their parents. Underneath was written:
“To Queen Anna of Arendelle
from Prince Hans of the South Isles.”
Elsa's eyes couldn't tear themselves away from the green ink. She had no idea that her sister had been in contact with Hans for so long. In fact, for as long as she could remember, Anna had always given her the impression that she had exchanged with the Southern Isles only for their current agreement.
What secrets could these older letters contain?
She was about to untie the cord when a sound froze her in place. Footsteps. Someone was walking down the corridor. She put a hand over her mouth, as if the person walking past could hear her breathing.
Please don't come in, she thought.
Fortunately, the footsteps passed the office doors and faded to an echo in the distance.
Elsa hastily closed the drawer, locked it and placed the key where she had found it. Keeping Hans' letters close to her, she peeked out into the corridor to check if it was empty. Fortunately, no one was there. Cautiously, she went out, closed the door and hurried back to her room to hide her finding.
Hidden in the corner of the corridor, Anna watched her sister walk away in the opposite direction.
Chapter Text
The next day, the same room was filled with the voices of Arendelle's councillors and nobles. A heavily annotated map of the kingdom, the corners corroded by use and time, was displayed in the center of the long table, and each face was partly hidden by stacks of reports of all kinds. The air was heavy with the smell of smoke from the fireplace, the scent of ink and parchment, and a tangible tension.
The situation was, as all too often in recent months, the situation in the lower quarters. All agreed: the resistance was gangrenous, like a tumor threatening to spread throughout the city.
"It's no longer just a rumor among the miserables,” commented a nobleman with a sallow skin and a crooked jaw. "It's a full-scale rebellion gathering right next to our homes."
"They're attacking us in organized gangs! My family doesn't even dare go out at night anymore,” replied the stocky woman opposite him.
"We've been too indulgent with them!” shouted another man, banging his fist on the table. "If they think they can act unpunished, we've got to put them in their place!"
The voices grew louder, reverberating in echoes, giving the impression that a whole crowd was arguing.
Sitting on the chair at the end of the table, where her sister had been sitting the previous evening, Anna had stopped listening and kept her eyes closed. The hubbub in the room was torturing her ears and buzzing her eardrums. With one hand, she tapped the armrest of her armchair with the tips of her fingernails. Tac, tac, tac. With the other, she rubbed her eyelids, wondering if she could escape the migraine that usually awaited her at the end of these meetings.
How long had it been since she'd had a full night's sleep? She had no idea. Every morning, she woke up with the same heaviness in her temples, the same burning behind her eyes, and now the weight of her own sister's possible betrayal. She had no time to lose with all this; she wanted to make sure she could trust Elsa. She felt weary. More than weary. Empty.
"Your Majesty?"
The voice pulled her from her thoughts. Opening her eyes again, Anna realized that the room had gone silent and all eyes were on her. The crooked-jawed nobleman had just addressed her and was obviously waiting for an answer, but she had no idea what he had asked.
"I was asking if we could send a delegation north to monitor the tribes' movements. If the resistance gains their support, we'll be overwhelmed."
"And I keep telling you that the danger lurks here, in Arendelle, not in the wilderness of the north!" exclaimed a noblewoman with a crimson face.
"The Northuldras again..." grunted the stocky woman, rolling her eyes.
She crossed her arms.
"If we'd acted right after the diplomat's death, we wouldn't be in this mess. They were never punished. They knew exactly what they were doing. Those savage beasts murdered him on the same day as Agnarr and Iduna's disappearance - no coincidence at all! Do you really think they don't support these rebels?"
"And who knows if our own servants aren't in contact with these traitors? Maybe it's time to check their loyalty and put them in their place!" shouted another.
A murmur of approval went up around the table. One of the advisors muttered the word “Treason”. All eyes turned back to Anna, who couldn't hold back a long, tired sigh.
Tac, tac, tac, tac.
"Your Majesty...” someone breathed, almost pleadingly.
"We need a clear order,” completed the man with the twisted jaw.
Anna straightened up, taking a deep breath to regain her composure.
Tac, tac, tac, tac, tac.
"We'll deal with the savages later. As for the rebels in the lower quarters, I'll think of a solution. I agree with you that we need to make a demonstration of power. Maybe then they'll understand once and for all that we're making all these sacrifices for their own good."
Anna paused, her eyes piercing each of the nobles present like sharp daggers. She stopped tapping the armrest and rose to her feet, resolute.
"The meeting is over."
The councilors exchanged puzzled glances, hoping their Queen would finally explain her reasons. But the young redhead turned on her heels without even giving them time to respond, offering them her back, her silence like a sentence. She confidently raised her head and left the room in long strides. The blaze in the fireplace eased, but the armrests remained blackened and smoking.
On the wind-beaten hillside, the menhirs stood out against a greyish sky that occasionally showed glimpses of pale blue. The stone, eaten up by winter humidity, was starting to be covered in moss. With her numb fingertips, Elsa began to scrape away the vegetation covering her parents' names, until she could scrape the stone with her nails and feel the pain under her fingers. At least she felt pain, if only physical.
That day, she was wearing a steel-blue silk gown dotted with subtle silver-thread embellishments. A short cape, dark as night, hung over her shoulders, and only her high shiny leather boots hinted her military habits. Even her trusty rapier was no longer hanging from her belt, tucked away in her apartments, where the bundle of letters she hadn't had the courage to open still awaited her.
"Father, Mother, I don't know what to do anymore,” she whispered to the wind. "Anna has strayed from the path you laid out for Arendelle. I... Help me, guide me... Tell me there's still something I can do."
In reply, the wind whistled between the stones, playing with her braid, occasionally bringing a strand against her cheek, which she didn't chase away.
Footsteps rose behind her, crunching on the gravel of the path. The young woman recognized the characteristic clatter of armor, and didn't bother to turn around.
"Lady Elsa,” called out a deep voice.
She recognized all too well the rough tone of Rokar, a guard officer who was reluctant to obey her and was a little too zealous for her liking.
"I must ask you to follow us to the castle."
Behind this protocol tone tinged with apology, Elsa managed to detect the tone too measured, too polite to be honest, and that slight thread of superiority that Rokar no longer bothered to mask with her.
She inhaled deeply, her eyes closed. For the past few days, she had felt herself floating in a haze of uncertainty, and she had to use all her concentration to stay in the present moment. Even so, her heart refused to slow down.
"Why?” she asked, her voice too calm to be natural.
Rokar appeared in her line of sight, to her right, near the menhirs. His helmet tucked under his arm, his salt-and-pepper hair pulled back to reveal a chiselled forehead, and his eyes, sunken under deep dark circles, stared at her without flinching. A scar on his right cheek bore witness to a recent altercation, probably in the lower quarters.
"You are suspected of high treason. Recent information leads us to believe that you have been in contact with enemies of the Crown."
A new wave washed over Elsa, who barely managed not to flinch. Yet she felt as if a stone had sunk into her stomach, and another, as imposing as the menhirs in front of her, was about to crush her.
Anna, her own sister, suspected her of treason and was having her locked up? She couldn't believe it.
Taking advantage of her daze, Rokar approached, pulling out his handcuffs. With surprising gentleness, he took Elsa's hand, and she relented.
"I'm head of the guard,” she murmured. "You can't do this."
"Speaking of which,” replied the soldier over the clinking of chains, ”Your authority is revoked. I'm assigned to your post as of today. Direct order from Her Majesty the Queen."
Rokar turned Elsa around and gently pushed her between the shoulder to move her forward. She passed between two guards without seeing them. Her escort took her down the mountain towards the castle of Arendelle, the place that was supposed to be her home.
Yet, as her eyes rested on the high, pointed roofs, she could no longer hear the rustle of the wind, the sound of her footsteps, or even the beating of her heart.
The dungeon smelled of rancid damp, rusty iron and soiled straw. The shadow of the bars, cast by the light of a flickering torch facing her cell, closed in around Elsa. Sitting against the cold wall, knees bent up against her, the young woman was staring at an undefined point in the void. Her cloak had been removed and rebellious strands were escaping from her braid. The silence buzzed unpleasantly in her ears, and she felt herself swaying. She hadn't been mistreated - not yet - but just being locked in there, without explanation, had been enough to tear her away from reality.
Hinges creaked at the end of the corridor, and Elsa slowly looked up at the slim, straight figure that had just appeared.
Anna.
Her sister was wearing her usual red, almost black, queenly gown, topped with a black cape lined with black feathers over her shoulders. Her hair was pulled back in an intricate, impeccable bun. As she approached the bars, the torch's flame intensified, casting the Queen's shadow over her unfortunate sister.
"I came as soon as I heard,” she began in a pained tone. "This is... a mistake. A terrible mistake. I ordered your release."
Her voice was as wounded as if she'd been the one locked up. Elsa didn't answer immediately. She raised a trembling hand to push back a lock of hair sticking to her wet temple, then set her pale eyes on the Queen.
"Do you really think I betrayed Arendelle?” she asked half-heartedly.
“I mostly think,” replied Anna, “that you've made unwise decisions. Decisions that some people interpret as a threat."
She stepped forward and placed a hand on the gate. The metal creaked slightly under her palm.
"Elsa... Why did you go down into the lower quarters unescorted? Why alone? You knew it was dangerous."
"Because you're hiding things from me,” replied Elsa. "Because I don't recognize Arendelle anymore. Not its streets, not its faces. Because I needed to understand what is being done to our people in your name. You know I'd do anything for you. For Arendelle. Even... even if I'm not always sure of what's going on around me."
She lowered her eyes.
"But I would never, never raise my sword against you, Anna."
A silence passed. A long silence, too long for Elsa, who held on to the bars to keep from flinching under its weight.
"I believe you,” she finally said. "I believe you, Elsa."
She nodded to the guard behind her, whom Elsa hadn't even noticed.
"Open up."
The cage opened and Elsa was led out as carefully as if she'd been made of porcelain. Anna placed a hand on hers and, for the first time, her warmth was gentle, almost comforting, far from the burn that usually suffocated her.
"Rest,” she murmured. "I'll make sure all this misunderstanding is cleared up and quickly forgotten."
She gave her a pale smile. Elsa didn't respond. Absently, she watched herself walk out of the dungeon, up the spiral staircase, and back to her room, floating as if in an unpleasant dream.
Rokar closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, his hand on the handle. Through the leather, he could feel the heat of the ornate iron. He exhaled loudly, composed himself and entered the office.
The oppressive heat of the room washed over him like a gust of wind in the middle of a storm. He paused in the doorway, watching the Queen's silhouette, motionless in front of the window, her back to him.
"My Queen, you asked for me."
He was already sweating profusely and breathing harshly. The air was heavy, but not just because of the heat. Rokar could feel it, the palpable tension emanating from the young woman that both tightened and quickened his heart. Trying not to make a sound in spite of his armor, he wiped the sweat from his forehead that trickled into his eyes. But he quickly let his arm fall back, trying not to breathe any louder than necessary despite the protests of his lungs. The slightest noise, the slightest improper gesture, would be enough to incur the Queen's wrath. He could see it in her tense shoulders and the refraction of heat emanating from her.
The room was deathly silent. The new head of the guard felt like a prisoner awaiting his sentence. His armor began to clank; Rokar was not a superstitious man, yet he couldn't stop his hands from shaking. He clenched his fists in front of him with all his might.
"She denies everything,” Anna announced in a low voice. "But I know she's lying. After all, she's spent her life mimicking emotions. All these years, I've been trying to find one last trace of humanity, of love, in her. And it's by talking to her about the resistance that she becomes overwhelmed? Does she care more about them than about me?"
The young woman was talking more for herself than for Rokar. The latter listened to her but hesitated to turn back. He felt as if he'd intruded on the Queen's privacy. Locked in his silence, he debated with himself.
When he decided to withdraw, the young woman finally turned to him. Slowly, as if it cost her something, as if the soldier disgusted her. She looked up at him, her pupils reddened by the glow of the flames in the fireplace.
"So be it,” she declared gravely. "Rokar, we can't let her go on like this."
The chief guard's eyes widened. He always understood all the Queen's subtleties, her half-hearted orders, but tonight he was afraid to understand. Yet he'd never been wrong, and the redhead's gaze left no room for doubt.
Blood pounding in his temples and his throat burning, Rokar cleared his throat. This time, he had to be sure, he wanted a clear order.
"My Queen, I'm afraid I misunderstand..."
"No, Rokar. You're intelligent, you've always understood. You're afraid of the truth, but we... but I can't deny it anymore."
Anna frowned, her gaze harder than ever. High flames escaped from the hearth. Smoke billowed from the young woman's hands, her fingers blackened, as if calcined.
"My sister must disappear. Get rid of Elsa."
Rokar's jaw trembled for a moment. A shiver ran down his spine, but he stood at attention to hide it. She was right, there was no point in ignoring the truth. Her orders were gospel to him. With a new resolve, he bowed to the Queen, making the blade of his sword, hanging from his belt, glint.
"Yes, your Highness."
Chapter Text
Elsa's bedroom was bathed in dim light. The fire in the hearth had long since died down, and the curtains were slowly lifted by the wind filtering through the stones. Behind the windows, the dark sky was slowly giving way to paler colors, as if the day itself were reluctant to rise to illuminate the events about to unfold.
The young woman was sitting on her bed, her back uncomfortably pressed against the headboard, curled up and her arms clasped around her legs. Closing her eyes, she could still smell the putrid smell of the dungeons.
She hadn't been able to sleep. When she finally seemed to have drifted off to sleep, memories of the previous day would resurface like slaps in her face, forcing her to stay awake. The darkness and humidity of the dungeons, the cold of the handcuffs against her skin, Anna's voice. “I believe you.” Even Elsa knew it wasn't true. She was devoid of feelings, but far from stupid. But what could she do against her own sister?
And what was Anna planning to do?
As if in answer to her questions, a creak was heard in the corridor and knocks sounded at her door. Elsa reflexively grabbed her rapier and was about to draw when she recognized the wrinkled face that had appeared in the doorway.
"Gerda!” she exclaimed with relief.
The maid ordered silence and turned to close the door carefully. The young blonde quickly guessed that something was wrong from the pallor of the face that once again faced her, usually so colored with life.
"What's the matter?” she asked immediately, her voice much more serious.
"Your sister, oh my Lady... she... I...,” Gerda whimpered, leaning against Elsa.
The trembling of her hands worried Elsa even more. She took them in hers and squeezed gently, urging her to calm down.
"Take a deep breath, Gerda. What's happened to Anna?"
"My dear Lady Elsa, you know I have great respect for you and your sister the Queen,” Gerda began, trying to control her voice. "Last night, as I was going about my duties, I passed by the royal office and... And I overheard a discussion between your sister and Sir Rokar. She told him... Oh, Lord..."
Elsa recoiled involuntarily. She was dreading what her former nursemaid was going to tell her, and yet she could already guess what it was. But she refused to believe it until...
"Queen Anna has asked to get rid of you!” gasped Gerda, her eyes wide with terror.
Elsa took a step back, leaving the maid swaying in front of her. Then Gerda, her bent figure, her pale face, gradually faded away. The tapestried walls, the rustling of the bed on which she sat without realizing it, all blended together, dissolved, to form an opaque cloud before her eyes. She could hear the voice speaking to her without understanding the words, the sounds fading away and vanishing.
Anna had condemned her to death.
Her lower lip trembled. She couldn't believe it, and yet her nanny was the only person she'd trusted, apart from Anna, since the death of their parents.
Two hands brought her back to reality by resting on her shoulders.
"Elsa,” Gerda murmured. "You must run away!"
The young woman hesitated. All she'd ever known was Arendelle's castle and the few streets she'd walked alongside Anna. But she saw the fear in Gerda's eyes, and realized she was no longer welcome here. To stay meant to die.
"You're right, Gerda,” she finally replied in a voice devoid of emotion.
"I know a passage,” replied the old woman. "If we hurry, we can reach it by avoiding the guards, and you can escape under the cover of darkness before the sun fully rises."
Elsa nodded and rose slowly, with difficulty. Her head was still spinning, but she now had a clear objective: escape.
She attached her rapier to her belt, opened the huge wardrobe to take a large travelling cloak that covered her completely, then turned to the secretary where the letters were still hidden. After a second's hesitation, she opened the drawer where the bundle of paper was hidden, and stuffed it into a cloth bag.
She looked up at the mirror above the cabinet. She could barely recognize the woman in the reflection: her features were tired, her eyes faded, her hair loose and her shoulders slumped. She looked more like a poor peasant than a princess in her prime.
She turned to Gerda and nodded again, resolute.
"Do you have everything you need? Then let's go."
They stepped out into the corridor, their footsteps muffled on the crimson carpet. The castle was still asleep. Each torch was casting gigantic shadows, forcing the two women to stop at the corners of the walls. The hanging portraits seemed to observe them with a mixture of judgment and pity. Gerda led them confidently, despite her fear. She knew these corridors like the back of her hand. Elsa followed her into a home she no longer recognized.
They descended into the kitchens, still empty at this hour, then into the pantry. Elsa helped the maid push a heavy shelf, then they leaned against a section of the stone wall to turn it. A gust of cold air enveloped them. The smell of mildew and damp stone wafted into the room.
"This is a passageway known only to the cooks,” Gerda quickly explained in a low voice. "We use it to... take some supplies down to the lower quarters, when we can."
Despite the urgency of the situation, Elsa smiled briefly. She had always loved her nanny's compassion, and in all her years she had apparently remained true to herself.
"Thank you, Gerda,” she murmured.
She realized that the woman was crying her eyes out.
"I'm going to miss you, Elsa. Your sister doesn't look like the playful little girl I used to take care of... I hope she comes to her senses soon."
Elsa held Gerda's frail, sobbing body close to her.
"I hope so, too. Farewell."
She slipped through the muddy passageway, listening as Gerda closed the entrance. She was all alone now.
The echo of her footsteps was absorbed by the moss eating the stone slabs. The tunnel was old, but recent footprints indicated that it was still used occasionally. But that wasn't stopping humidity from taking its toll, and roots from seeping between the stones of the vaulted ceiling. The air was heavy, as if after a storm, with hints of mold reminiscent of the dungeons.
Elsa had to duck to avoid a curtain of wood and moss, but she stood up too soon and felt scratches on her back. Another root, seen too late, scratched her cheek. Yet she never slowed her pace.
At last, she caught sight of the exit. She emerged under the bridge that linked the castle to the rest of Arendelle. Rickety wooden planks linked each column together, just above the waves. Hesitantly, Elsa placed a foot on the wood, which creaked dangerously. But the plank didn't give way. Avoiding looking at the sea below her, she hurried across in balance. Once she reached the first column of the bridge, she couldn't hold back one last look behind.
The castle of Arendelle was surrounded by large purple flames and seemed to tower over her from its full height. Seen from down here, the building looked nothing like a home. Every window appeared to her like a murderous eye, the shadows of the towers reaching out towards her like clawed hands ready to seize her.
Elsa continued on her way, a long shiver running down her spine.
The city wasn't yet awake, but the sun was beginning to seep through the rooftops. If she didn't hurry, she'd lose the cover of night before she reached the lower quarters.
Elsa moved forward, avoiding the main streets, her face hidden under her cape. She stuck to the walls like a shadow and, despite her haste, stopped at every crossroads to check if the way was clear, her ear alert, her gaze on every shadowy corner. Arendelle seemed both familiar and different, welcoming and hostile.
In the distance, the rumble of boots and the creak of armor echoed. Voices vociferated orders. Rokar wasted no time. As her heart missed a beat, she realized that if Gerda hadn't come for her, she'd already be dead. It had been a very close call. She took a deep breath to keep her composure and wandered off into an adjacent alleyway.
She spent several minutes wandering through the city towards the lower quarters, dodging patrols as she went. Finally, she entered a dirty, damp passageway lined with decrepit walls that smelled of rancid fish, dust and wet wood. Recent renovations had left the place in disarray: an old cart filled with sacks of moldy grain, barrels stacked against a wall, a facade under renovation hidden behind rickety scaffolding.
Elsa crept into a corner, hidden by the cart, and slid down the wall to curl up. The smell of dried urine rose to her nose, mingling with the already nauseating smell of the place.
She drew her arms against her, seeking warmth that didn't come, the cold and dampness of the ground penetrating her cloak. She would have liked to cry. But even that she'd forgotten how to do. Not in front of their graves. Not with Gerda. Not now, miserable in the mud of Arendelle. No sadness, no anger, only the shock of having been betrayed by her own sister.
A pressure tightened in her throat. Anna must surely have felt the same for her. Her rage was surely consuming her office or bedroom by now. Her voice echoed in her head, screaming incomprehensible things. Pressure gripped her throat. Surely Anna felt the same way about her. Her rage must surely have consumed her office or bedroom by now. His voice echoed in her head, shouting incomprehensible things. She imagined her giving Rokar the order. “Eliminate her. Exterminate her. Kill Elsa.” before a clear scream drowned out everything else.
"Just for once, could you give me the impression that you're still human?"
Elsa was tired.
For long moments, she'd just stayed there, her forehead resting on her knees until it left a red mark. Maybe no one would see her if she stayed there. Maybe she'd be forgotten. Maybe she'd wake up to the joyous laughter of her sister. Or maybe she'd simply disappear forever...
The ground vibrated beneath her feet, and then she heard the sound of voices. The pounding of hurried, heavy footsteps coming closer. A dry voice barked an order that made her raise her head:
"Watch all the exits! She can't have gone far!"
She closed her eyes for a second. By ear, she counted at least three. Maybe five, it was hard to tell because of the echo. But the footsteps, ordered like a war drum, were getting dangerously close.
Elsa immediately straightened up and swept her eyes over the alley. Her strategist's instinct took over, and a plan formed in her mind.
The soldiers entered the alley at a run, their boots slipping on the damp cobblestones. The lantern of one of them projected twisted shadows against the decrepit walls. The smell of the place forced them to hide their faces with their arms.
“Keep going,” ordered the man leading the way. "She can't be far."
His voice was assured, but he was now speaking mid-voice. His heart swelled with excitement. He loved this moment of stalking, this precise moment when the prey is still invisible, but already cornered. They advanced in a tight line, the other three behind him, hands on pommels and eyes riveted on every nook and cranny.
The man looked up at the scaffolding creaking in the wind. It was a perfect way to reach the rooftops and disappear. He expected to see a shadow disappear behind the tiles, but nothing. She'd stayed right where they were. The thought brought a smile to his face.
"Nothing to report,” said one of them, glancing behind the cart.
"Keep moving. The traitor is here, I can feel it."
Suddenly, a crack sounded behind them. They turned around, but too late.
Elsa, sneaking up behind the barrels, was pushing with all her might. The pile shook and tumbled, rolling straight towards the soldiers. The nearest had no time to react; the first barrel hit his legs, knocking him forward. His head hit a second, and he collapsed inert, stunned.
The other three had jumped back to their left, swearing. While his colleagues watched stupidly as the barrels crashed into the wall, the soldier with the lantern spotted Elsa's hooded figure where the pile had been.
As the barrels had carried off one of her opponents, she had picked up a large stone and thrown it onto the wedge of the cart, which was now speeding towards the three men.
The soldier with the lantern raised his hand to yell at them to grab Elsa. The other two saw the cart bearing down on them. But none of them realized that they had taken shelter under the fragile scaffolding.
The cart exploded on impact. With a deafening crash, the tower of planks and ropes collapsed on the soldiers, raising a thick cloud of dust and hurling splinters of wood and metal in all directions. The earth seemed to tremble under the violence of the moment.
Elsa wanted to seize the opportunity to flee, but a cough in her back stopped her. She turned and saw, in the dust that was beginning to settle, the silhouette of the man with the lantern, his subordinates knocked out and trapped under a pile of broken planks.
Without giving him time to react, Elsa rushed in, grabbed him by the shoulders and kneed him in the abdomen. He collapsed, breathless, dust rushing into his open mouth. She took a step back as she watched him fall, and set off again right away. As other patrols arrived, attracted by the sound of her little ambush, Elsa had already disappeared in the direction of the lower quarters.
At least she hadn't killed anyone, she tried to reassure herself.
A morning drizzle was beginning to fall over the town when Elsa arrived at the dirty, decaying market square where she'd met Liv.
The place was empty.
"No...” she whispered.
She fell to her knees in the middle of the square. The resistance was her last chance. She had thought she could find a shelter, a haven there. Now she had to face the horrible truth: she was alone. Alone, hunted all over town, with no place to hide. Hunted by her own sister. How could her life have taken such a turn?
What if... what if she turned herself in? Anna might never forgive her, but she'd never torture Elsa. So perhaps she would execute her quickly, without the flames devouring her alive. Yes, maybe that was for the best. At least she would disappear, far from her sister's hatred, far from this unfair world, far from...
"You seem lost, little sparrow,” came a voice from behind her.
Elsa gasped and turned around. Liv was standing there, wearing the same outfit as their previous encounter, a proud - and slightly victorious - smile on her lips.
"Liv!” exclaimed Elsa, not without relief.
"He wouldn't believe me when I told him you'd be back,” laughed the brunette as she approached. "I can't wait to see his face..."
She held out her hand to Elsa. The young woman grabbed it, without trying to understand who she was talking about, too dazed as she pulled her to her feet. Liv looked her up and down before sighing.
"You look terrible. Come, follow me."
Elsa obeyed, her legs shaking. With her eyes fixed on Liv's back, her brown curls twirling with every step, she could hardly believe it. Was she sure she could trust her? What if she took her straight to Rokar? She shook her head.
No. Liv was her only hope. She had to trust her.
"So, what convinced you?” asked Liv without turning around.
Elsa didn't answer, but she didn't seem to mind.
She didn't even pay attention to the path they were following. The rain was now pouring down. Soon, she was following Liv through a tangle of roofs, soaking wet, freezing cold, not really knowing where she was going. She hadn't asked any questions. She no longer had the strength. They stopped in front of a trapdoor hidden between two chimneys. Liv knocked three times, rhythmically. The wood vibrated, then opened silently. A face appeared in the gap, suspicious, then stepped aside without a word.
"After you,” Liv said with a smirk.
The young blonde leaned over and let herself fall limply, soon joined by Liv.
She landed softly on the stone floor, in a cramped room with flickering light. The smell of soot and leather seized her. Once her eyes had become accustomed to the darkness, the fallen princess realized that she was at the center of a circle of curious, wary resistance members. People were staring at her, looking down on her with squinted eyes, baring their teeth and growling. A tide of faces of all kinds was turned towards her, ready to pounce at the slightest sign of hostility. Men and women, children and elders, all dressed in rags, blades gleaming at their belts.
"Calm down,” Liv said, closing the trapdoor. "She's with me."
A grunt ran through the assembly.
"Another foreigner,” grumbled someone in the shadows.
"Ah, Liv, there you are!” exclaimed a deep, gravelly voice. "So, what were you...?"
A man split the crowd. He towered over everyone, built like an antique wardrobe, square-jawed but with youthful features. His hazel eyes rested on Elsa, hidden behind scraggly blond hair. His mouth formed a perfect “O” for a few seconds before he regained his composure.
"Liv?” he questioned without raising his voice.
"She's the young lady I met a few days ago,” she explained. "She doesn't say much, but she looks stronger than all of us put together. Have you seen her condition? We can at least offer her shelter. I'll take responsibility for her. Come on, I've always had good flair, haven't I?"
Her little attempt at humor made the blond man's lips twitch, but he was still staring at Elsa. He approached her and stopped only a few centimeters away. The young woman held his gaze, and despite her fatigue, she didn't flinch before his imposing stature.
"Can you fight?"
Elsa nodded.
"Yes,” she answered simply.
Her tone was firm, however. Something sparkled in the young man's eyes, while Liv rolled hers to heaven.
"Stop being such a tough guy. I'm sure she's got potential!"
The man sighed, and every muscle in his body seemed to relax with his breath. Elsa was reminded of a deflating balloon. When he smiled at her, he no longer seemed so intimidating.
He held out a hand twice her own.
"Welcome to the resistance. I'm Kristoff."
Chapter Text
In the very heart of the slums, next to a garbage heap and a stone's throw from a ratty market, you could come across gloomy-looking buildings embedded one within the other. Their cob walls were cracked, leaning towards passers-by, the windows barricaded, the roofs twisted, and a single chimney was surviving, spitting out timid wisps of smoke.
These few houses were in reality no more than a facade for Arendelle's resistance base. Most of the partitions had been knocked down to form a single room. From the outside, the illusion was perfect. Upstairs, new walls had been rebuilt with rickety planks to separate living areas, dormitories and latrines. There were even a few private rooms.
It was in one of these that Elsa had spent the day circling like an animal in a cage, before falling into the straw bed at nightfall. Her sleep had been restless; she'd woken at the slightest noise on the other side of the door. She immediately grabbed her rapier, thinking that Anna had found her, that Kristoff, Liv or anyone else in the resistance had denounced her. But that was not the case. People just came and went in the corridor, ignoring her completely.
By daybreak, she'd long given up the idea of sleeping. Curled up on the bed, leaning against the wall, she had put her arms around her legs and was thinking, staring into space. She'd spent the last hour reading Hans's letters to Anna, but had quickly given up. The words danced before her eyes without her understanding their meaning, too tired as she was.
Then a movement caught her attention: a shadow had stopped in front of her door. A few seconds later, a knock sounded, and Kristoff appeared in the doorway.
"New girl, we'd like to talk to you. Come along."
Elsa didn't know how to decipher the young man's expression, or even his tone of voice. So she had no way of guessing what to expect. But right now, anything seemed better than languishing on that dingy bed, and she followed him.
Kristoff seemed to notice the suspicion on her face, and his features softened as they descended a flight of rickety steps.
"Don't worry," he says in a softer voice. We just want to know who you are and where you come from.
This was precisely the sort of thing that would worry Elsa. As she walked along, she was thinking at full speed about how to make a new identity for herself.
Eventually, they came to a large room in the center of which sat a large round wooden table. Twenty people could easily have stood in the room, but only a few seats were scattered here and there around the table and near bulletin boards. There were only a dozen or so resistants, including Liv, who were all busy rolling parchments.
On one of them, Elsa had time to make out a city map on which several routes had been traced, crossed out, before finally keeping one in red ink. But the next second, the scroll slipped from her grasp, and the resistant man carrying it gave her an unpleasant look.
Kristoff directed her to a platform of some kind - a few planks about fifteen centimetres off the ground - and immediately, the room went silent.
"My friends, my comrades," he began solemnly. "After our discussion this morning, we've decided to hear from our new recruit, guided here by our dear Liv."
He nodded to her and continued, this time to Elsa.
"We just want to know your story before we judge whether or not we can let you join the Arendelle resistance."
Elsa held back a mocking exclamation. It was highly unlikely that, should they refuse her, they would simply send her back out into the street with two loaves of bread and say “good luck, thanks for stopping by”.
Instead, she took a step forward and began to recite the story she had just constructed for herself.
"I'm a former Arendelle guard. I know their movements, their numbers, their patrols. Their methods, the very ones that led me to desert and join you."
As she spoke, she kept glancing at the resistance fighter, who was still holding the city map rolled up against him. Had he been holding a sacred treasure, he wouldn't have looked at her with any less suspicion.
"When I expressed my disagreement, the Queen... revealed her true face and ordered my execution."
"You were under the orders of the “Protector”?" wondered one of them.
Elsa had no trouble guessing who he was talking about. What she didn't understand was why no one recognized her. She nodded slowly, and the man who had asked her the question whistled in awe. At the questioning glances he drew, he explained:
"The Protector!" he repeated as if it were obvious. "You know, the Queen's guardian and head of the Royal Guard! No one has ever survived to tell what she looks like, but it's said that she remains cold and impassive in all circumstances. She could kill all the inhabitants of the lower quarters in a heartbeat on the Queen's orders without flinching!"
Elsa repressed a shudder. She didn't like the way people saw her. At least she had the advantage that nobody knew what she looked like. As the man spoke, the others had turned to her with admiration, and perhaps a little terror. Kristoff, for his part, hadn't taken his eyes off her for a moment, eyebrows furrowed.
"She's no more," she simply replied. "Rokar recently took over the Royal Guard. That's why I finally decided to flee. The Queen, hearing of my disapproval, ordered Rokar to kill me. I only escaped with the help of friends in the castle."
While the others murmured, impressed, frightened, worried, even suspicious, Elsa couldn't hold back any longer and pointed to the rolled-up plan.
"You're going to get yourself killed if you go through there," she declared firmly.
A silence fell over the room, this time charged with incomprehension. Even Liv, who until then had been content to listen, fiddling with a lock of hair, straightened up in her chair.
"What do you mean?" mumbled the man. "We were tidying up when you came in..."
"I saw the plan before you rolled it. One second is more than enough. May I?"
As she spoke, she had stepped down from the platform and was now reaching for the parchment. The man, completely stunned, looked up at Kristoff. The latter hesitated for a moment before nodding.
Elsa unrolled the map on the large round table, and everyone gathered around her. She pointed to the red route.
"You get out of here (she ran her finger along the route as she spoke) and then walk along the harbour, which is fine. The guards mainly watch the docks. If I understand your plan correctly, you're heading for the old barracks to pick up some abandoned weapons?"
"That's right," confirmed Liv, who had joined the circle in silence.
"The surrounding area has been under surveillance since the attack on the Queen several days ago. Patrols have been reinforced here (she indicated the location) and there. Not to mention this street, acting as a border between the lower quarters and the noble houses."
A whisper ran through the assembly. Everyone looked very unhappy, especially the man who'd been holding the parchment earlier.
"Who do you think you are?" he shouted. "You come in here like a flower and criticize Kristoff and Liv's plans, and..."
"Let her speak," Liv cut in sharply, before turning to Elsa. "Do you have a suggestion, little sparrow?"
A few discreet chuckles were heard at the mention of the nickname, but no one dared raise their voice.
"Go along this street," continued the young woman, pointing to a street adjacent to the border.
"It's suicide! The guards will be all over us!"
"On the contrary. Their orders are to capture any member of the resistance for questioning. They can't afford to ambush you on such an open street. No, they're going to follow you to see where you're going, and they'll come down on you as soon as you reach a sufficiently remote area. Let's say, here."
She pointed to a small, dead-end square at the end of the street she'd traced with her finger. On paper, there was no way out.
"And what should we do, then?" asked Kristoff with interest.
"Nothing."
An exclamation of surprise arose and, this time, the resistants raised their voices in a chorus of protest. It wasn't until Kristoff banged his fist on the table that silence fell. One could even hear the old wood creaking dangerously.
"Do you have a map of the sewers?" asked Elsa.
Seeing the resistants stare at each other and the answer being negative, she sighed. Then she grabbed a blank piece of parchment and a quill pen, without asking permission, and began to draw lines that overlapped the map below.
"There may be mistakes, I'm doing it from memory," she justified. "But there's a condemned sewer entrance on this square. There are no guards patrolling this area. If you fork here (she drew a long line that made the pen crunch on the paper) and then here, and then here, you'll come within walking distance of the barracks. All that's missing is..."
"A diversion," Kristoff added, smiling slightly.
He turned to Liv.
"The market opens tomorrow, doesn't it?"
"Yes... Oh!" she exclaimed, her eyes round with surprise. "We can ask Oaken to do the market somewhere else!"
Faced with Elsa's incomprehension, she added:
"The market where we met is a travelling market. It changes place every week, to avoid the royal guard."
"Clever," commented Elsa. "And this Oaken..."
"He's the owner, so to speak. And he owes me a favor or two. Now, we'd better get a few more people than usual to the market..."
"I know someone", says one of the resistance fighters in the crowd, his eyes bulging. "He's been... ‘recovering’ stuff from houses abandoned after the guard searches. Apparently, there are some valuables, and some food that's still fresh."
"So organize an auction and a food distribution," ordered Kristoff. "And if they refuse to give it away for free, remind Oaken that he owes me a favor too."
Then he turned to Elsa.
"As for you, I find nothing wrong with your plan. But to limit the risks, I want you to accompany the team tomorrow. You'll be under Liv's command. If your plan works, that's wonderful for everyone. But if it fails, you'll disappear with your failure. Is that understood?"
"Understood," replied Elsa, nodding gravely.
The resistants had free time until the following day. The team in charge of retrieving the weapons from the old barracks was made up of four gruff men, Liv and Elsa.
The latter, having nothing to do, was looking for the room used as a training room.
The place smelled of old wood, sweat and metal. In the center, a circular arena had been drawn in chalk. Around it, handcrafted training dummies stood. Some were missing an arm, while others would have benefited from some straw padding.
Against the far wall, racks of rusty weapons were lined up. Elsa approached and her fingers brushed a rapier; a real one, not the one that was usually hanging from her belt. She seized it and approached a dummy, immediately assuming a fencing stance.
Wearing a ceremonial weapon didn't mean she couldn't fight.
She made a few graceful movements and precise blows, the clatter of which echoed between the walls. The young woman realized with displeasure that she'd lost her precision - Anna always refused to let her put herself in danger, to use real weapons. Her reflexes had suffered as a result of being kept under wraps - and as soon as she became aware of this, and thought of Anna again, her gestures lost more and more of their assurance.
After a few minutes, all she could seem to do was make silly movements with her arms. Finally, she threw the rapier across the room.
Breathless, she approached a tarnished mirror on the opposite wall. She looked like the same fugitive princess she had been on the previous night. She hadn't changed that much since she'd looked at herself in her comfortable bedroom, except for the dark circles under her eyes.
She looked at her hair. Their platinum blonde, almost white, was a little too recognizable, she observed. All it took was for someone to remember seeing “the Protector's” long hair, even from a distance, for the resistance's suspicions to turn to her. It was already hard enough for them to trust her.
She went back to the racks to grab a knife, the sharpest-looking one, and returned to the mirror. She then clumsily began to cut her hair.
After a few minutes, long strands were lying at her feet. Elsa stopped to admire the result, but grimaced with disappointment.
Where her hair had once reached the lower part of her back, it now formed a hesitant square around her face. Uneven strands brushed against her shoulders. She noticed that she suddenly looked much more grown-up.
She was about to leave when someone opened the door. Liv entered, saw Elsa's new haircut. And burst out laughing.
"What... What is... that?" she managed to articulate.
"What?" replied Elsa innocently.
She waited patiently for Liv to regain her composure. With one hand, she touched Elsa's missed points. The latter crossed her arms, looking impassive, but unable to hide the pink that rose to her cheeks.
"It's not too bad," she commented, unable to shake off the smile in her voice. "I don't know which child of the resistance did it, but we'll have to congratulate him."
"Very funny," replied Elsa, pushing her hand away.
"Just kidding, little sparrow. Wait, I'll get some scissors. Sit down on the stool."
Elsa arched an eyebrow, but Liv had already left the room. Shrugging, she returned to the mirror, placed the nearby stool in front of it and waited. Had Liv really gone to look for scissors, or had she preferred to find Kristoff so that the two of them could make fun of her?
The answer came to her at the same time as the brunette, who gently closed the door behind her, a silver glint in her fist.
"Don't move, I'm going to even this out."
She stood behind her. Elsa felt her presence, the warmth radiating from her. Another warmth emerged between her shoulders and spread strangely across her back.
The metallic clatter of scissors began to echo through the room.
"You know,“ Liv began, ”I'm not one to rave about anything and everything. But what you did earlier was... impressive."
"I just... spotted a problem in your itinerary," Elsa retorted with a shrug.
"After seeing the map for a second? Not to mention your knowledge of the city, the patrols, even the sewer map!"
"Any other guard would have..."
"No, sparrow, don't try to be modest", Liv interrupted with a smile. "I'm telling you, you were incredible, even Kristoff told me so."
Liv gently ran a hand over the back of her head to pull back a lock of hair, her fingers brushing the nape of Elsa's neck. The latter froze for a moment.
"Sorry."
"It's nothing. I'm not used to being touched."
"I'll be careful."
The scissors resumed their work, and a pleasant silence settled between them. Liv was focused, serious all of a sudden.
"Why did you join the resistance?" asked Elsa.
The young woman paused for a few seconds, then resumed her work, eyebrows furrowed, obviously in the midst of an inner debate.
"Five years ago, my father was killed," she finally said. "Officially, by a Northuldra attack. But I always had a feeling that Arendelle was the real culprit."
Elsa felt her stomach knot.
"I thought joining the resistance against the tyrannical Anna would help me find answers. So far, I've found nothing."
She paused for a moment, and Elsa looked away, pretending not to see the brunette's reflection as she wiped her eyes.
"What about you?" she continued. "Have you lost someone too?"
"My sister... sort of."
Realizing that this answer was more mysterious than she had intended, she hastened to add:
"Or rather, what made her my sister. I lost her when I fled from the Arendelle guard."
"I'm sorry, little sparrow."
"Me too, Liv."
Through the mirror, Elsa gave Liv a slight, sad smile. She stared at her for a long time, surprised.
"You know, this is the first time I've seen a smile stretch your lips. It's a pity, you're pretty when you smile..."
"It's rare that I feel anything."
Elsa immediately regretted her words and bit her lip. She feared she'd said too much. Liv looked at her for a few seconds longer. Then, realizing that Elsa didn't wish to elaborate, she smiled tenderly.
"Will you tell me about it one day?"
"One day, yes," Elsa replied in a breath.
Liv walked around Elsa to stand in front of her. Hands on her hips, she was observing her proudly.
"There we go! That's better, isn't it?"
She took a step aside.
Elsa's blond hair was now perfectly cut and evened out. She had the impression of seeing a new woman before her, more dynamic, more serious and ready for action. But also more... expressive? She was sure she hadn't worn any make-up, yet her cheeks seemed a little less pale. Even her dark circles seemed to have faded.
She looked up at Liv - the real one, not her reflection - and gave her a shy smile.
"It's perfect."
Chapter Text
And the plan succeeded.
Elsa looked around, ignoring the pain in her cheek. Liv pushed slightly past her, but she didn't protest. Debris crunched under her feet as she moved forward. Light smoke blanketed the scene like a veil, a curtain desperate to conceal the scene. A heavy silence reigned. A silence of death.
Dust. Violence. Destruction. That was all that surrounded her at that moment.
In the morning, Elsa had joined the group heading for the old barracks. This time, she'd managed to get a good night's sleep, which wasn't a bad thing considering what awaited her. She was armed with a slightly blunt rapier (hers had remained hidden under her straw mattress). Dressed in neutral-colored linen clothes, a patched leather glove in her guiding hand, she was ready.
Liv had greeted her with a warm smile, but her eyes were sharp, focused on an invisible point; their objective. She was wearing more or less the same clothes as the day they'd met: worn leather pants and a loose shirt. Her cascade of hair had been pulled back into a ponytail so as not to disturb her.
They were accompanied by four men: Jared, a man as tall as an antique wardrobe, with an unkempt look, and above all a former blacksmith. It was he who would help them choose the most suitable weapons. When Elsa arrived, he gave her a friendly, if somewhat gruff, wave of the hand.
Malek was about ten years younger than him. A kid from the streets, he was said to have a talent for stealing and stealth. His face was so sharp that the young woman wasn't sure whether he looked more like a vulture or a mouse. When she arrived, he greeted her with a nod and a mischievous smile.
Piotr was about the same age as Malek, spoke with a choppy accent that omitted the r's, and had oversized biceps that wouldn't be too much use carrying the crates of weapons. His face was so neutral that the only detail that made him stand out in a crowd was his impressive ginger sideburns. When Elsa arrived, he was the only one to say “Good mo'ning, Sparrow”.
Emilien, finally, although skinnier than Piotr, had nothing to be ashamed of in terms of muscle strength. He'd been chosen for this mission not only for his ability to be discreet (which he'd surely learned from his sidekick Malek), but also because he was always willing to help carry heavy weights. When Elsa arrived, he nodded earnestly in her direction. At least, that's what she thought, his eyes being covered by a thick mass of curly blond hair.
"Are you all right?" asked Liv when the young woman reached her level. "You look less tired than yesterday."
"I managed to rest for a few hours."
Elsa shrugged. Although she'd rested better than the day before, she'd still woken up at dawn and replayed the mission plan over and over in her head before getting up two hours later.
Liv must have sensed the apprehension in her eyes, as she laid a hand on her shoulder.
"Relax, everything's going to be fine."
"I know," Elsa replied simply.
She'd studied every detail during those two hours, and there was no reason for anything to go wrong. As long as we were careful.
Her answer, far from disconcerting Liv, made her burst out laughing, drawing stares from the other four.
"I love your confidence, little sparrow!"
"You're not the only one who calls me that," Elsa noticed.
"Well, after hearing me call you that at yesterday's meeting, the others started doing the same. Looks like we've got you a nice little nickname."
Liv punctuated this last sentence with a playful nudge, a teasing smile on her lips. For a moment, Elsa forgot the tension of the upcoming mission weighing on the group. Until a dragging voice spoke up.
"Speaking of the meeting, are we sure of her plan?"
Everyone turned to Malek. His mousey nose frowned and turned red as he suddenly found himself the center of attention. He continued to play with a large gold coin embossed with the royal coat of arms, tossing it into the air before catching it in mid-air.
"I mean,“ he justified himself, ”I know Kristoff's examined the plan carefully. But you guys - he pointed to Liv - spent days putting it together. Why should we change just because some pretty chick who's only been here a few hours decided our plan was bad?"
"Because our plan was bad," Liv replied, squinting. "Our Sparrow has just left the Royal Guard, so she has more up-to-date knowledge of their techniques and patrols."
"And the 'oute she's found looks safe' than the one we ag'eed on befo'e,“ added Piotr.
"She's got it in the bag, all right,” intervened Jared in his gravelly voice. "I still have my doubts about a plan hatched after she saw our map in barely a second, but it's too late to back out now. Come what may."
"Oh yes, she's got it in the bag," Liv repeated. "If you ask me, she looks even more cunning than Malek."
The others laughed heartily as Malek frowned. This time, it was his cheeks that flushed. Even Liv was grinning mockingly.
Elsa tugged gently on her sleeve and whispered in her ear:
"Do you always talk like that?"
"Like what?"
"By being... mean to each other?"
"Mean? No, it's not that, it's just childish. It's our way of bickering, of relaxing before risking our lives out there."
Elsa was skeptical.
"Let's see how smart she is," Malek suddenly exclaimed. "You, Sparrow, when we get to the barracks, I dare you to find an object of value, anything at all, among those old piles of junk we're going to search. Whoever finds the shiniest, most expensive object wins."
His smile was now brimming with confidence. Elsa even thought she saw him puff out his chest.
"No, thanks."
Malek seemed to deflate like a balloon, and his smile slowly slipped from his face.
"What do you mean, 'no'?"
"I'm here to accomplish the mission, not to play," Elsa replied in a calm voice. "That's not what we're here for."
"That's the point!"
"I said no."
Malek clicked his tongue in annoyance but didn't reply. Clearly, he wasn't used to being denied an opportunity to show off his talents, and his ego was wounded. When the scouts signalled that the way was clear, it was a sulky Malek who followed the group out of the building.
Their group had set off, a silent procession through the still-sleepy streets. At the first fork in the road, they waited. They were a good minute ahead of the patrol. Malek fiddled nervously with his coin, peeking over the corner of the wall.
He stopped and suddenly waved. The resistants resumed their march. Behind them, the patrol had just reached the street they had just entered.
They turned again. They had stayed long enough to attract the attention of the guards, making them suspicious of a group of six beggars strolling the streets so early.
Elsa, up front beside Liv, let her senses take over, ready to perceive the slightest anomaly in the streets around them. Her companion, for her part, raised her head from time to time to nod discreetly to the scout following them from the rooftops.
After a few minutes' walk, Emilien, who'd been silent until now, approached Liv, wringing his hands.
"I've got a bad feeling about this, Liv. The silence is too heavy. They're following us."
"It's normal," the brunette replied in a breath, without moving her lips. "We want them to follow us, remember."
"Precisely," he added as they crossed an avenue. "What's stopping them from intervening now? They could come down on us at any moment and lock us up."
It was Elsa who answered, without looking away. Her voice was devoid of emotion, yet a hint of bitter irony floated through her words.
"Rokar's Guard must obey protocol. On the high streets, they can't afford to attack us directly. This is the kind of thing that attracts the attention of civilians. They'll wait until we reach the side streets, out of sight, where they can forget the law."
Emilien nodded without hiding his growing unease. He kept glancing back, and his shoulders had stiffened.
"As long as eve'yone sticks togethe', we'll be al'ight," Piotr reassured him.
He and Jared kept their eyes fixed straight ahead, obviously focused on the footsteps approaching behind the group. Even Malek had stopped playing with his favorite coin.
As for Elsa, she sometimes closed her eyes to visualize the plan. She remembered the black-ink layout she'd drawn the day before, and clung to it like an Ariadne's thread.
Each alley seemed narrower than the last. The grip was inexorably closing in on them as they approached the small square.
The market was finally unfolding before them, a veritable island of life in the city's morning dreariness. The square, usually nothing more than a wasteland, was now bursting at the seams with cobbled-together stalls made of rickety planks, heaped with a variety of merchandise, from stunted vegetables to pieces of hardened bread and worn-out fabrics.
The pungent scent of stew reached their nostrils, but failed to disguise the smell of sweat and earth that pervaded the place.
A swarming tide of all Arendelle's rejects lay before them. Skeletal elders, men with sunken cheeks, others in rags, barely clothed women, all covered in mud, filth and resentment for having been forgotten by the town. Children were playing in the dust.
Yet, despite the misery, cheerful conversations - and even laughter - formed a hubbub that immediately made the group forget the heavy silence of the streets.
The market was a welcome refuge, allowing them to forget poverty and death at least for a few hours.
The six resistants made their way through the crowd with a collective sigh of relief. So far, their plan was going as expected. Glancing back, Elsa saw the shadow of a soldier hesitating to enter. They were going to take advantage of this moment of hesitation to disappear.
She bumped into a passer-by, quickly excused herself and retreated towards the others, sweeping the square with her eyes.
The man staring at her, bewildered, was waiting in a disjointed queue. Craning her neck, Elsa saw that the queue was moving towards a table where an old lady was handing out bowls of seasoned stew with her bony fingers. The heavy presence of spices was less for taste than to camouflage the rancid condition of the meat.
A group of children was running, weaving between the legs of passersby, laughing loudly. A little girl with greasy hair occasionally turned toward the boys chasing her, her hands outstretched and her fingers curved like claws.
“I'm the evil queen of fire!” she shouted in a high-pitched voice. "Boom! I'm going to burn you all! Boom! Boom!"
To accompany her “Booms,” she pretended to throw flaming balls at the others, who laughed and dodged or pretended to be hit, screaming. One of them, the oldest, advanced toward the little girl, brandishing a branch.
“The curse of the trolls will freeze you forever! You'll catch the eternal cold! Zoom, zoom!”
He waved his stick around, nearly hitting passersby several times, and the little girl let herself fall to the ground in a melodramatic fall that was most effective.
Several adults approached the group, clearly unhappy.
“Dimitri, how many times have I told you to stop this nonsense!” exclaimed a man with a lisp.
He grabbed his son's arm roughly, but the boy replied:
“But Dad, I swear we saw them!”
Elsa felt increasingly uncomfortable as she watched the little girl disappear into the crowd, clinging to her mother's arm.
Liv nudged her in the ribs and pointed to another stall across from them. Elsa recognized the owner as Oaken from the description her friend had given her; massive, with thick red sideburns (for a moment, Elsa wondered if he and Piotr weren't related) and a gentle, almost jovial face that was laughing heartily. Next to him, even Jared seemed tiny. You could tell from his build that he used to eat his fill. But those days were gone, and the poor man was starting to seriously lose weight.
Oaken apparently ran the auction stall, which featured mostly trinkets - jewelry, watches - of no great value, but also rarer objects, such as a decorative Northuldra spear or even a shield stamped with the ancient seal of Arendelle. Elsa looked painfully at the golden emblem on a green and purple background. The colors of her parents' reign. She quickly looked away.
She didn't know how to feel about these people, their anger and pain. All those gouged faces, those bruised bodies... they were the scars left by her sister's flames. Should she feel responsible for their misery? Was she guilty, an accomplice to the Queen's crimes? Did she belong among them?
"I'll go first," announced Malek.
His voice brought the former head of the guard back to reality. She had just enough time to see the devious resistant disappear into the crowd, heading for Oaken's stall.
"Oaken has positioned himself next to the sewer entrance," Liv explained. "See the pile of crates next to the stall?"
She pointed to crates stacked so high they were teetering precariously.
"He placed them in front of the access gate, so that no one would see us come in. Malek went ahead of us to pick the lock by the time we arrived."
"Clever," commented Elsa. "Let's go."
The group entered the crowd, moving slowly through the tightly packed crowd. Children's cries, haggling voices and the mingled smells of smoke, spices and sweat formed an almost dizzying sensory haze. Although his shoulders had relaxed, Emilien was casting nervous glances all around him, his hand on the dagger camouflaged beneath his clothes.
Oaken was handing a dusty clock to an old lady when they reached her. They walked around the stall and behind the colossus. Liv slipped a few coins into his hand, a gesture so discreet it might have gone unnoticed if Elsa hadn't been paying attention.
"We're even for now," Liv whispered.
Oaken simply nodded, a mysterious smile on his lips, continuing his transaction as if nothing had happened.
The group progressed to the pile of crates where Malek, already hard at work, was on his knees picking the rusty latch on the sewer grate.
"Just a few more seconds," he said.
Then he took out a half-worked loaf of bread from his jacket and handed it to them.
"I borrowed this on the way. We'd better eat now. It smells like dead rats down there."
They sat in a circle behind the crates, shaded from curious eyes. Each took a bite in turn, sharing the dry bread and a bit of softened cheese that Jared had kept in his pouch.
Elsa watched the faces of her companions. Their apparent calm, their silence like a storm not yet brewing, but felt in the air.
The clatter of Malek's tools was drowned out by the din of the market, and soon a final tinkle told them that the gate was open. He pulled it aside, and immediately a cold draught escaped, laden with the faintest whiff of foul air. Piotr cursed in an unknown language.
"It won't be long down there," assured Emilien, as if trying to convince himself.
Malek stepped aside and turned to the two women in the group with a mocking curtsy.
"Ladies first."
Chapter Text
The sucking sound of their boots almost made Elsa retch. Her colleague hadn't lied; the air reeked of rotting excrement and moldy dampness. It was a veritable wall of stench that forced her to breathe as little as possible so as not to vomit. She found herself suffocating and having to take a long, horrible breath of air to soothe her oxygen-deprived lungs.
The low, vaulted walls seemed to close in on the group. Emilien was sweating and shaking nervously, clearly suffering from claustrophobia. The young woman couldn't blame him; she herself felt trapped and cramped. At the front, Liv's storm lamp cast a flickering light on the dripping walls, covered with a blackish, viscous substance that they couldn't identify, but which shadows gave the unpleasant impression of swarming vermin.
“I hope your memory is good, sparrow,” Malek muttered.
He put his hand to his mouth, immediately regretting having opened it. Elsa didn't even bother to answer him.
At the first intersection, they turned right, as she had instructed them the day before. The tunnel wasn't perfectly straight, as if a trembling hand had drawn the walls with irregular bricks. Every so often, they came across shapeless piles of what must have been rats. All that remained were carcasses of flesh and half-devoured bones.
Elsa understood why even beggars avoided this place. Why the resistants, the outlaws, the outcasts of her sister's reign, had never settled here. Garbage, filth, and excrement were piled up here, but more than that, it was the apotheosis of everything that was repulsive and filthy in Arendelle. Even the most miserable of lives did not deserve to end here. To live here, in this place rejected even by the outcasts, was to deny one's existence, one's pride, one's humanity. Even the poorest in the city could not bring themselves to do so and would rather face Anna's flames a thousand times than set a foot here.
Fortunately, the group was just passing through, not lingering a second longer than necessary in this foul-smelling place. As they slowly made their way forward, Elsa's foot slipped on a stone covered in filth. Letting out a surprised curse, she flailed her arms, searching for something to grab onto. Her face came dangerously close to the wall and her cheek scraped painfully against a protruding brick. Instinctively, she jumped back, still falling. She hesitated for a second—a long second during which her hand reluctantly brushed against the sticky wall—before tumbling backward. The thick, opaque surface of the black water was dangerously close to her face...
Two hands suddenly appeared and caught her by the shoulders, just in time. Without any difficulty, Jared lifted her into the air as if she weighed no more than a feather. Elsa let out a cry of surprise as she found herself suspended in the air for a few seconds. Then he set her down on her feet with surprising delicacy,just as he would have done with a doll.
”Be careful, little sparrow,” he warned her, dusting off her shoulders.
“Thank you,” she replied, wiping the blood from her wound.
A dull thud echoed somewhere behind them, distorted by the echo reverberating through the tunnels, so that they couldn't tell if it was a rock sliding, the squeak of a rat taking its last breath, or something more disturbing moving in the murky water.
“Let's keep going,” Liv ordered in a confident voice.
The group ventured deeper into the foul-smelling labyrinth. Their senses were on high alert, not because they expected a direct attack from the guards—they suspected no one would be foolish enough to venture into this hellhole voluntarily—but because of the unknown and repulsive nature of the place. Every drop of water falling from the ceiling, every splash of dirty water against the stone seemed suspicious to them.
Elsa, close behind Liv, her eyes fixed on the mental maps she had of the place, guided the group. At each intersection, she pointed them in the right direction without a secon of hesitation. She ventured to close her eyes for a few seconds in order to superimpose the sewer map onto the map of Arendelle. Fortunately, she seemed to be guiding them on the right path.
After one last turn, they arrived in a narrower tunnel from which a faint light escaped, along with a cool breeze that drove away the foul odor that had become ingrained in their lungs.
“There,” Elsa whispered, pointing.
In the flickering glow of the lantern, an iron ladder appeared, fixed against the brick wall. Rust had eaten away several rungs, and brownish streaks ran down the metal. Bathed in light, the ladder seemed almost like a saving figure.
“That's it,” she confirmed in a calm voice. “Right next to the secondary entrance to the barracks.”
They began to climb. Liv led the way, followed by Elsa, Malek, Jared, Piotr, and finally Emilien. They took their time, testing each rung to make sure it could support their weight despite the rust eating away at its base. Finally, one by one, they emerged into fresh air.
“Never again!” cried Malek as his head barely emerged from the manhole cover.
“Silence!” Liv ordered him.
“'emembe', we'll have to go back th'ough the'e to b'ing the c'ates back,” commented Piotr, who hadn't said a word during their entire journey through the sewers.
Which was justified by his greenish complexion.
“That's right, we'll have to go through the sewers with our crates of weapons, but then what?”
“Then we'll hide them in Oaken's crates of goods, and he'll bring them to us at the end of the day at the base. To the guards, it'll just look like a simple food transaction.”
“They won't want to search him?” Elsa wondered, taking a long, delicious breath of air.
Malek scoffed.
“You bet they would. They’re much more interested in what comes in and out of Arendelle. They couldn’t care less about what the lowlifes do with the little they’re given.”
They closed the trapdoor behind them, leaving the foul stench to dissipate beneath the stone and iron bars.
The hangar they were in was a vast, dark, and dusty space, filled with the smell of old wood and rust. The wooden walls were rotting from the damp, covered in moss and mold. Split crates, moldy nets, and old rusty tools lay scattered here and there, covered in a thick layer of grime, and cobwebs hung from the rafters like forgotten shrouds. The morning light struggled to filter through the few high windows.
“Come on,” Elsa urged them. “There must be a service door leading to the street that runs alongside the secondary entrance to the barracks.”
“Even if there isn't, we'll just push a wall with our fingers,” Emilien scoffed, following her lead.
Their footsteps muffled by the thick layer of dust on the floor, they advanced toward the back wall. There, blending so well into the wall that it was easy to miss, was a large sliding door. Despite its rusty tracks, Jared and Piotr managed to open it without effort or squeaking.
Outside, the street was empty. Only a cold wind whistled between the buildings, carrying with it the morning scent of the city. About ten meters away, just across the street, stood the imposing silhouette of the abandoned barracks. The building still bore the scars of a past fire: blackened stones, torn shutters, broken windows, a collapsed roof. But the structure was still standing.
“Did the queen burn it down?” asked Elsa.
She had never heard of her sister losing her temper in a barracks. In any case, it wasn’t the kind of place Anna liked to go.
That said, she had learned that Anna kept many things from her.
“No,” replied Jared. "No one really knows, so the guard decided it was an accident."
“And they took advantage of the opportunity to build a larger barracks right next to the castle. Far away from dangerous people like us,” Liv added with a hint of bitterness. "But according to our sources, they didn't clean up properly, and there are still some weapons left that could be useful to the resistance."
Elsa nodded. It was after the new barracks were built that she was named head of the royal guard. Anna must not have thought it was relevant to inform her of what had happened to the previous one.
They crossed the street in silence. The side entrance, a hidden service door in the shadow of a collapsed tower, consisted of a wooden door that had been half torn off. Jared kicked it open, and it creaked weakly as it scraped across the burnt ground.
The interior was a nameless mess. Overturned benches, gaping lockers, blackened remains of uniforms, and above all, a smell of cold ash and rusty metal permeated the air. Black stains marked the walls, scars from the fire. A heavy, almost unreal silence reigned in the room, giving them the impression that the flames had only just been extinguished.
“It looks like nothing has moved since the fire,” Liv whispered.
“Good,” Malek replied.
They went through another door and entered a storage room. Several weapon racks still stood there, some partially collapsed, others intact under a layer of blackened dust.
“Perfect,” said Liv, pointing to a pile of large, intact crates. "We'll take three of them to carry everything we can. Jared, Piotr, Emilien, you'll each carry a crate on the way back. No way are we going back under there for nothing."
Piotr grimaced but didn't protest.
Jared, with newfound confidence, strode into the room, kicking aside damaged boots, broken helmets, and charred pieces of shields. He crouched down in front of a rack, picked up a rusty sword, twirled it in his hand, then put it down without a word. He tried another one and nodded. As he evaluated each weapon, he divided them into two piles: solid steel on one side, useless scrap on the other.
The second pile was much larger than the first.
“It's not great, but some of these blades can still be used,” he grumbled after a moment. “There are daggers, sabers, even two crossbows that still work, and a handful of bolts. Nothing glorious, but it cuts."
“That’s all we ask,” replied Liv.
Elsa, silent, approached the crates and opened them one by one. The inside was empty, except for old burnt rags. She threw two on the ground, then helped the others stow the recovered weapons.
“I don't understand,” Elsa whispered to Liv, who was busy working beside her. “Why didn't the guard pin the blame on you?”
“And make the people believe we were so powerful?” smiled the young brunette sadly. It was better for the Queen not to suggest that she had failed against the resistance. That would have been admitting her defeat. and her weakness, you understand?"
Elsa didn't answer. She understood too well.
“Where's Malek?” Emilien asked.
“Who knows,” Jared replied distractedly. “Maybe he's looking for treasures to sell at the market.”
Emilien sighed, half amused, half exasperated, as he continued to stack the weapons in the crate.
An hour had passed, which had seemed like an eternity, but they were finally done. Malek - who had reappeared in the meantime, looking mysterious - had closed the last crate by jumping on it with both feet, and the group was ready to set off again.
Reluctantly, they returned to wade through the sewers. The journey back seemed strangely less threatening, perhaps because they had to walk slowly to keep pace with the three men carrying the heavy crates loaded with weapons. With nothing else to do but wrinkle their noses, Elsa, Liv, and Malek took the opportunity to scrutinize every nook and cranny of the tunnels.
Malek walked up to Elsa, who kept one hand on her cheek which was still hurting from time to time, and, while keeping one sleeve under his nose as a meager protection against the putrid smell that surrounded them, he showed her an ornate dagger in the palm of his hand.
“Look what I found,” he whispered with a mischievous smile.
Elsa looked at the object. It was clearly not a weapon intended to cause harm, and in fact, it reminded Elsa of her own decorative rapier. Its hilt was intricately carved, inlaid with delicate arabesques that seemed to sparkle, even under the dirt. The blade, though tarnished by time and moisture, displayed patterns characteristic of Damascus steel.
“Did you steal it from the barracks?” asked Elsa. “Is that why you disappeared?”
“I had to do a little digging,” admitted Malek. “But it's by far the most interesting thing in the barracks. So you could say I won.”
He put the dagger in the inner pocket of his jacket, a smug smile on his face, his chest puffed out with pride. As they approached the market exit, he walked ahead of Elsa. She quickened her pace to catch up with him and put her hand on his shoulder.
“Are you admitting defeat?” Malek teased, turning around.
“I won,” Elsa whispered in his ear.
She walked past Malek to join Liv, who was still leading the way with her lantern.
Taken aback, the young man scratched his head and his hand fell on his loot, as if by reflex, to reassure himself.
The dagger was gone.
Instead, a round, flat object bulged slightly in his vest. Malek turned his pocket inside out and, frowning, discovered his lucky coin, stamped with the royal coat of arms. As Jared, Piotr, and Emilien passed him, they thought they heard their friend laugh—a small, genuine chuckle, very different from his usual haughty sneer.
“Well done, little Sparrow,” he whispered.
Elsa was about to climb the exit ladder, not without relief. She couldn't wait to return to the resistance base, tell the others about their adventures, and above all, reflect on everything she had seen and heard today. At least she could congratulate herself on her plan; everything had gone well, as planned.
A little too well.
As she climbed out of the trapdoor, she heard a cry of surprise, a heart-rending scream. It was only when she looked around that she realized it was Liv who had let it out. Her cry still echoed in the heavy silence, much more than that of the sewers they had just left.
Around them, there was nothing but desolation and destruction. The stalls had been ransacked and overturned, the soup dripping miserably onto the muddy ground, between drops of blood. The agitation had raised a thick cloud of dust that was falling on the scene. Elsa deduced that all this must have happened within the last hour, just a few minutes after her group had left.
Only a few beggars remained, huddled against the walls, trembling so hard that it seemed as if death were before them. Liv pushed Elsa aside and crouched down next to them to question them in a soft, reassuring voice. But Elsa already understood what had happened.
Rokar's royal guard had become more reckless than she had anticipated. They had regrouped and struck the market, hoping to track down the resisters they had been pursuing. Staring into the void, she was unable to hear Liv's voice as she returned to her side.
She should have felt responsible. She should have felt the piercing pain of guilt in her heart, shared her friend's heart-wrenching scream. It was her plan that had led the royal guard to innocent civilians.
But only emptiness and a terrifying calm reigned in her heart.
Emptiness, and nothing else.
Chapter Text
Hello everyone! 👀
This new chapter is a little shorter and more introspective than the previous ones, but I hope you'll enjoy it despite its slower pace! If you liked it... leave me a word or two! Or even three! Your feedback is always welcome, it makes me happy and motivates me! 🫶
Enjoy reading!
Above the calm waters of the fjord, barely disturbed by the waves around the castle to which it led, the white stone bridge stretched for a few meters. It was just long enough to make crossing it a pleasant experience and allow visitors to marvel at the royal beauty that stood before them. In recent years, however, this view had been obscured by the Queen's large flames, concealing from the inhabitants' view the already isolated building on its island.
On the mainland, all around the shore, the residences of the highest noble houses stood close to the bridge, their high roofs and white facades reflecting the sunlight at its zenith. People fought with ostentatious dinners for this proximity, a symbol of their importance in high society.
The gardens were always well trimmed, the hedges evenly cut, and the lawn never overflowed onto the cobblestones leading to the residences. Seen from above, this view would have satisfied even the most meticulous of men. This beauty, reflecting the power of the nobility, was in fact due to an army of underpaid gardeners, their green thumbs slightly yellowed by the heat that constantly emanated from the castle.
Beneath these opulent buildings carved by the gods, the upper districts formed a second, larger ring around the bridge. Their houses, though much more modest and cramped, were no less pretentious. The homes of the newly rich seemed to be engaged in a silent war of beauty against those of the blue bloods they faced.
It was here that one could encounter merchants who had taken advantage of the crisis brought about by Anna's reign to enrich themselves and abandon their scruples. In the shade of their enclosed gardens, the owners of merchant ships could be seen here and there. They ensured the prosperity of the Southern Islands by emptying the stomachs of Arendelle, writing orders to their crews, and allowing their own bodies to revel in the cool shade on dry land, sipping the peace they promised the sailors at the end of each voyage.
Then the main street, slightly curved to follow the shape of the upper districts, divided the city from north to south all the way to the docks. This simple road covered with worn cobblestones, officially Arendelle's commercial route, was now better known as the border with the lower districts and their stench, their thugs, their hungry rabble. Fortunately for our merchants, regular patrols by the royal guard prevented them from being attacked by this emaciated, skeletal, and oh-so-dangerous rabble.
Thus, the minor nobility had no need to worry about what was going on beyond the main road and could quietly go about their business. As for the high nobility, they had little interest in what lay beyond their walls. Above these blinders of relative security, the vast expanse of water ending in a wall of purple flames acted as a double border. If one of them, stung by a sudden curiosity, hoped to escape this opulent boredom and took an interest in the castle, they would find nothing among the flames that would satisfy them. Soon, returning to their daily boredom suddenly seemed much more interesting. The castle was far enough away that they could choose to be blind to what was happening there.
And deaf to Oaken's screams coming from the dungeons.
Anna closed the door of her office behind her, but did not immediately sit down. With her back against the frame, she sighed and closed her eyes. This was shaping up to be a long day. For a few seconds, she simply enjoyed the silence.
Then she became aware of the dampness of her hands. Of the strand of hair stuck to her forehead. Of the unpleasant cold sweat running down her back. And of the weight falling on her shoulders, causing her to unconsciously bend her legs. Her knees were shaking without her knowing why, and it was upsetting her.
Suddenly, she opened her eyes again, threw a large blaze into the fireplace, and sat down in her soft armchair before she could no longer stand.
The man's gaze would not leave her.
Earlier that morning, a patrol had followed suspicious individuals through the lower districts to an clandestine market. Suspecting rebel activity, they had ransacked the place and made arrests, thinking they had caught the people they were tracking.
It turned out that, of the five people taken back to the castle, four had started crying, bursting into tears at the queen's feet, ready to exchange any information for their lives. If she had asked them, they would even have been willing to denounce their own families. They squirmed, strapped into the interrogation chair, like filthy, disproportionate babies, their faces contorted with pleas and swollen with tears. When Anna realized she would get nothing out of these four people beyond this grotesque spectacle, she left the room, but not before ordering their execution. An example had to be made.
But this fifth man... Even sitting in his chair, Anna had to look up to see his eyes. He had a small, high-pitched voice that had simply said, when she entered:
“Good morning, my Queen.”
Anna scanned the room, glancing without seeing at the reports spread out on her desk. Her eyes were drawn to the mesmerizing movement of the flames dancing in the hearth, which she stared at as if burning her retinas, while the scene replayed itself before her.
Oaken. He was a big man, immense, imposing though a little thin, but far from the gruff man his stature suggested. He had not cried, nor begged for mercy, nor pleaded for forgiveness. His face had remained impassive as he walled himself up in silence. Anna had not been able to get any information out of him. And his high eyes never left her, staring at her with a paternal expression that she mistook for pity.
This had finished upsetting her. She entrusted the rest of the interrogation to Rokar before leaving, not without invoking flames under Oaken's seat. The door closed behind her with a slight smell of burnt flesh.
A cold sensation made her jump slightly. Her forehead had just touched the edge of the desk without her realizing it. For a moment, just a second, her eyelids closed. The silence of the room enveloped her, peaceful.
Then there was a knock at the door, and Rokar entered.
The new chief of the Royal Guard hadn't changed much since their last meeting, except for the crest that now gleamed proudly on his chest. Ever since he had replaced Elsa, Rokar had worn the Arendelle coat of arms with unflinching arrogance and loyalty. His expression reminded the queen of a puppy waiting for a treat for good behavior.
“Well?” she barked.
“He said nothing, my Queen,” Rokar replied, shaking his head. “I'm sorry, we couldn't get any information out of the man before the fire...”
At the mere mention of the flames, his face paled, then turned green. He had apparently not enjoyed the sight of a man being burned alive. But he would get over it; he would eventually get used to it.
“That's where you're wrong, Rokar,” Anna continued. “He did give us at least one piece of information.”
“My Queen?” Rokar repeated, not understanding.
“Sit down instead of circling in front of my desk.”
Her eyes were tired from following the captain’s movements, who immediately froze and came to sit in one of the two armchairs facing the Queen. This man irritated her, but at least he was useful.
“You saw how the other four people behaved before him. Two men, two women, all different, and yet they all had the same reaction. They begged me, Rokar, cried for mercy, struggled in their seats until their chains dug into their flesh—flesh that was beginning to melt under the heat of the flames. Yet, until their last breath, they never stopped trying to bargain with everything they had in exchange for their lives.”
“A miserable sight,” Rokar commented with a sigh.
“The sight of a person who thinks they are innocent, who has nothing to hold on to but their life. A meaningless life, no doubt, but a life nonetheless. These people had no cause to die for.”
Anna sank into her chair, massaging her temples. She was tired of explaining all this to Rokar, but she needed him to understand. And expressing her thoughts aloud was also a way of organizing them.
“What if they were just traitors?” suggested Rokar. “What if they weren’t devoted to the resistance to the point of sacrificing themselves for it?”
"To which I would reply, Rokar, why join the resistance then? Why join a fight for what they believe to be justice, all blinded by hunger and stupidity as they are, if they are not prepared to die for it?
Rokar's eyes suddenly lit up. He had just understood.
“So, this Oaken...”
“He knew something,” Anna confirmed. “Maybe he was working with them, maybe he was part of the resistance. Either way, his silence spoke louder than his comrades’ whining. Silence is golden, as they say. He was convinced that his silence would keep the secret, that it would spare his friends. Unlike the others, he believed that his sacrifice was nothing compared to their so-called cause.”
Anna shook her head and sighed quietly. She found it completely absurd to die for something so abstract, so futile. Yet part of her found Oaken's gesture, or rather his silence, respectable.
“And we've just given them a martyr,” Rokar concluded grimly.
The Queen dismissed his remark with a wave of her hand.
“If they try anything, their precious neighborhood will go down in ashes. In fact, I’m already being lenient enough not to have burned it down already. And what about the five people the patrol was chasing?”
“Gone,” Rokar replied hastily, shrinking into his chair. “We questioned the witnesses, but we can’t find any trace of them.”
This time, Anna couldn't help but let out a long sigh. The dancing flames, which she could still see out of the corner of her eye, were beginning to make her drowsy.
“Starting tomorrow, reinforce the patrols in this area. Don't use more force than necessary; there's no point in giving them new reasons to attack you. I don't care how you do it, but find these individuals and bring them back to me. Alive. I already have enough to do organizing Elsa's funeral.”
At these words, she felt a spike of pain pierce her heart. Although Rokar had already disposed of the body, Anna wanted to hold a public ceremony and erect a tomb near those of their parents. Elsa deserved at least that. That is, the Elsa she had known until these last few weeks. The woman who had betrayed her was no longer her sister. No, she should not feel remorse; she had done what was necessary.
Yet she missed Elsa, and she was feeling very alone.
But she did not need someone else to rule. She had done what was necessary.
Chapter Text
Here we are, chapter 12 already!
In this chapter, you will meet Camellya of Vellthorne... I hope you will enjoy discovering this character as much as I enjoyed writing her! 😊
Please feel free to leave a comment, I always appreciate it!
It has been said before that most of Arendelle's nobility couldn't care less about what went on in the slums. It should be noted, however, that there were some exceptions: members of the Royal Council, those who aspired to join it, and finally, those who stumbled upon events by chance.
Camellya of Vellthorne was one such person. As she returned from her daily morning walk (it must always be precisely 11:30 a.m. when she passed the royal bridge), she came across a very curious procession that day.
Five people, chained by their feet and hands, were escorted by no fewer than a dozen guards and were heading toward the castle. It was not difficult to guess where they came from, given their shabby clothes, which contrasted scandalously with the long, thick blood-red dress in which Camellya was encased.
The woman's face, perfectly structured and framed by equally perfect short raven hair, lit up with curiosity. Of the five prisoners, the one at the front naturally caught her eye. Because of his stature, of course, but above all because of the serene, almost melancholic expression on his face. What misfortune had led this poor man to be treated as if he were a dangerous criminal? That was all it took to awaken in her that subtle thrill of interest which, in Camellya, was always synonymous with action and spectacle.
However, it would be impolite to continue without telling you more about this woman.
At forty-one, she had learned to make a place for herself among the nobility of Arendelle. Her fortune, inherited from her shipowner father, certainly ensured her a place on the ladder of high society, but she found herself on a rung far too low for her liking.
What was most remarkable about her was her flair for the dramatic, which was reflected in both her outfits and her gestures. Her face itself flirted with noble perfection: high cheekbones finely powdered, a mouth with full lips perfectly made up, sparkling hazel eyes revealing her quick wit. The only flaw was perhaps her nose, too aquiline for some, or her jaw, too square for others.
Yet when she attended receptions where powdered wigs and embroidered dresses competed in pretention, she captured everyone's attention as soon as she entered the room. She was said to be extravagant. Eccentric, even. She knew she was unforgettable.
Just a few hours after encountering this escort, she had already learned everything she wanted to know. The prisoner's name was Oaken, and he came from the mountains, where he had been running a small shop with his three children since his wife's death. The talkative servants said that he had been arrested for participating in a black market in the slums, and the guards, who were easily bribed, confessed that the poor man had been executed by the Queen, while his companions would be publicly executed.
She sent a letter to the Queen asking for an audience.
Two days later, the two large doors of the castle were opened for her. Two of her servants were leading the way with a pace that rivaled that of a military parade. The courtesans, deep in serious whispered conversations, immediately stopped when they saw the little noblewoman in her crimson dress approaching.
The echo of her heels resounded on the immaculately polished floor, punctuated by the dull, repeated tapping of her ebony cane. She leaned on it lightly, which today changed her walk, making it asymmetrical and irregular, but no less determined.
She was led into a large, sumptuously decorated salon where she was offered tea to keep her waiting. Sitting quietly in her chair, legs crossed and back straight to show off her cleavage emphasized by a fitted corset, she pretended to be interested in the paintings and gilding, completely ignoring the stares directed at her. The nobles must have been wondering who this woman was, whose head barely protruded from a crimson dress with shoulder pads so wide that they almost engulfed her. With her cane, she was reminiscent of a certain hunchback, although she was not constantly bent forward.
Finally, after what might have seemed like a long wait if she hadn't been amused by the looks people were giving her, the doors to the lounge opened and a man came to meet her.
His wrinkled cheeks, one of which was crossed by a scar, indicated that he must have been the same age as her. His graying temples and small eyes made him look tired, so she preferred to follow the shining crest on his chest.
The man led her into an office far too modest to be the Queen's. The floor and wood paneling on the walls were dark, and the blue tapestry was in dire need of refreshing. The only central feature of the room was a small desk with two chairs facing each other. The whole room was dimly lit by a small window and a candlestick with flickering candles.
“Lady Vellthorne, it is a pleasure to see you.”
“The pleasure is mutual, Captain Rokar. I don't believe I've had the opportunity to congratulate you on your promotion,” she replied, taking a seat without waiting for an invitation.
The captain looked at her for a few seconds before sitting down opposite her, a smile fixed on his lips.
“Thank you, Lady Vellthorne. I wish it could have been under happier circumstances.”
“The loss of the princess is a tragedy,” Camellya added in a subdued voice. “I hope the Queen—whom I have requested an audience with—is well despite this terrible ordeal.”
“Unfortunately, Queen Anna cannot receive you today. But fear not, whatever you have to say, I can relay it to her. I will convey your condolences, of course.”
“Naturally.”
Camellya had let go of the knob of her cane to hold it like a scepter. Her face had grown colder, and she no longer exuded the aura of weakness caused by her hesitant walk. Before Rokar could speak again, she continued:
“Surely you are aware of the story everyone is talking about in the salons, aren't you? Those five people who were arrested and taken to the castle two days ago...”
She shook her head solemnly as Rokar raised an eyebrow.
“Arrests happen every day. I don't understand why this would interest you.”
“I was there, you see,” explained Camellya. “I saw those people crossing the bridge, and it so happened that the fate of that tall man, that giant who was probably their leader, did not leave me indifferent. I have since learned—people say a lot of things at social gatherings, you see—that this poor, poor man worked in harsh conditions in a store in the mountains to provide his three children with decent housing in the slums.”
Rokar snickered.
“My lady, I doubt that ‘decent’ is the right word to use for a house in that den of thieves. But I still don't understand what led you to request an audience in this matter.”
“I'm getting to that, Captain, I'm getting to that. As I said, poor Oaken—is that his name?—lived alone with his three children. Now that he's gone, for I've also heard that the Queen herself took care of him, who will take care of these unfortunate beings? Are they destined to grow up, and more likely die, in these frightening and squalid streets?”
She placed a hand on her heart and closed her eyes, savoring a moment of dramatic silence, which Rokar rudely interrupted.
“Many sickly and frail children grow up on these streets, my lady. If you propose to go to this dangerous place to find three poor kids...”
“Far be it from me, Captain!” Camellya said indignantly.
She leaned forward, and her voice suddenly became much more serious.
“But the slums are dangerous, as you just said. And I have no doubt that the arrest of Oaken and his four accomplices has only made the situation worse. In fact, I think the tension in these streets has never been so palpable. Even for, say, a royal guard... say, a captain.”
Rokar looked her up and down, but said nothing. She hastened to continue, standing up straight to her full height.
“I propose a solution to ease tensions, and as a sign of goodwill from the royal family. I would like to build an orphanage in the slums, and be its patron, of course. Arendelle will provide the building and the labor, and I will provide the funding and security for the children of the slums.”
“And what would the royal family gain from this?” Rokar asked abruptly.
Clearly, Camellya's inquisitive tone did not please him, but she did not let herself be discouraged so easily.
“Peace, as I just told you, at least for a while. Consider this a solution to ease tensions while you find a way to permanently resolve the problems in the slums. For I have no doubt that this is your goal, captain Rokar? May I add that many people are wondering about you at dinner parties. About you and your promotion, which coincides perfectly with the tragic disappearance of Princess Elsa.”
“Are these threats?” whispered Rokar, his eyes narrowing to slits.
Camellya shrugged dismissively.
“Just an observation. Let's say you support my request to the Queen. You would surely win the sympathy of the few noble houses that are watching the conflict with the lower classes and who might find the Royal Guard very aggressive.”
Rokar was thinking. He definitely hated the tone this woman dared to use with him, this little noblewoman who had nothing going for her except her inherited fortune.
That said, he had to admit that she was right. The situation in the slums had been deteriorating for the last two days, with thefts and assaults becoming more frequent, and the guards increasingly targeted. Approving the construction of Vellthorne's orphanage would allow him to kill two birds with one stone: calm the situation with the slums and allow the royal family and its Guard to restore their image among the people.
“I will forward your request to the Queen,” he finally articulated.
Chapter Text
Helloooo!
Here we are again for a new chapter. I hope you enjoy it! The pieces are slowly falling into place, eheheh 👀
Feel free to leave a comment! 😊
“Is this really the first time you've left Arendelle?” Kristoff asked in surprise.
Elsa lowered her eyes to avoid the disbelief she saw on the young man's face.
To her knowledge, she had never left the city. Accustomed to the constant warmth that had prevailed there in recent years, she had been surprised by the biting wind that still blew in the northern mountains.
Before answering, she wrapped herself in the fur cape she had been given that morning, which tickled her nose. It was a much more pleasant sensation than the cold around her. She also wasn't complaining about the weight of the purple fabric, which trapped her body heat. In the end, the only thing that made her teeth clatter was the painful sensation in her ears and fingertips.
“Yes, I think so,” she finally replied. “My childhood memories are quite vague, but I don't think I've ever ventured outside Arendelle.”
“So, what do you think of the mountains?”
Kristoff, who was walking ahead, stopped and turned to her, looking proud. Elsa had been told that he had grown up in the mountains, on his own, before being adopted by a family in Arendelle when he was a teenager. At least, that's what he had told Liv.
Kristoff had therefore grown up in the northern mountains, and although he was clearly doing his best not to show off, his gestures betrayed the confidence of someone who knew the area like the back of his hand.
To emphasize his question, he swept his arm across the landscape.
They were between two mountains, on a steep path, surrounded by snow that couldn't decide whether to remain solid in the cold of winter or melt in the spring wind. In reality, calling it a “path” required a lot of imagination; it was more like packed snow dotted with mud puddles. As for the rest, all they could see was the gray, steep side of the mountains, frozen white glistening as far as the eye could see, dotted with a few trees bending under the weight of age.
After these few seconds of observation, Elsa turned her attention back to Kristoff, who was still looking at her with that proud, almost arrogant air. He gave the impression of being a child of five feet nine inches.
“It's... absolutely charming,” she commented, smiling at him.
They arrived at a crossroads with an old, tired pine tree standing in the middle. To their left, the path zigzagged inland; to their right, it stretched to a distant forest, which Kristoff described contemptuously as the lair of the Northuldras. Finally, in front of them, several points of light in the faint mist below indicated the presence of small hamlets. The main road curved in an S shape, disappearing behind a mountain in the direction of a town called Haliori.
“But we'll stop before all that,” he continued, taking the path that continued north. “Oaken's store is just after the slope.”
Two weeks had passed since the man had been arrested, dragged away, and executed by the Queen. No one in the resistance or the slums was under any illusions; the certainty of his death had settled in. No one could escape the Queen's flames.
When the group brought the crates back to the resistance that day, the mood was far from cheerful. Their plan had succeeded, however; they had gotten their hands on the weapons and could now face the royal patrols on almost equal terms. Since then, the last few days had been marked by bloody skirmishes on both sides. As Rokar had predicted, Oaken had become the martyr of the poor inhabitants , and although they were not as well armed as the resistance, they were nonetheless fierce in their attacks.
Fortunately, the sudden and rapid construction of the Vellthorne Orphanage had managed to ease tensions. Anger still simmered, but for the first time in years, the outcasts felt that someone finally cared about them.
The two resisters continued on their way in silence, and as they lost altitude, Elsa felt the air soften a little. Kristoff still walked ahead, but his confidence had given way to an almost paranoid vigilance. He was glancing behind them more and more regularly, and as she imitated him, Elsa understood why.
From this distance, Arendelle looked tiny, a simple, almost perfect circle below them. The city seemed almost peaceful, if one ignored the reddish, slightly purplish glow that lit up the horizon. The flames from the royal castle rose so high into the sky that they seemed to lick the firmament. Under the heat, the clouds evaporated, replaced by the more sooty ones from the magical blaze. Its glow spread like hooked fingers to the sides of the mountains.
Kristoff couldn't contain a shiver.
“We can see them from here,” he whispered. “And from all the surrounding lands. As if she never takes her eyes off us...”
Elsa didn't answer, but kept her eyes low. Now that her companion had mentioned it, she could feel Anna's gaze burning on the back of her neck.
“Oaken's store is low enough that we'll be safe from the glow of the flames,” Kristoff continued.
She noticed that he was now speaking in a low voice, as if he were afraid that Anna might actually hear him, and she couldn't blame him. She realized that the terror her sister inspired extended far beyond the city walls, and she was eager to escape the heavy glow of the flames.
Kristoff's shoulders relaxed as the castle disappeared behind the hill and they found themselves in the shadow of the mountains.
“It's there,” he announced, pointing.
Elsa followed his gaze, squinting to make out something among the soggy pine trees. The young blond man let out a curse between his teeth as she finally spotted Oaken's shop.
Or rather, what was left of it.
As they approached the small building, a pungent smell reached their nostrils: the smell of burning. Even sheltered from the glow of Arendelle, they apparently couldn't escape the flames... The wooden walls were struggling to stand, the roof was threatening to collapse, and the windows had shattered in the heat. Despite everything, the place was quiet. The fire must have happened several days ago.
“The guards destroyed everything before we arrived,” Kristoff muttered, grinding his teeth in anger.
“There must be something left to bring back,” Elsa reassured him.
She pushed the blackened door, which came off its hinges and fell flat inside with a loud crash.
“I doubt it,” Kristoff replied grimly as he entered before her.
Inside, between two clouds of ash, the stalls stood untouched since the owner's departure.
Running this store was a real breeze, Elsa thought to herself as she scanned the single room. Located on the road between the hamlets and Arendelle, it was a must-stop for any traveler. It was common knowledge that they often resorted to bartering, carefully saving their gold coins for the shops in the great city. Thus, what one gave would serve the next, and Oaken acted as a mediator rather than a true merchant.
That didn't prevent him, however, from making a small profit from his activities, since he was able to provide a roof over his children's heads in the slums. His children, who had taken refuge today in the new orphanage. The thought might have tugged at Kristoff's heartstrings, but Elsa quickly dismissed it and focused on the fur boots and ice axe leaning against the wall under a sign that read “Winter Sale.”
“I doubt that would be very useful in the lower quarters,” Kristoff commented, giving her a sad smile. “There must be a water supply he used for his family sauna, and I'm sure that old fox hid food somewhere...”
“In barrels of salt, in the back room?” Elsa suggested, getting up.
Kristoff looked at her with wide eyes, as if the obvious had suddenly struck him.
“Of course! How did you...?”
“That's what all the merchants in Arendelle do... in the higher districts.”
“Thank goodness you're here, sparrow.”
He let his gaze linger for a moment on the young woman and rushed behind the counter, causing the floorboards to creak painfully.
Elsa followed him, and while Kristoff disappeared into the back room, she let her gaze wander over the cash register, which was completely burnt out, of course, and rummaged through the drawers under the counter. They were, at best, filled with junk, at worst, completely empty.
One of them, however, contained a small metal box. Intrigued, Elsa put it down next to the cash register and opened it. Inside were small pieces of paper, which had miraculously survived the fire, as well as letters. The handwriting was slanted, fine, narrow, and extremely ornate. The writing of a nobleman. It took her only a few seconds to realize that Oaken was being blackmailed and had to pay tribute to a nobleman from Arendelle in order to stay in business. This would interest the residents of the lower quarters just as much as the provisions they were bringing back to them.
“Good news!” Kristoff's voice rang out from the other room. “You were right, there are barrels full of food for at least three months, two barrels of water... And a gigantic sled! Can you imagine that guy sitting on it, sliding through the snow?”
He laughed for a moment, imagining the scene, before continuing:
“How are we going to transport all this?”
When he returned to the store room, he found Elsa crouching again near the winter sales “ aisle.” She was holding a sturdy rope intended for mountaineering, and turned to her friend with a smile.
“You see, it’s going to be useful after all.”
The journey back was silent. Once they were back in the light of the castle's flames, Kristoff kept his head down, and Elsa unconsciously mimicked him. Little by little, the snow gave way to fresh grass, still sparkling with dew.
The young man struggled to drag the heavy sled loaded with barrels behind him, but he stubbornly refused Elsa's help. She walked beside him, Oaken's blackmail letters carefully folded in her pocket.
“These letters are going to cause quite a stir in the slums,” she finally said. “Learning that Oaken was being blackmailed... Even though he lived among the poor, he seemed to be liked by everyone.”
“I'm not surprised,” Kristoff commented, adjusting the rope on his shoulder. “The nobles have never had much regard for small traders like him.”
Elsa nodded as a thought suddenly crossed her mind. Letters... In the confusion of the past few weeks, she had completely forgotten about the bundle under her bed!
“Kristoff, I have something to show you when we get back. A bundle of letters, addressed to the queen... From the Southern Islands.”
“The Southern Islands?” repeated the blond man, surprised.
Elsa nodded again.
“I managed to grab them before I ran away,” she explained.
“Why didn't you tell me about them sooner?”
“With everything that's been going on, I completely forgot about them,” Elsa replied, which was absolutely true.
“And what do they say?” Kristoff asked, his curiosity piqued.
“I don't know,” Elsa admitted. “I... I haven't had the courage to open them since.”
Kristoff said nothing, contenting himself with adjusting the straps on the sled. He seemed to understand perfectly well. Silence fell between them once more, growing heavier as they approached the city, and Elsa was grateful for it.
To avoid passing through the city's main gates and being arrested by the royal guard, the resistance had made a hole in the wall, concealed by vegetation and debris arranged to look perfectly natural.
As they approached, Kristoff whistled in a particular rhythm. A few moments passed, and another whistle, from behind the walls, answered him.
“The way is clear,” he whispered to Elsa.
He rushed through the bricks. When the sled had disappeared, Elsa followed him, back into the shadows of Arendelle. Here, at least, the silhouette of the castle was hidden behind the roofs of the houses.
The distribution of provisions went smoothly over the next few hours. The residents of the slums welcomed the barrels of water and food with visible relief, and the two resisters made sure to slip the blackmail letters to the right people. As Elsa had anticipated, they provoked outbursts of anger, tremors of revolt, and soon a low rumble of protest swept through the neighborhood.
As they left an alley and prepared to rejoin the rest of the resistance, Elsa and Kristoff noticed movement ahead of them.
A child was running toward them, clearly delighted to see them. He couldn't have been more than ten years old, but his eyes already bore the marks of the premature seriousness of street children, which Elsa had already observed in Malek and Emilien. His face clearly showed the torments of hunger and lack of sunlight.
He stopped in front of them, out of breath. Kristoff knelt down to speak to him at his level, his voice surprisingly soft.
“There, there, catch your breath, little man. What's going on?”
“I... I've come... from Lady Camellya,” he gasped. “She said she wanted... To speak to Kristoff, from the resistance.”
The blond man froze, then looked up at Elsa with a puzzled expression. She was just as confused as he was.
“Are you sure?” he asked politely. “She didn't...”
“No, no!” the child shook his head vigorously. “She definitely said Kristoff! And you're the only one I know in the lower quarters!”
This time, the two adults exchanged glances that conveyed both suspicion and apprehension. Someone knew who Kristoff was, what role he played, and how to find him.
“What did you say her name was?”
“Lady Camellya of Vellthorne,” the child recited.
Kristoff frowned, stunned. What could the orphanage's patron want with him?
Chapter Text
Hello, everyone! 🫶
This time, we're back with a chapter that's a little longer than usual! A new ally for the resistance? And the people's anger is growing... How will Queen Anna react? You'll find out in this new chapter!
Please feel free to leave a comment, it always makes me happy and encourages me a lot 😊
A new glow rose with the dawn, flickering, blood red, clashing with the purple flames of the castle.
Anger had erupted and spread like wildfire from the slums to the noble houses, specifically that of the man who had dared to blackmail Oaken.
The wrought-iron gate had been broken down, the tapestries torn from the walls, the furniture overturned. Everything of value had been taken to compensate for all the money that had been extorted. The crowd was so dense that no one had tried to stop it, neither the servants nor the guards. The cries for vengeance were drowned out by the tumult of the ransacking. The women had managed to escape, stripped of their jewelry. The men of the family had been beaten and roughed up, their bodies left behind. As for the father of the family, the real culprit, he hung naked on the gate of his residence, his face swollen. His head was nothing more than a hideous mass of flesh.
For good measure, the building had finally been set on fire.
At the castle, the royal council had gathered, and Anna's fiery fist startled the other nobles when it slammed down on the table. The Queen glared at the empty chair of the advisor with the twisted jaw. She didn't care about the man, but the vacant seat meant that the people were now directly attacking royal authority. And that she could not tolerate.
“Find the culprits,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “Arrest them, hang them, gut them. Show them what it costs to attack the crown. And if that's not enough...”
She scanned the assembly around the table. Everyone shrank back and sank into their seats.
“I will order the radical measure you so desire.”
No one dared protest. Only the crackling of the fire broke the silence, until she rose abruptly, bringing the session to an end.
The Vellthorne orphanage stood in stark contrast to the turmoil reigning in the rest of the city. While smoke still rose from the noble quarters and royal patrols lurked in the streets, this place seemed untouched by the torment, as if surrounded by a bubble of peace.
The white stones and straight boards betrayed the recent completion of the work. Although the building had been constructed in haste, there was no sign of this, as it appeared solid and sturdy. After passing through the gate, visitors found themselves in a corridor that framed a squared inner courtyard.
Among the multicolored flowers, children were playing around a solitary tree, jumping on the few benches or racing with cart wheels. Their laughter echoed in the quiet of the place, which contrasted with the events outside in a disconcerting way.
Even the air seemed different here; far from the bittersweet smell of the city, the flowers gave off a warm and enchanting summer scent. For a moment, Elsa saw two little girls before her eyes, one with platinum hair and the other with fiery red hair, playing in a park much larger than this small courtyard. But this fleeting vision disappeared as quickly as it had come.
Wrapped up in the purple cape she had decided to keep, the young woman followed Liv and Kristoff. He had asked them to accompany him, one being his closest friend, the other an extraordinary strategist.
In front of them, sitting peacefully on one of the benches in the courtyard, a young lady stood in the center of a circle of children and finished telling them a story. Some came and went, laughing quietly, to bring her their treasures: a pretty flower or a small sparkling rock.
The woman, who could be none other than Camellya of Vellthorne, had a hairstyle quite similar to her own, Elsa noticed, but her black hair stopped at her chin and seemed much more voluminous. Her dress, far from discreet, was a garish red with white frills, and her shoulders were so broad that they reminded Elsa of balloons. To complete her outfit, an ebony cane rested beside her, leaning against the slats of the bench.
With a twinkle in her eye, Camellya was joking with the children, and her aura of kindness immediately put the three visitors at ease. However, Elsa kept her hand on her rapier, hidden under her cloak, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Liv was keeping her dagger at the ready.
Finally, the noblewoman spotted them, and her smile widened. She motioned for the children to go play, stood up leaning on her cane, and came to meet them, limping slightly in the grass.
“I asked to see one person,” she observed. “Yet three stand before me.”
“Don't blame me for being cautious,” Kristoff replied. “But it is unusual for a lady such as you to ask to meet a man... such as me.”
The blond man hesitated in his words and gestures, bowed, then changed his mind, making a rather awkward curtsy to his host.
Camellya let out a quiet but sincere laugh.
“And it is just as unusual for a man like you to address a lady like me. But you are a good man. I've noticed how the children talk about you, Kristoff. You are not a murderer or a thief. My name is Camellya of Vellthorne,” she continued, extending her hand, “but I imagine you already know that. And it is not to a man, but to the resistance that I need to speak.”
Kristoff hesitated for a few more seconds before shaking vigorously the outstretched hand. The next moment, Camellya made a graceful gesture toward the building.
“Please follow me. Diplomatic discussions exhaust me, so I prefer to accompany them with a cup of tea.”
The trio looked at each other, taken aback, but she had already started walking. Leaning on her cane, she guided them to a small, brightly lit, richly decorated room. The scent of red berries was already wafting from the steaming teapot on the table.
“Please sit down,” said Camellya warmly.
She then took four porcelain cups out of a cabinet and filled them herself before sliding the saucers toward her guests.
Kristoff sat down in the middle chair, his eyes fixed on the noblewoman's every move, his features relaxed. Elsa sat to his right, taking care not to get tangled up in her cape. Liv was the last to sit down, to her leader's left, never taking her eyes off Camellya. Suspicious, she kept a close watch on her hands to see if any poison was about to replace the sugar.
“You’re suspicious,” Camellya said, settling herself down. “You’re wondering why I want to help the resistance. Would you like some milk?”
“No, thank you,” replied the trio in unison.
Camellya took a few seconds to pour a cloud of milk into her cup, savoring the dramatic effect it produced.
“I witnessed Oaken's arrest, you see,” she continued. “A friend of yours, if we are to believe the rumors. A good, selfless man who sacrificed himself to help others... Such an execution is a crime and a sordid aberration!”
“Excuse me, Came—I mean, Lady of Vellthorne,” Liv interrupted. “But at the risk of repeating ourselves, we are not accustomed to nobles taking an interest in the nobodies that we are.”
Lady of Vellthorne put a hand to her heart while uttering a most theatrical exclamation of offense.
“My friend (Liv tensed up), you are not worthless! Is that how you would describe the little angels playing in the courtyard?”
“No,” stammered Liv, suddenly blushing. “But...”
“I was so outraged, you see, so worried about Oaken's children, abandoned like that, and all the others! Building this orphanage was my idea, of course, and it was easy to convince the crown to build it. It's important for its image, in times like these...”
“Lady of Vellthorne?”
It was Elsa's turn to speak. Her voice was very quiet, and she raised her hand like a child in class asking to speak. Camellya turned to her, almost surprised, as if she had just noticed her presence. If Elsa had hoped that she would not recognize her, her reaction convinced her that she was a complete stranger to the noblewoman.
“Forgive my impertinence, but how exactly do you intend to help the resistance?”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Liv nodding vigorously, while Kristoff listened to the exchange, savoring his tea. It was probably the first hot tea he had tasted in years.
Meanwhile, Camellya clasped her hands above her cup, rested her chin on her fingers, and stared at Elsa. Her face suddenly became much more serious, and her voice lost its lightness.
"To begin with, my father was a shipowner, may he rest in peace. So I have a whole network, many contacts; not as extensive as the Queen's, but important enough to secure my place among the noble houses. Every day, my ships carry various cargoes. Water, food, medicine... weapons.”
She let an eloquent silence pass, interrupted only by the rattling of the saucer Kristoff put down. He was listening carefully.
“I'm prepared to put all these resources at your disposal, within reasonable limits of course. One or two crates missing from the cargos won't make any waves, if you'll pardon the expression...”
“And what do you ask in exchange?” asked Kristoff.
Camellya slowly stood up and turned her back on them. Accompanied by the sharp sound of her cane, she walked to the tall window facing them. There, she stood up straight and spread her arms wide.
“That you save this city... Its children... And its future!”
The other three exchanged glances. Elsa didn't know how to react, Liv looked like she was about to burst out laughing, but Kristoff seemed completely won over.
The lady turned toward them, her cane in front of her, both hands resting dignifiedly on the pommel. She stared at her guests in turn, then began to laugh softly. A crystalline sound that made Kristoff's cheeks flush.
“If you're still suspicious, I have something to give you as a token of my good faith.”
She came back and sat across from them. She was holding a pretty thick envelope, and they all recognized the wax seal at first glance. It was the royal coat of arms.
“What is it?” asked Liv, examining the envelope as if the paper might jump out at her.
“As you know, our dear Queen's sister recently passed away...”
Elsa faltered slightly, fortunately no one was paying any attention to her.
“... In this envelope is an official invitation to attend her funeral, which will take place in a few days. Judging from the time it took the Queen to organize it, it promises to be grandiose.”
“You're not planning to attend?” asked Kristoff, grasping the envelope so slowly he looked as if he might burn himself.
“I've never been close to the royal family,” Camellya explained sharply. “I'd feel unworthy to attend, and the children need me here.”
“But this would be the perfect opportunity for you to get close to the Queen,” Liv pointed out.
“Yes, it would. I'm providing this opportunity to the resistance.”
Camellya had guessed right. The funeral was so beautiful, so grandiose, that one could only see in it the sincere love the Queen had for her late sister.
At dawn, all the bells of Arendelle began to ring. Each resident threw a bouquet of chrysanthemums, snowdrops, roses or dahlias into the street. When the sun was high enough in the sky, the castle gates opened under clouds of colorful petals carried by the wind.
All the resisters had scattered into the crowd, among merchants, beggars, nobles and poets. The whole city was adorned in black, and Elsa was no exception.
Through the veil that concealed her face, she stayed back behind Liv and Kristoff and watched the procession. There was something very strange about attending your own funeral, to think that the coffin crossing the royal bridge was supposed to contain your body.
Supported by eight bearers, the coffin moved forward, towering above the human tide. A masterpiece of no less than ten of Arendelle's finest craftsmen, its white marble streaked with blue reflected the sun, bathing passers-by in light. Small crocus-shaped ornaments, the symbol of the kingdom, were carved along its contours. A black silk cloth embroidered in silver ran across the lid, bearing the royal coat of arms.
What a grandiose work, what divine labor, for the last resting place of a living woman!
“There are armed dogs everywhere,” Liv whispered.
Indeed, the entire Arendelle guard was present, accompanied by the green and silver soldiers of the Southern Isles. With their hands on the hilts of their swords, they were scanning the crowd, scrutinizing faces and clothing, looking for anything suspicious. Elsa had never seen so many soldiers gathered together.
“They're afraid of an attack,” she replied.
“How can you blame them, after the violence of the last few days?” Kristoff retorted. “Let's keep a low profile.”
The crowd began to move, accompanying the coffin at the head of the procession to the highest hill overlooking the city, and the three companions followed. With a gesture, Elsa touched the hilt of her rapier, hidden under her black dress, and relaxed a little.
Behind the procession, a battalion of soldiers dressed in black, red, and gold marched forward, their boots snapping in rhythm. The orchestra sparkled in the sun; drums, horns, and trumpets resounded in a funeral hymn whose low notes echoed off the stones of the buildings, transforming the entire city into a cathedral. No one dared to speak, either out of solemn respect or fear.
The strangeness of the scene aside, Elsa didn't know how she was supposed to feel. Should she be touched that the whole town was honoring her? Or should she be outraged by the hypocrisy of the poor and the crocodile tears of the nobles? Angry at her sister, whom she still hadn't seen, who claimed to love her more than anything after trying to have her murdered?
She would have liked to feel any of these things. Anything, rather than this emptiness.
The funeral cortege arrived at the foot of the hill. There, only the coffin and the orchestra continued on their way. The soldiers were now tasked with allowing only nobles who possessed the royal invitation to climb the hill. The rest of the people would have to content themselves with watching the ceremony from below.
Several lines formed, and the trio took their place in one of them. Kristoff fidgeted anxiously from foot to foot as they slowly made their way forward. Exasperated, Liv finally gave him a tap on the shoulder.
“Calm down! Everything will be fine. You're just going to draw attention to us if you keep that up!”
“Sorry,” stammered the blond. “But I really hope Camellya's invitation isn't fake.”
“Give it to me, by the way.”
Liv reached out her hand and waved it impatiently. Kristoff took a few seconds to collect himself and slid the envelope into her hand.
Elsa noticed that the brunette's fingers were trembling. It wasn't like her to get angry with Kristoff either. Clearly, she was as anxious as he was. As they approached the guard checking the invitations, Elsa made sure that the veil covering her face hid it completely. Being recognized in front of her own grave could be embarrassing.
When their turn finally came, Liv handed the letter to the soldier, who looked them all over. When his gaze fell on Elsa, she instinctively cowered.
“Forgive me, Lady De Vellthorne, I did not recognize you,” said the man. “Who are these two people?”
“My cousin and his daughter,” replied Liv, putting on a falsetto voice. “Both are fervent admirers of the crown. We have come to pay our respects to the princess.”
Kristoff held his breath. The man studied them for a few more moments before sighing. He must be feeling on edge because of the recent events, Elsa thought.
“Of course, Lady of Vellthorne. You may proceed.”
They didn't need to be asked twice. The group quickly joined the noble families and began their ascent, following the percussion of the orchestra far ahead. Each note resonated within Elsa with haunting beauty, but the dissonance made it seem unreal, ghostly.
She studied the families around them. Many looked sad, others hid behind their handkerchiefs, and some couldn't hide a small, satisfied smile. They didn't care about this princess they had never seen; this ceremony was an opportunity to approach the Queen and curry favor with her under the guise of condolences.
Another detail caught her attention, and she discreetly approached Liv to whisper in her ear:
“Stand up straight and tilt your head back a little more.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You have to look like a noblewoman. Right now, you look like a slouching cart driver. And make a sad face. Sadder!”
Liv obeyed her, not without giving her a confused and half-amused look. But the seriousness of the situation quickly caught up with her, and she now stood as straight as an arrow.
“And stop pulling on your dress.”
“But it's uncomfortable!”
“Will you stop protesting, ladies?” Kristoff exclaimed in a low voice.
Liv turned her head away with a small exclamation of disdain. Staring stubbornly ahead, she pulled at her dress one last time. She was clearly not used to wearing one, and her eagerness to get back into her comfortable clothes was written all over her face. Deep down, Elsa had to admit that she too preferred to see her in her usual tunic.
Out of breath, they finally reached the top of the hill.
Arendelle lay below, its colorful tiles contrasting with the dark, silent streets. Even the flames of the castle, though still menacing, seemed less intense. The fjord was calm, its sparkling swirls dancing in the breeze, reflecting the deep blue of the sky. For the first time in years, the azure horizon was clear and pure. Behind them, the mountains were shrouded in morning mist, as if not to disturb the ceremony.
In the center of the plateau stood two menhirs, slightly damaged by time and weather. Elsa unconsciously held her breath for a few seconds, her eyes fixed on her parents' graves.
However, these large stones seemed insignificant compared to the third menhir that had been erected between them, further ahead. A veritable monolith of polished marble, set with gold inscriptions and silver runes, was honouring Princess Elsa. At its base, the coffin awaited burial, surrounded by bouquets of colourful flowers with an intoxicating fragrance. Their petals fluttered all around the crowd.
The nobility of Arendelle had gathered in small groups around the monuments, talking in low voices, if not whispering. The orchestra had set up in a semicircle behind the menhirs and continued to play, its melody less intrusive but just present enough to accompany the conversations. Elsa followed Kristoff and Liv through this black tide, punctuated with emerald, ruby, and sapphire jewels, letting herself be tossed around by the movements of the crowd.
She kept her eyes fixed on what should have been her coffin, despite the groups of nobles who sometimes blocked her view. Under the wide sleeves of her dress, she clenched her fists, and the murmur of conversation turned into an unpleasant whistling sound in her ears.
“We must split up to find the Queen,” Kristoff whispered, bringing Elsa back to reality.
She took one last look at the marble monument, then nodded to the resistance leader and walked away.
Her heart pounding, she made her way through the crowd, which seemed to be closing in around her.
“Our poor princess,” whispered an old man, wiping his monocle.
“Oh, what a tragedy for our Queen!” moaned another woman, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with a silk handkerchief.
“It must be the curse from the north,” sighed a heavyset man with a mustache.
Elsa put her hands over her ears to block out the whistling sound that was growing louder. She was finding it increasingly difficult to breathe, and her throat was burning. She didn't understand what was happening to her, but she had to get out of there to regain her composure. She had to find her sister! She had a mission!
Finally, she emerged from the swarming sea. She rushed to a tree to lean against it and catch her breath, when a pleasant smell tickled her nostrils.
A large banquet table was laden with the most sumptuous, refined, and delicate dishes to be found in all of Arendelle. Their delicious aroma mingled with the scent of flowers, reminding Elsa of the picnics her parents sometimes had in the royal gardens on beautiful summer days when she was still a child.
Her stomach growled loudly. How long had it been since she had eaten anything so delicious? The lower quarters weren't exactly the best place to find smoked salmon, oysters with lemon caviar, roast pheasant, brightly colored fruits and vegetables, macarons, pies, and even... chocolate!
Elsa looked around. No one would blame her for taking just one bite, would they? She approached the table and reached for a bowl filled with unctuous chocolate mousse.
Another hand clasped hers. Elsa looked up to meet her sister's gaze.
“Please, help yourself,” said the redhead softly, smiling sadly at her.
Elsa didn't move. There she was, standing in front of her, the sister she loved and who hated her. Her red hair was braided simply, topped with a discreet onyx crown. Under a tight corset, she wore a velvet dress whose black played with silver, covered with embroidery and discreet embellishments. At her neck hung a pearl necklace. At her reddened eyes, tears.
Elsa opened her mouth, but changed her mind at the last moment. She mustn't speak; Anna knew her voice only too well. She didn't know what to say to her anyway, and her throat was knotted. So she simply nodded vigorously from left to right and turned away from the table to face the menhirs, her hands clasped in front of her, her cheeks flushed beneath her veil. Her sister imitated her.
“You know, my sister loved it too... Chocolate,” she explained. “She always stole a spoonful on the sly, even before the table was set.”
She smiled tenderly, seemingly lost in her memories for a moment.
"Ever since we were children, I thought nothing could separate us. That we would always be a happy family. Yet fate played a cruel trick on us. When our parents died, we held on, my sister was always by my side. It was thanks to her that I was able to overcome that ordeal, and many others after that.”
Elsa faltered, but did not respond. Anna did not seem to expect anything from her interlocutor, except for her to listen. This suited her, although she did not understand why her sister would confide in a stranger.
“I find comfort today,” continued the queen, “in knowing that she is now with our parents. I know that from where they are, they are watching me and are proud. I will watch over Arendelle in their memory.”
Anna clutched the handkerchief she was holding.
“I wish she knew how much I loved her,” she whispered so softly that Elsa could barely hear her.
The young woman couldn't hold back any longer and bit her lip, knowing full well that she was about to make a blunder. As the orchestra was playing crescendo and a priest was approaching the coffin, she turned to her sister.
“She knew.”
But her voice was drowned out by the music, which ended a few seconds later. Anna frowned and was about to reply when a clamor arose, shouts rang out, and a turmoil stirred the crowd in front of them.
In unison, the sisters turned toward the menhirs.
A man in rags, with pale skin, sparse hair, and bulging eyes, had seized the priest and was holding a knife to his throat. He was trembling, but Elsa could see in his eyes that he was driven by conviction and necessity.
The man then shouted:
“Death to the Queen! Let the tyranny of the flames end today!”
And with those words, he slit the priest's throat.
Chapter Text
New chapter! 👀
The princess's solemn funeral is abruptly interrupted and plunges into chaos and horror. Elsa finds herself confronted with death for the first time, separated from her friends...
Will they manage to get through it?
Feel free to leave a comment, I always appreciate it! I hope you enjoy this chapter :D
Elsa watched the scene, her eyes widened.
The stream of blood remained suspended in the air for a moment, floating in silence. Thick, scarlet, sparkling blood, contrasting with the white of the princess's coffin.
Then the blood was accompanied by a discreet but horrible gurgling sound coming from the priest's throat. As life left him, the man watched in horror as the stream escaped from his own body in an almost perfect arc. He wanted to scream, but only managed to intensify the disgusting gurgling sound.
The blood finally fell back onto the grass, and with it, the horror of the situation. The priest's body slumped to the ground as the crowd realized what was happening.
Cries erupted from all sides. The crowd of nobles exploded into panic; the ladies screamed as they fled, the men jostled each other, and everyone rushed toward the path leading to the city. All around, cries, protests, and orders barked by the guards echoed. Elsa backed away but bumped into the table.
Other dissidents were already appearing from all sides. They wore the same tattered clothes and the same pale complexion as the man who had just thrown himself into the crowd. But above all, they held the same desperate look in their eyes and knives in their hands.
Elsa looked for Anna, but her sister had already disappeared, certainly surrounded by guards. The situation was becoming critical; she had to find Kristoff and Liv before fleeing.
In the distance, she spotted the blonde hair of the leader of the resistance. Between them was an indescribable throng. Determined, Elsa attempted to push her way through the dense crowd.
Almost immediately, the nobles panicked even more, suddenly moving aside to form an empty space in front of her. Pushed in all directions by the fleeing nobles, she realized what they were running from: a man armed with a short sword. His bull-like breathing sent streams of saliva flying from his open mouth, his teeth clenched. His eyes fell on her.
In a matter of seconds, Elsa bent down, lifted part of her black dress, and pulled out the rapier she had hidden there, attached to her leg.
No sooner had she stood up than she assumed a perfect fencing stance. The man in front of her had moved closer. She realized that, although she had witnessed many acts of violence, she had never actually fought anyone. Her weapon had never pierced flesh. Anna had always taken great care to ensure that.
The man lunged at her with a roar. She stepped aside to dodge him easily. But he was already on her. The moment he turned, he struck again. Elsa parried his blade, but the impact was harder than she expected, and a sharp pain shot through her wrist.
“You noble whore, I'll bleed you dry!” bellowed the dissident.
His blows were wide but powerful. He raised his weapon above his head, creating an opening, but just as Elsa was about to seize the opportunity, she hesitated. For a second too long.
The weapon struck hers with such force that it broke the rapier in two. The force of the blow threw Elsa to the ground, tearing the fabric of her sleeves and scraping her elbows as she fell. All that remained in her hands was a useless handle.
Elsa turned to see the man approaching, a maniacal smile on his lips, ready to finish her off. Grabbing a handful of dirt between her fingers, she threw it in her opponent's face, who let out a curse.
She took advantage of this to tear, with a furious cry, the veil that covered her face and obscured her vision. Why was she hesitating? Her life was at stake. Not just hers, but her friends' too! She couldn't afford to make the same mistake again.
With renewed determination, she kicked the man hard behind the knee, producing an ominous crack. The attacker cried out as he grabbed his leg.
Her eyes fell on the broken blade lying in the grass. Without thinking, she threw herself on it and closed her hand around the bare steel. She tightened her grip, feeling the sharp metal cut into her palm and blood bead between her fingers. But she ignored the pain.
The man reopened his dirt-filled eyes and lunged at her, but Elsa was already moving. She slipped under his outstretched arm and managed to plunge her blade into her opponent's left shoulder.
What a strange sensation, she noticed, to feel the slight resistance of flesh beneath her blade, before blood spurted from the wound.
The man lunged at her again, his movements more erratic due to pain and rage. He raised his sword above his head once more to deliver a powerful blow, and Elsa seized her chance. She leapt forward and dug her fingers deep into the wound in his shoulder. The man let out a howl of pain and dropped his weapon.
But the victory was short-lived. His thick hand closed around Elsa's neck. Breathless, the young woman's vision blurred, and she felt her throat crack. She let out a breath that she was unable to take back.
Was this how one died? In a suspended moment where the body fought against all reason to stay alive?
In a final desperate burst of consciousness, she raised her piece of blade and plunged it with all her strength into the man's heart. He immediately released her, gasped as he backed away, and fell to his knees.
“You bitch... noble...”
In a final spasm, he collapsed onto his side in a grotesque position. Dead. Elsa stared at the corpse for a few moments with an indifferent, even cold expression. Then she remembered that she had to find Kristoff and Liv.
Chaos reigned all around her, in a bloody whirlwind of screams, fighting, and death. She had no chance of finding them in there. A gap appeared in the crowd, clearing a path out of the savagery. She rushed into it without hesitation. From there, she could return to the bottom of the hill and reach one of their meeting points in town.
She ran until she was out of breath, just like the day she fled the castle. She glanced back briefly to make sure no one was following her. She picked up her pace, and soon she found herself back in the paradoxically reassuring shade of Arendelle's rooftops.
The streets seemed strangely quiet after the chaos on the hill. Only the echo of Elsa's footsteps disturbed the prevailing tranquility. She might have had the ethereal feeling of being a ghost gliding over the cobblestones, if she hadn't been out of breath and pierced by a painful stitch in her side. But she refused to stop.
At the bottom of the hill, the crowd of commoners had realized that something was wrong. Then the panicked nobles had arrived, pushing them aside without mercy to take shelter in their residences. The few guards still present, after exchanging worried glances, had taken it upon themselves to disperse the crowd of citizens before taking up arms and heading to the top of the hill.
Elsa quickly made her way to the lower quarters and slipped into the alleyway at the end of which was one of the resistance's meeting points. She slipped in the mud; her shoes were not suited for such an exercise. Her dress was torn, and the black fabric dissimulated the blood that stained it, which she felt warm against her skin.
She arrived at a dilapidated building with a partially collapsed roof. It would have been difficult to tell what the place had been used for when it was still in operation, but that was the least of Elsa's concerns.
For a figure stood before her.
“Liv!” she exclaimed.
Her relief vanished as quickly as it had come when the brunette looked up at her. Liv was half lying on the floor, leaning against a low wall, under a patch of light filtering through the ceiling. The gentle sun warmed the young woman's face.
Liv was half lying on the floor, leaning against a low wall, under a patch of light coming through the ceiling. The gentle sun warmed the young woman's face.
But it wasn't enough to hide the waxy pallor of her cheeks. Her purple lips were trembling. Her voluminous dress was in tatters and lifted with each slow, wheezing breath.
Liv kept one hand on her stomach, but she couldn't stop the blood flowing between her fingers. Despite the black fabric of her dress, the bloodstain was clearly visible and spreading.
She smiled at her, a trickle of blood escaping from the corner of her mouth, as Elsa fell to her knees beside her.
“Sparrow... You're here...”
“Show me,” Elsa commanded.
Her voice was soft but firm. She tried hard not to tremble. Liv let her hand fall limply, revealing a deep, jagged wound from which blood was flowing freely, already forming a small pool around her, soaking into the rotten wood.
“I was looking for you...” Liv whispered slowly. “I let myself... get surrounded, and... and I took a blow... before I managed to escape... What a silly way to go, eh?”
She tried to laugh, but only managed to cough, spitting up a little more blood.
“Please stop talking!” Elsa exclaimed.
“You look pale...” Liv continued, placing a hand on Elsa's cheek. “It looks like you're the one who's...”
“You're not going to die!” Elsa interrupted.
She was thinking fast. The resistance base was too far away. And Kristoff, where was he? He would surely know what to do! But she had to manage without him. She didn't have anything to heal Liv with. Her face was losing its last traces of color. What to do? Where to go?
The answer suddenly struck her. The Vellthorne orphanage!
“I'll carry you,” she said, sliding her arms under Liv's body.
“Mmmh...” was all Liv managed to breathe.
She felt strangely light, or perhaps it was despair that gave Elsa enough strength. Whatever the case, she rushed out of the building faster than she had entered it and headed for the orphanage.
The walk was torture, but Elsa gritted her teeth. She was out of breath, exhausted, every step aggravating her stitch, her wrist still numb, and the wound in her right palm throbbing painfully. But she persevered. She had to.
She stumbled on the polished stairs of the orphanage and almost collapsed against the doors, weighed down by Liv in her arms. She turned just in time to fall on her pelvis. Another pain to add to the list.
She managed to get up and pushed open the door to find herself in the corridors surrounding the inner courtyard.
There, the children playing in the late morning sun stopped when they saw them. They must have looked terrifying, of course. Elsa, pale, dressed in black, carrying her friend covered in blood. The young woman almost felt guilty for bringing the savagery of the outside world into their bubble of peace.
A figure appeared at the end of the hallway. It was Camellya. The noblewoman approached, limping slightly, a puzzled look on her face. When she recognized Elsa and saw who she was carrying in her arms, her eyes widened. She stopped leaning on her cane and joined them with surprising speed, her stride lengthening and her posture straightening.
“Good heavens!” she exclaimed. “What happened?”
“An attack,” Elsa replied in a low voice.
She tried to speak aloud, but realized it was too much effort for her body. So she resolved to continue in the same tone:
“At the top of the hill, they attacked the crowd... in front of the coffin. We got separated from Kristoff, and Liv, she... Please, help us!”
“To the infirmary. Quickly.”
Camellya waved impatiently to shoo away the kids who were trying to follow them. Elsa let herself be guided through the hall to the infirmary, followed by a small group of reckless children, the most curious of whom stopped in front of the door and watched the scene unfolding in the room through the doorway.
They entered a small room cluttered with narrow beds. Elsa laid Liv down with extreme care, but the brunette still groaned as her body embraced the mattress.
An elderly woman, whose face was a canvas of wrinkles, cut the dress roughly to get a better look at the wound. Elsa watched her do this with a half-absent eye, too preoccupied with Liv's condition. At least, she tried to reassure herself, her complaint proved she was still alive.
The nurse shook her head slowly.
“It's a deep wound, ma'am. I can stabilize her for a while, but to treat it, I'll need equipment and medication. What I have here is only for treating children, it won't be enough for...”
“What do you need?” Elsa interrupted.
“Write it down on a piece of parchment and give it to me,” added Camellya in a softer voice.
For a few seconds, which seemed like an eternity to Elsa, the old woman complied and finally handed Camellya a piece of paper. Camellya took it and immediately headed for the door.
She leaned toward one of the children who had remained there, a boy with an emaciated face, and whispered a few words in his ear as she slipped the paper into his hand. The child nodded eagerly before running off down the hallway.
Then she rejoined Elsa.
“The equipment will arrive within the hour,” she assured the nurse. “Will she hold out until then?”
“I'll do my best, ma'am.”
“That's not what I asked.”
“Yes, Madam.”
“Very well.”
Then, turning to Elsa:
“An attack, you said? Would the resistance dare, during such a ceremony...?”
“No!” Elsa protested. “It wasn't us... Dissidents, outcasts from the slums, no doubt... After the tensions of the last few days...”
For a few moments, Camellya seemed to be thinking. Then she smiled at Elsa and placed a gentle hand on hers—her left hand.
“Don't worry about your friend, I'll look after her personally. You should go home and rest.”
“Go home... and rest?”
For a few seconds, she thought about the castle, before remembering that she no longer lived there. Obviously, Camellya was referring to the resistance base. She shook her head vigorously.
“No, I can wait an hour... I have to...”
“You said you were separated from Kristoff, right? Then go make sure he's okay. If not, bring him here too. And then get some rest, you look terrible. The events have shaken you, to say the least. You look like a corpse. Go!”
Her tone left no room for protest. She was about to turn away when the nurse called out to her and handed her a jar.
“Here you are, dear. Some ointment for your wounds. And here's a bandage for that wicked cut on your hand.”
“Thank you,” whispered Elsa.
After one last glance at Liv, whom the nurse had already returned to tending to, she left the room and the orphanage, crossing the streets without even seeing them. Her face remained sadly impassive.
Chapter Text
It's time for revelations!
I was planning on making this chapter shorter than the others... Oh well 😂😂
I hope you enjoy it, feel free to leave a comment 👀
As soon as Elsa walked through the gates of the building, two arms wrapped around her. Breathless, she instinctively clung on to steady herself, her wobbly legs barely supporting her weight. It felt like a grizzly bear was hugging her.
“Sparrow! You're okay!” Kristoff exclaimed.
He hugged her one last time before letting her go. She didn't respond immediately, too busy detailing him.
The young man had bruises on his face and a split lower lip, but other than that, he seemed intact. Relief was evident on his smiling face, soon replaced by curiosity.
“Liv isn't with you?” he asked, looking over her shoulder.
She looked away, and Kristoff's smile faded. A long silence passed between them, then he walked around her and closed the door behind her.
“Come,” he said, reappearing in her field of vision. “You look exhausted.”
In response, Elsa nodded slowly before following him.
A few moments later, they were sitting around a table in a cramped room. Kristoff had made two cups of steaming tea, and Elsa was clutching hers to her chest, her eyes fixed on the door. Perhaps she thought Liv would appear, laughing, as if it had all been a bad joke?
“Would you like to tell me what happened on your end?” Kristoff asked gently, sitting down next to her.
Elsa looked at him for a moment, her eyes lingering on the wound on the young man's lip. Its irregular shape suggested it had been caused by a blunt weapon, or even fists. She realized that she wasn't the only one who had been through hell, and that neither of them wanted to relive it. But Liv was also Kristoff's friend, and he had to know.
So she took a deep breath and began her story: how she had found the queen, talked with her before the dissidents arrived. The confusion, the shock—although she was pretending to have felt them, she had no trouble imagining those feelings—then the fight before her escape. She paused for a moment when she reached the point where she had arrived at the meeting point. Kristoff nodded to encourage her.
So she continued, detailing how she had found Liv, the wound she had in her stomach. She probably gave him too many explanations, with her detached air, but she didn't pay any attention to that. She was now too focused on the scene replaying before her eyes.
Finally, she finished her story, and her gaze shifted back to Kristoff. He stared at her in disbelief. Slowly, he sank into his seat and ran a hand over his face. He had turned pale.
“You did...” he began, his voice trembling.
He cleared his throat and took a long sip of tea to compose himself. Judging by the steam rising from the cup, the liquid was still scalding hot, but Kristoff continued to drink in long gulps, letting a few drops drip down his cheek. He set the cup down abruptly, which clattered from the impact.
“You did the right thing taking her to the orphanage,” he continued in a controlled voice. “Camellya seems to have contacts all over town, and I wouldn't be surprised if she takes a few boxes from each shipment and keeps them safely in a storage. Precisely for emergencies like this. As you said, the base was too far away, and we don't have anything to treat Liv anyway...”
He was clearly thinking out loud, paying no attention to Elsa. She had never heard him talk so much.
She brought her own tea to her lips: a tiny sip nearly burned her tongue. She gently set her cup down on the table.
“I wish I could have stayed, but Camellya refused to let me.”
“There was nothing you could have done but wait,” Kristoff remarked.
“I'm waiting here too,” she replied. “At least I could have been there to watch over Liv.”
“You need to rest. I agree with Camellya on that point.”
“I won't be able to rest.”
“Neither will I,” he admitted. “Not until I'm sure she's okay.”
Elsa didn't reply. Kristoff leaned toward her and placed his hands — she noticed his knuckles were covered in bruises and cuts — on hers. They were so big compared to Elsa's that they looked like bear paws.
“Don't blame yourself, Sparrow,” he said gently. “You did the right thing. You saved Liv's life by taking her to the orphanage. She won't blame you for not being able to stay. So first we're going to treat your wounds, and since none of us can rest, we'll see what we can do to keep our minds occupied, okay?”
Elsa nodded and mechanically held out her hand to him. He applied the ointment given to her by Vellthorne's nurse to her wounds, without even eliciting a grimace of pain from her, before wrapping her palm in a bandage.
“The letters,” she remembered as he tied a knot around her wrist. “I wanted to show you Hans's letters.”
“That's right!” he exclaimed, slapping his forehead. “I'm very interested in those. We might learn something interesting about the queen.”
“I'll go get them.”
Elsa rose slowly and left the room, heading for the staircase that led to her bedroom. But on the way, a voice called out behind her:
“You don't look well, dea' Spa''ow.”
She turned around to find Piotr's dark eyes, framed by his ever-present red sideburns.
The resistance had, of course, heard about the trio's plan to infiltrate the princess's funeral to gather information and, perhaps, to approach the queen. Judging by Piotr's interested expression, difficult as it was to decipher from his neutral features, he was expecting a brief report.
But Elsa's energy was already at an all-time low. She shrugged off his remark.
“It's okay, don't worry. Kristoff will probably give you a report later today.”
“You look te''ible,” Piotr remarked.
“I tell you I'm fine.”
The redhead stared at her for a few more moments with a wary look and let out a sigh.
“Okay. I'm going to find Ja'ed. It's been a while since we've all talked togethe'. We miss you, you know. Even though he'll neve' admit it, Malek app'eciates you.”
He turned away before Elsa could offer any apology. As she stared at Piotr's back walking away, she promised herself she would go see them when things got better.
For the hundredth time since she had joined the resistance, she blamed herself for not being able to feel friendship for her comrades.
She remembered why she had left Kristoff and hurried on her way. She ran up the stairs to her room, crouched down to grab the letters hidden under her bed, next to her royal rapier — which was starting to gather dust —, and immediately ran back downstairs.
She placed the bundle of letters, still tied with a string, in front of Kristoff and sat down on her chair without the slightest elegance, letting out a long sigh. The young man looked at her and raised his eyebrows.
“Are you sure you don't want to go...”
“I'm sure,” Elsa interrupted him.
“Okay, okay!” he apologized, raising his hands. “Let's look at these letters, then.”
“You can read them. Let me know if you find anything interesting.”
In truth, she simply didn't want to strain her eyes deciphering Hans's handwriting. But above all, part of her dreaded what she might read. So she let Kristoff do the work for her.
While he was reading, Elsa drank her tea, which was now at a tolerable temperature. Her stomach welcomed the liquid with painful writhing, and she realized she was starving. She hadn't eaten anything since they left for the ceremony.
Kristoff put the first letter down on the side, face down, shaking his head. He did the same with the second, then the third. Time seemed to stretch painfully, and soon Elsa's cup was empty. She had come to think that Kristoff wasn't a very fast reader when he suddenly sat up straight in his chair.
“It can't be true...” he whispered.
“What?” asked Elsa.
But he didn't answer her. He was now holding only three letters in his hands, and he was leaning so close that his nose was almost touching the parchment. His cheeks turned from pink to red, and as he read the last letter, they turned pale.
Finally, he slowly looked up at Elsa. His hands were shaking, his gaze was unfocused, and his voice trembled.
“You really never read these letters?”
“Never, why?”
“You... you should read them. We... We must say nothing to Liv. Nothing at all.”
He handed her the last three letters from Hans, which Elsa took, looking puzzled. Frowning, she began to read the oldest of the three:
“Most esteemed Princess Anna of Arendelle,
With this letter, I seal our agreement. Once the matter is settled, my soldiers will be yours in exchange for a portion of Arendelle’s supplies.
Please understand that this does not include all of the soldiers from the Southern Isles, as the army belongs to my father, and as his thirteenth son, my power remains limited. Nevertheless, I remain at the head of a large garrison of men who are loyal to me and who will not hesitate to give their lives for me or my allies.
I would also like to reiterate my gratitude for the trust you have placed in me regarding your concern about this prophecy. I renew my promise never to speak of it to anyone. Whatever this “eternal frost” from the Northern Mountains may be, we will be able to face it.
Your friend and ally,
Prince Hans,
Thirteenth son of the King of the Southern Islands.”
Elsa scowled. She had heard about this “eternal frost” before, but where? And what was this “matter that will be done”? The letter had left her with more questions than answers. But at least she felt she was beginning to understand her sister’s madness. Anna had asked for help to fight... What exactly? Some demons from the Northern Mountains? She had always had a vivid imagination, but to believe in prophecies at her age...
Shaking her head in disbelief, she moved on to the next letter.
“My dear Princess Anna of Arendelle,
By the time this letter reaches you, the days in Arendelle will be dark. On behalf of the royal family of the Southern Isles, I offer your kingdom our deepest condolences. May this uncertain period be quickly dispelled by your blazing reign.
Finding a captain was surprisingly easy. Meyer, a former soldier who has reconverted in his old age, accepted our financial arrangements to scuttle the ship. Everything has been planned with him: from the destruction of the ship, leaving no wreckage or survivors, to his own survival. This was an essential point for him, so I agreed to it. Rest assured, I made it clear to him what it would cost to mention our agreement. He will not do so.
As I write these words, your parents' ship is undoubtedly leaving port, captained by Meyer. According to your instructions, it will never reach Arendelle.
Be sure to write to me to confirm the disappearance of your parents. Then, on the day of your coronation, my soldiers will land in Arendelle to lend you their support.
Glory to you, future Queen Anna!
Prince Hans,
Thirteenth son of the King of the Southern Isles.”
The parchment was distorted by Elsa's fingers, which had dug into it. Tense, breathless, she read and reread the letter. But her brain seemed unable to comprehend it. The taste of tea in her throat suddenly made her feel nauseous.
“According to your instructions, it will never reach Arendelle.” No, that was impossible. Anna could never have ordered such a thing. She was ambitious, yes, but she loved their parents above all else. At least, that was what Elsa had always believed. So Anna had been consumed by madness long before her reign began...
How could she have been so blind to it?
“That's not all,” Kristoff said. “The third one... Read the third one. De Rùna, that's... That's Liv's last name.”
Elsa shook her head and, her thoughts still muddled, tried to read the last letter that Kristoff was gently pushing toward her.
“My dearly beloved Queen Anna,
Like you, I celebrate the success of our venture. Once our agreement begins, as you assume your throne, the world will witness the rise of a glorious and protective Queen.
All will admire the fervor with which you strive to protect Arendelle, supported by the army of your humble friend. Father will be compelled to acknowledge, upon seeing your provisions arrive, that I am as capable of ruling as my twelve brothers, if not more so.
It was with regret that I learned in your letter of the disappearance of your diplomat. That he survived the shipwreck is miraculous; that he dared to threaten to denounce you is unacceptable. I agree with you that his disappearance was the only solution. Men as perceptive as De Rùna are a danger to us. They understand actions, but are incapable of seeing the extent of the consequences. The path of royalty is beyond them. His work with the Northuldras is recognized by the greatest, but the man has had his day.
Our agreement thus remains intact, and our kingdoms will be all the more prosperous in the days to come.
With my utmost loyalty,
Your friend, Prince Hans,
Thirteenth son of the King of the Southern Islands.”
Chapter Text
The scarlet silk curtains filtered the daylight, bathing the room in a glowing red light reminiscent of a perpetual sunset. Near the entrance, Rokar was tugging at the collar of his uniform. The air in the room was heavy, made pungent by the unpleasant smell of ointments.
With his arms crossed, the chief guard watched the figure lying in the bed. Five doctors and nurses bustled around, changing bandages and cleaning instruments. Yet the silence was broken only by the rustling of their clothes, punctuated occasionally by orders spoken in hushed tones.
Eight hours had passed since their return from the funeral. Eight hours of intensive care and panic. When the doctor in charge finally approached Rokar, his face was glistening with sweat.
“Well?” he asked.
“Head injuries are unpredictable, Captain Rokar,” replied the doctor in a deep, exhausted voice. “We've managed to stabilize her, but we need to keep her under observation. She could wake up in an hour, a month, a year... Or never. The shock was so severe—”
He gasped as Rokar grabbed him by the collar, cutting him off mid-sentence. The captain brought the doctor's face close to his own, the poor man's toes barely touching the carpet.
“Never?” he repeated. “It would be better for you if she woke up... as soon as possible. Or you will be severely punished for your failure.”
He let go of the man, who fell heavily to the floor. While the doctor struggled to get up, Rokar looked around at the medical team who had watched the scene in silence.
“That goes for all of you.”
He pushed the doctor aside roughly, almost knocking him over again, and approached the bed. The figure was covered with a thick quilt, but it was clear how difficult it was for her to breathe, her chest rising and falling slowly and wheezingly. A bandage covered her forehead, partially concealing her right temple, where blood had dried into brownish scabs.
Queen Anna looked so peaceful.
Rokar walked around the bed and approached the window, pulling the curtain aside slightly to look out onto the castle courtyard. Below, soldiers from Arendelle and the Southern Isles patrolled in tight formation. He watched them without really seeing them.
In a way, he felt reassured. As the battle raged at the top of the hill, he thought he had seen a strangely familiar young woman fighting before fleeing, but the commotion and the Queen's injury had prevented him from paying more attention. Now he had had plenty of time to think about it.
He was certain it was Elsa. Even though she had cut her hair, he recognized that expressionless face and those emotionless eyes. The very same ones he had detailed the day he arrested her for treason.
Things had only gotten worse since then. Clenching his fist in rage, he put the pieces of the puzzle together. The failure to assassinate Elsa, the resistance that managed to evade all the guard patrols, the increasingly palpable anger of the people. It was all Elsa's fault.
No, he corrected himself. It was his fault. He had to take responsibility for his failure.
His gaze fell once again on the face of the Queen, plunged into a coma. What if she had recognized Elsa, too? Then she would undoubtedly have condemned him for his failure and his lie to a fate worse than the flames of Hell. He had the perfect opportunity to rectify the situation while Anna was asleep.
Elsa had a perfect understanding of the guard, was an outstanding strategist, and despite her own lack of emotion, she was able to understand those of her opponents. So Rokar had to act in a way that was radically different from what she expected.
“Captain Rokar?” asked a voice behind him.
Pulled from his thoughts, he turned, taken aback. A maid stood in the doorway. What was her name again? Oh right...
“What is it, Gerda?”
“The Royal Council has reunited,” she announced, bowing. You wanted to be informed.
“Indeed,” he replied, dismissing her with a wave of his hand.
He left Anna's room, relieved to breathe the lighter air of the hallway. He hated the smell of medicine.
Yes, the Royal Council, he thought. They would surely want to punish the culprits. Many of them had managed to escape thanks to their element of surprise. And Rokar, he had to admit, would be happy to grant their request; the Royal Guard could not let such an affront go unpunished. But this Council of vultures would see it above all as an opportunity to seize the Queen's vacant seat.
It was now up to Rokar to keep them in their place until Anna awoke.
He was about to open the heavy doors leading to the living room, which occasionally served as the council chamber, when loud voices in the room interrupted him. Curious, he listened.
“What happened to Queen Anna is regrettable,” said a woman. “But it was to be expected, she is still just a child...”
“That's what impulsiveness and youthful arrogance lead to,” added a gravelly voice. “It wouldn't have happened if she had listened to our advice.”
“Certainly, the Royal Council knows how to make wise decisions. But we still need someone at its head.”
A long silence followed this statement. Clearly, each of the nobles was refraining from proclaiming themself head of the Council.
It was at this moment that Rokar chose to enter. With his arms behind his back, he walked forward under the gaze of the six advisors—the seventh having been brutally murdered a few days earlier—accompanied only by the echo of his footsteps.
Although he pretended to ignore them, the Captain was well aware of the shocked looks exchanged by the nobles, while others stared at him, their eyebrows raised in condescension. Finally, amid their indignant exclamations, he took the seat usually occupied by Anna.
“Good afternoon, distinguished members of the Royal Council and heads of Arendelle’s most prestigious noble houses,” he began in a honeyed tone. “You surely know me, but allow me to introduce myself nonetheless: Captain Rokar, head of the Royal Guard.”
“What does this mean?” exclaimed a stocky woman, her cheeks flushed with anger.
He looked at her, a half-smile on his face, and was about to reply when another man interrupted him. He was a thin man, his head resting on a neck so long it looked like a pole, and broad shoulders that made his head look tiny. His voice was surprisingly deep and gravelly for someone of his stature.
“Captain Rokar, with all due respect, this is not your place.”
“Certainly not!” added another man with bushy eyebrows. “Neither in this chair nor in this room! This is a meeting of the Royal Council!”
“A council composed, as you so aptly put it, of the most prominent noble families of Arendelle.”
“And not beggars!” concluded the stocky woman.
As they spoke, Rokar's smile grew wider. But it showed no joy.
“Allow me to point out that I am the head of the Royal Guard.”
“A squire will always be a squire, no matter who he serves,” sneered another nobleman at the end of the table.
The assembly burst into laughter. When silence finally returned, it was clear that they were waiting for Rokar to leave, proud of their pettiness.
“I think I have made myself unclear,” he finally replied. “You must surely think that I am going to stand up, bow down in apology, and leave red with shame. I am afraid I must disappoint you. I will not move because, you see, I am here to take matters into my own hands.”
“Take matters into your own hands?” repeated the long-necked advisor. “In these times of crisis, it is up to the Council to...”
“To what, sir? Argue like children? Take advantage of the Queen's condition to divide up the kingdom like a cake? Fight over who gets the biggest piece?”
“How dare you!” cried the stocky woman.
Rokar burst out laughing.
“I dare, madam, thanks to the ardor and vigor that you lack! That of the “beggars,” whom you seem to have forgotten, sunk into your armchairs discussing all day long!”
This time, a veritable chorus of protests arose. Three councilors stood up, knocking over their chairs, their shouts sending spittle flying across the table. Rokar stood up in turn and slammed his hands down on the table with such force that the impact reverberated off the walls. Silence fell immediately. The gesture was reminiscent of Anna to the Council.
“I am Captain Rokar, head of the Royal Guard of Arendelle,” he repeated. “This means that Queen Anna has entrusted me with the security of the kingdom. Not you. Me. And even though she is in a coma, I will continue to follow her orders. If I deem your decisions to be a danger to Arendelle, I will throw you into the dungeons with the other rebels.”
He scanned the assembly. They were still silent, but the air vibrated with anger just waiting to explode.
“Look at you, sitting here, refusing to face the reality of what is happening in the city. The resistance has already taken Princess Elsa's life, and they've almost succeeded in taking our Queen's. While you were at the funeral just to make an impression, I was there. I was there during the attack. I was there to fight, to defend Queen Anna. And today, I'm here to deal with the resistance.”
“We need to increase patrols!” exclaimed the advisor with bushy eyebrows. “Raids, arrests, show them that we're stronger!”
“That the Queen is stronger,” corrected Rokar.
“We already offered her a drastic measure, but she categorically refused at the time. But today...”
“Today, she will refuse again. I will not allow this Council to make such decisions on her behalf while she is recovering. Nevertheless, I agree that we must be more firm with those who threaten the Crown. Whether they are in the streets... or in this room.”
“How dare you...”
“SILENCE!”
The woman who had spoken fell back into her seat, looking shocked, one hand on her heart.
"Starting today, I will take charge of the kingdom of Arendelle until Queen Anna awakens. Your little Council may continue to offer its opinion, but I will be the one making the decisions. I will find those responsible for the attack and ensure that the Kingdom remains stable until Her Majesty awakens.”
“It is not your place to... It is the Council's...” stammered the advisor.
“This Council lacks impulsiveness and arrogance, my dear,” Rokar interrupted again. “On the other hand, it seems to be very observant when it comes to opportunities to usurp the throne. You should be more discreet when you talk about such things, you know,” he scoffed.
The faces of the assembly reddened with shame and anger.
“I agree that it must be uncomfortable for you to be put in your place by a... a ‘beggar’. But I will ensure your loyalty to the Queen.”
“We will never accept...” began the stocky woman.
“You will accept,” Rokar cut her off. “Or I will have you hanged for high treason.”
He let another silence stretch out before smiling at them. Something in his eyes made their blood run cold, a dangerous and terrifying gleam.
“Glory to Queen Anna!” he exclaimed.
“Glory to Queen Anna,” repeated the Council in unison.
Chapter Text
Four days had passed since the attack at the funeral.
On the morning of the fourth day, the room was bathed in the bright light of the sun filtering through the curtains. Dust particles floated in the light, sparkling lazily, warming the pale face of the occupant of the central bed. Breathing slowly, deeply, and evenly, she raised a trembling hand to feel her bandages. The wound could have, should have, been fatal. Yet there she was, alive. A delicate hand grasped hers and placed it back along her body, while a distant voice muttered incomprehensible things. She blinked several times, gradually clearing the fog before her eyes, and heard the word “miracle.”
Liv blinked again, and the shape in front of her took on the features of Camellya's face.
“Kristoff... Sparrow...” she managed to say.
“Rest,” Camellya whispered, patting her hand. “I'll let them know.”
Elsa had wanted to go to the orphanage as soon as the messenger had disappeared, but Kristoff had ordered her to stay.
“The guards are on edge,” he had explained. “They're arresting people at random. If they see us together, we're done for.”
“But...”
“Sparrow!”
His voice was sharp, but when he realized it, he immediately softened and gave her a shy smile.
“I know you want to see her too, it's just that...” (He searched for words, then sighed.) “I need to see her first.”
He ran a hand over his face, which showed both fatigue and relief.
“I spent four days afraid I'd never see my best friend again. Can you give us an hour? I'll be back quickly, and then you can go see her.”
“Okay. One hour,” Elsa conceded, nodding.
“Watch over the resistance in my absence.”
And she had waited. An hour, a long hour that had seemed like an eternity. Elsa had tried to keep herself busy, talking to others, watching their training sessions, but she couldn't see what was happening right in front of her eyes. Liv's face floated constantly in her field of view.
When Kristoff finally returned, he smiled at her, his expression unreadable, which intrigued Elsa. The leader of the resistance was usually so expressive.
“She's waiting for you,” he said. “Camellya told me she asked for us as soon as she woke up.”
And Elsa rushed out of the hideout, heading for the orphanage. Luckily, she didn't encounter any patrols on the way.
Elsa walked down the hallway of the orphanage, the same one she had passed through four days earlier, holding Liv in her arms. Today, the atmosphere was very different, almost relaxed. The mid-afternoon sun filtered through the arches of the inner courtyard, and Elsa noticed some chalk drawings scribbled on the wall to her right. Each one depicted a figure in a red dress, sometimes reading to a group of children, sometimes offering flowers to a little stick figure smiling from ear to ear. Under one of them, she could make out the words “Tank you, Ladi Camelia.”
Elsa stopped in front of the infirmary door. For a second, the image of Liv, pale and motionless on the bed, came back to her. She shook her head to dispel it. Liv was better now; she would surely have regained some color. For a few more seconds, she stared at the doorknob, opening and closing her hand alongside her body. Then, resolute, she raised her hand, still wrapped in bandages, and prepared to knock.
A dull noise from the other side of the door interrupted her movement. Regular and punctuated by brief silences, it sounded like blows against something soft. Puzzled, Elsa gently pushed the door open without knocking.
The room was narrow but well lit. Rows of empty beds lined the walls on either side, except for Liv's. The sheets were unmade, and five pillows were neatly stacked against the wooden panel, swaying slightly to the left.
And in front of this makeshift tower stood Liv.
She was wearing a simple white linen nightgown that fell to mid-thigh, revealing her pale, bare legs. Through the fabric, the thick layers of bandages wrapped around her abdomen were visible. Her tousled hair fell in messy strands around her face. Although she had indeed, to Elsa's great relief, regained some color, she still had the waxy complexion typical of convalescents who had come too close to death, which highlighted the dark circles hollowing her eyes.
But she was standing, alive. Barefoot on the stone slabs, the cold making her toes turn red, she had taken up a fighting stance, fists raised, her body slightly turned to keep her wound out of reach of her opponent. Namely, the tower of pillows.
She struck the top one three times before jumping back into position with a small leap. Immediately, her hand went briefly to her wound as her face contorted into a grimace. She took a deep breath through her nose, then returned to her guard and struck the pillow again abruptly.
“The doctors told you to rest,” Elsa observed.
She hoped her voice didn't sound reproachful. Just in case, she smiled so there would be no room for interpretation of her remark.
Liv froze, her fist suspended a few inches from the pillow. She slowly turned her head until her gaze met Elsa's. For a moment, she thought she saw deep anger, a hatred that obscured her already dark eyes. But in the blink of an eye, Liv was already wearing a tired smile. Elsa convinced herself that she had imagined it all.
“Sparrow!” she exclaimed.
Her voice was hoarse, slightly breathless, as if those few punches had drained her of her strength, but it was unmistakably her voice, the one Elsa had thought she would never hear again when she carried her bloodstained body through the streets of Arendelle.
Elsa stepped forward, and when she was within arm's reach, Liv pulled her close. She felt her warmth, her breath against her cheek, and dared not move for fear of breaking her like a porcelain doll. Just as she decided to wrap her arms around her waist, Liv pulled away, keeping her hands on her shoulders.
“The doctors say a lot of things. Stay in bed, drink herbal tea that tastes like rotten spinach. Don't strain my injury, rest, and wait for them to apply ointment three times a day. I suspect they use the same ointment for the tea, too.”
She laughed, a sound Elsa thought she would never hear again. She studied Liv as if to engrave every lash in her memory.
“You're staring, Sparrow,” Liv remarked with a smirk.
“I'm glad you're alive,” Elsa replied.
“Mm-hmm.”
Liv turned back to her tower of pillows and assumed a fighting stance and a more serious expression.
“Resting, huh?” sighed Elsa.
She stood next to Liv and took her hand to position it better.
“Turn to the other side,” she explained in a surprisingly soft voice. “When you strike, follow through with the whole movement, not just with your shoulder, but with your entire upper body. Your chest will pivot on its own to keep your injury out of reach while you hurt your opponent.”
“And I thought you were going to scold me,” Liv whispered.
“With you, it's a lost cause. You're far too stubborn.”
A smile spread across Liv's lips again before fading away immediately. For a few seconds, she slowly repeated the movements Elsa had advised her to do, her fist stopping in midair. Then she stared at the pile of pillows with that same look. This time, Elsa was sure she hadn't imagined it. Liv's whole body tensed as she prepared to strike.
“Kristoff told me. About my father.”
The force of the blow sent four of the pillows flying across the floor to the other side of the bed.
Liv was panting, her face down, her fists clenched. Her cheeks were flushed. Elsa didn't move. She stood still, her eyes fixed on her.
The laughter of children in the courtyard in the distance was the only thing breaking the silence.
“Kristoff... Did he tell you?” Elsa repeated, stunned.
“I didn't really give him a choice,” Liv replied a little abruptly. “I quickly noticed that he was avoiding my gaze when he was talking to me. So I insisted until he told me everything.”
She looked up at Elsa, her eyes misty with tears.
“I'm far too stubborn, right?”
She took a few unsteady steps and sat down on the bed, letting herself fall. After a moment's hesitation, Elsa sat down next to her, without saying a word.
“My father was a good man,” Liv whispered, her voice trembling. “He believed in goodness, in everything that was beautiful in this world. He believed in peace between Arendelle and the Northuldras, even though he was criticized for it. Even though he was called the spokesperson for the savages. He devoted his life to showing that our people and theirs were alike. And when he finally succeeded...”
Her voice broke. Elsa squirmed painfully, feeling an invisible iron hand tighten around her stomach in a sensation she couldn't quite define.
If she had realized what Anna had become, what she was planning to do, not only would Liv's father still be alive, but so would her own parents. She could have done something to stop her.
“I'm sorry,” she said without thinking.
Liv glanced at her, a shadow of a smile on her lips.
“You don't have to apologize, Sparrow. It's not your fault.”
She straightened up, her eyes shining with rage, her voice hardening.
“That bitch had her own parents killed. And when my father discovered her monstrous plot, she had him murdered too. He was a victim of that monster, of her despicable and selfish plan.”
She was shaken by a joyless, nervous, almost mocking laugh.
“I wouldn't be surprised if she had her own sister killed too. And then that viper organizes a funeral. Do you think she cried? Even a single tear?”
Elsa, thrown off balance by this question, wavered slightly.
“I hope so,” she replied in a low voice.
“Tsk, I doubt it. I don't expect an ounce of humanity from her anymore.”
This time, the invisible hand had closed around Elsa's heart. Liv's words were an invisible blade sinking into it.
A long silence followed. Liv grabbed the last pillow on the bed and hugged it close, her arms wrapped around her raised legs. She buried her face in the fabric.
“I hate her,” her muffled voice continued. “I hate all those who seek only power, at any cost. I hate all those hypocrites willing to sacrifice others for their own ephemeral glory.”
Timidly, Elsa put her arm around the young woman's frail body. Liv immediately let herself fall against her, her head on her shoulder.
“They say that good people are capable of forgiveness. But I don't know if I could do that.”
“I won't ask you to,” Elsa replied. “You're still a good person in my eyes.”
“Really?”
“The best.”
Liv finally fell asleep, exhausted. Her head slid gently off Elsa's shoulder, and Elsa carefully laid her back down on the bed, pulling the sheets up to her chin. She gazed for a moment at her friend's face, relaxed in sleep. She hesitated for a second before leaning over and placing a soft kiss on her forehead, then getting up and heading for the door.
In the hallway, the afternoon light had faded. Shadows lengthened between the arches of the inner courtyard, where the children's voices had fallen silent. Elsa leaned against the cool stone wall and closed her eyes briefly.
“They say that good people are capable of forgiveness. But I don't know if I could do that.”
Liv's words still echoed in her mind. Neither do I. How could I ever forgive myself for ignoring all of this?
“Hello, Sparrow.”
Elsa opened her eyes again and saw Camellya, draped today in a magnificent ocean-blue dress. Her lace-gloved hands held a long package wrapped in thin paper.
“Lady Camellya,” Elsa greeted her with a nod.
“How is our patient?”
“She's fallen back asleep.”
“That's quite an achievement. That little one can't seem to stay still.”
Camellya smiled and invited Elsa to follow her. They entered the noblewoman's office, where she placed the package on the desk.
“This is for you. Kristoff let me know that your blade was broken during the attack.”
“For me?”
Elsa unwrapped the paper and ties, revealing a dark leather sheath and an elegant black box. She opened it slowly.
The box contained a rapier, the most beautiful Elsa had ever seen. The pommel was crafted in the shape of a stylized rose, the guard was finely chiseled, and the metal of the tapered blade was immaculate, as only newly forged weapons could be. The rapier was very different from the one she had found in the resistance training room, which was completely blunt, but also from her old ceremonial rapier.
“It's beautiful,” Elsa murmured, running her fingertips over the cold metal.
She placed the weapon on her hand, where it remained horizontal. It was perfectly balanced.
“Consider this a thank you for all you do for Arendelle,” Camellya said. “I fear the days ahead will be dark, and you won't get far without a weapon.”
“I wasn't expecting a weapon of such quality,” Elsa replied, attaching the sheath to her belt, unable to take her eyes off the rapier.
Camellya let out a grandiloquent, theatrical laugh.
“You insult me, my dear!” she exclaimed, not at all offended. “I have access to the very best.”
Elsa slid the rapier into its sheath. It was only when she felt the familiar weight at her belt that she realized how empty it had felt before. Her body was whole again.
Camellya sat down behind her desk and crossed her legs.
“By the way, I have something to tell you. I've already spoken to Kristoff about it, of course, but since you're here, I might as well tell you too.”
“What is it?” asked Elsa, slightly suspicious, as she sat down.
“The possibility of an alliance,” Camellya declared. “With a group of Northuldras.”
“Northuldras?” Elsa repeated, surprised. “The ones who live in the forest?”
“No, my dear.”
Camellya clearly took pleasure in teaching Elsa something new.
“It's a group that settled in Arendelle after De Rùna brought peace. Needless to say, they weren't very welcome. So after the attack at the funeral... You know the people of Arendelle, and people in general. They always need someone to blame. The Northuldras were the obvious choice.”
Elsa didn't respond.
“So this group was attacked, pursued, hunted down, until they took refuge in the sewers. Since Captain Rokar authorized the Royal Guard to be more aggressive, the Northuldras can hardly leave their hiding place.”
“That's why they need us,” understood Elsa.
“I'm sure of it. The King of Fools isn't the easiest person to understand.”
“Who?”
“The King of Fools. That's the name their leader has given himself. If you and Kristoff wish to meet him, a member of his 'court' will be waiting for you tonight to take you to him. But Kristoff insisted on discussing this alliance with the rest of the resistance upon your return before making a decision.”
Elsa frowned. She had nothing against the Northuldras; she had never met any, and she had no reason to consider them inferior. For once, she was happy that she couldn't feel hatred or disgust. Her perception was based solely on facts. This was not the case for others. She remembered the contempt in Kristoff's voice when he pointed out the Northuldra forest to her as they made their way to Oaken's store.
“They're not going to like it,” she said finally.
“I agree. But Kristoff isn't stupid enough to refuse a helping hand.”
On that point, Elsa agreed with Camellya. She hoped the rest of the resistance would too.
“Silence! I said silence!”
The indignant protests gradually subsided.
Packed into the meeting room, in front of the same podium where Elsa had introduced herself several days earlier, all the members of the resistance were shouting and exchanging outraged glances. Elsa, standing next to Kristoff, waited patiently for calm to return.
“As I said,” continued the blond man, “I understand your concerns. But we cannot afford to turn away potential allies.”
“Potential allies!” repeated someone in the crowd. “They're savages! The proof is that they live in the sewers!”
“Because they were given no choice!” replied Kristoff, raising his voice to be heard above the renewed hubbub.
He raised his hands again to silence them.
“Listen, I'm no happier about this than you are, but we have to admit that with the increased guard patrols, it's going to be much harder for us to...”
“Whose fault is that?” cried another voice. “I'm sure they were the ones who launched the attack at the funeral!”
Several people nodded vigorously.
“Let's say we ally ourselves with them,” Emilien began cautiously, his eyes still hidden under his curly hair. “And let's say we manage to dethrone the queen. Then what? Are they going to ask us to live in the forest too? To eat berries so we don't have to kill animals?”
Laughter rang out around him. The situation was completely out of Kristoff's control.
“I heard they still believe in magic,” one woman said mockingly. “Can you imagine if they ask us to take part in their rituals? What if we go out on the street with our children and see these people worshipping their ‘spirits’ or whatever?”
“That's enough!” Elsa shouted.
Silence fell immediately. Everyone stared at her wide-eyed, surprised by her sudden outburst. They'd grown too accustomed to her passive, expressionless demeanor. But she always spoke in a matter-of-fact way, and she was determined to give them the facts.
“Your fears are both foolish and unfounded,” she declared without preamble. “You're afraid because they live in the sewers? The guards hunt us like rats, we live in an abandoned warehouse, and you think you're superior? But they need our help. If we don't help those in need, are we really any better than the queen?”
She pursed her lips as she thought of her sister, but pushed the thought away. This wasn't the time.
“And we need them too. Who knows what help they might be able to give us?”
“Liv's father tried to help them, and look where that got him!” someone retorted.
“Liv's father didn't let himself be blinded by differences,” she replied, her cheeks flushing red. “Do you think he was idealistic? Naive? He believed in goodness, in everything that is beautiful in this world, she added, repeating Liv's words. And he passed that on to Liv. If you think he was wrong, go tell his daughter! Your friend!”
A silence ensued. Again, someone spoke, but more timidly:
“The Northuldras killed him anyway.”
“It wasn't the Northuldras.”
Once again, everyone looked at her in astonishment. Elsa glanced at Kristoff, who nodded.
“We discovered some private correspondence between the queen and a certain Hans from the Southern Isles. Liv's father was killed by queen Anna.”
An explosion of shouts and insults rang out, so loud that the stone walls shook. Elsa hoped with all her heart that no one was passing by on the street at that moment, because it would have sounded like an army was fighting inside this abandoned building.
“Death to the queen!”
“This is monstrous!”
“Let's avenge Liv's father!”
Kristoff stamped his foot several times on the platform, his blows echoing above the shouts. After achieving relative silence, he spoke.
"I understand your desire for revenge. But don't forget that we are fighting for the liberation of Arendelle. And for that, we need help. All the help we can get. So, until we have achieved our goal, I would ask you to put your apprehensions aside. As for what the Northuldras will ask of us in return, we will see about that once the queen has been dethroned."
Another silence fell, but no one seemed to be making a decision. Elsa stepped forward and cleared her throat.
“All those in favor of an alliance with the Northuldras, with this King of Fools, raise your hands.”
She and Kristoff raised theirs. For a few moments, she thought no one else would follow them. Then a hand rose above the crowd, timidly, trembling. Then another, and another. Finally, the majority of the resistance voted for the alliance, albeit reluctantly.
“Very well,” concluded Kristoff. “Tonight, Sparrow and I will meet the messenger at the rendezvous point. And we will meet the King of Fools.”
Chapter Text
Thank you all so much for your support and kind words!
Your comments have been so motivating that I ended up writing three whole chapters ahead in just five days — that’s how happy I am to see you’re enjoying the story! :')
I hope this new chapter lives up to your expectations 👀
Night had fallen on Arendelle. Elsa and Kristoff walked quickly and cautiously, weaving through the streets, their hoods pulled down over their faces. Sharp shadows moved around them, and the slightest distant sound kept them alert. Under her worn coat, Elsa concealed the rapier Camellya had entrusted to her. Kristoff had several knives tucked within easy reach.
Far above the rooftops, the light from the royal castle flickered slowly, almost peacefully. Elsa found it strange that Anna had not reacted personally to the attack at the funeral. She wasn't surprised that she had allowed Rokar and his guards to act with impunity in the lower quarters, but she would have expected a more virulent reaction from the queen herself.
What if something had happened to her? What if... No. Elsa would know if she were dead. She was devoid of emotions, but not of that bond with her sister. If Anna were gone, she would feel it deep inside, she was sure of it. Even though “feeling” had not been part of her vocabulary for several years.
So what had happened to Anna?
Something cracked under her boot. A shard of glass; looking around, she saw that the street was littered with them. They were passing a shop whose window had been smashed. In the moonlight, she saw dark stains on the few large pieces that remained in the frame. She didn't need to see the color to guess what it was.
“The patrol has been here,” Kristoff said in a low voice. “Recently. We must be hot on their heels.”
“At least they won't get behind us until we reach the meeting point. As long as they don't turn back...”
“Yes, but stay on your guard,” Kristoff urged, resuming his walk. “You never know if someone's following us.”
They continued in silence. The meeting point was a few streets away, in a dead-end alley littered with abandoned barrels and rotten crates. The place reeked of urine and decay, a smell so strong it made your throat tighten. Kristoff grimaced and instinctively brought a hand to his nose.
“How charming,” he muttered.
Elsa didn't reply, busy scanning the only exit, one hand on the hilt of her rapier. It was a perfect ambush. But for now, everything seemed calm. The minutes stretched out, the silence broken only by the distant barking of a dog.
“Do you think he's coming?” Kristoff finally asked.
“Camellya told you, didn't she?” Elsa replied, without taking her eyes off the street.
“I don't doubt Camellya,” Kristoff replied, “but I doubt the Northuldras. Those people...”
“If you're not ready to trust them, we can always go back. But I'll leave it to you to explain to the others why you changed your mind.”
There was another brief silence, then Kristoff shook his head. Elsa knew he was nervous, even though he was trying to hide it.
“You're right. I have to put my prejudices aside if we want to have any chance in this rebellion. It's a good thing you're not Liv, she would have already slapped me for doubt—”
“Shh!”
Elsa raised one hand to silence him, while tightening her grip on the handle of her weapon with the other.
A shadow had just entered the alley.
The man was tall and thin, skeletal even, his clothes hanging on his body like a coat hanger. Under his hood, two dark eyes shone like beetles. Only an angular chin and chapped lips were visible in the moonlight.
He stopped about ten steps away from them but said nothing. After a long few seconds, Kristoff cleared his throat.
“We come from Camellya of V…”
As soon as he heard the name Camellya, the man motioned for them to follow him before immediately turning around. Kristoff glanced incredulously at Elsa, who shrugged, before following him.
The man led them through a maze of even narrower alleys where they could barely walk side by side. The walls of the buildings leaned dangerously toward each other, creating tunnels of shadow where moonlight sometimes filtered through the tiles. Broken and barricaded windows watched them like dead eyes.
Finally, the Northuldra stopped in front of a sewer grate, half-hidden under a pile of debris. He crouched down and pushed aside the rotten boards and moldy pieces of cloth covering it. The metal grate creaked ominously as he lifted it, revealing a black hole that exuded a putrid smell.
Kristoff frowned.
“Do we really have to...?”
“First time in the sewers?” asked Elsa, giving him a pat on the shoulder. “You'll see, after a few minutes you won't smell any of it.”
“Is that supposed to reassure me?”
The Northuldra descended first, his hands gripping the rungs of a metal ladder sealed into the wall of the well with disconcerting agility. He was quickly swallowed up by the darkness.
Kristoff sighed as he climbed down after him. Elsa followed, remembering to replace the grate above her head.
Below her, she heard Kristoff slip on a rung and swear under his breath. They could no longer see anything and had to rely solely on touch and hearing to continue their descent.
Finally, her foot touched solid ground. To her right, she could hear Kristoff's breathing, which had quickened slightly. She kept a bar within reach, ready to climb back up in case the man had led them into a trap.
Suddenly, a faint, flickering light appeared to her left. The Northuldra had lit a torch with a worn tinderbox.
They were in a vaulted tunnel with a low ceiling, wide enough for two people to walk without their elbows colliding. The floor was a mixture of worn stone and mud, the walls oozed moisture, covered with moss and fungi that cast strange shadows in the flickering light. In a gutter in the center of the tunnel, a trickle of foul-smelling water flowed, disappearing into the darkness ahead and behind them.
The smell was even worse here. Kristoff gagged and covered the lower part of his face with his arm. Elsa managed to control herself. Only her nose stung slightly. Apparently, she had already grown accustomed to the foul smell.
They walked in silence for what seemed like an eternity. The tunnel wound, branched off, divided into narrower passages before widening again. Without their guide, they would have gotten lost in minutes in this underground labyrinth.
Kristoff stepped on a wet stone and slipped for the second time. He caught himself just in time on something soft and cold that gave way under his fingers. He quickly withdrew his hand with a muffled curse, wiping it frantically on his pants.
“Mushrooms,” he muttered to himself. “Just mushrooms...”
Elsa said nothing. She had noticed something else on the walls. Discreet symbols, drawn in chalk, half-erased by the damp. As they advanced, they became more numerous, but one sign recurred often: a kind of pointed, symmetrical snowflake, surrounded by four diamonds arranged on each diagonal. Elsa searched her memory, but she had never read anything about such a symbol.
“See that?” she whispered to Kristoff, pointing to the symbol.
He squinted in the dim light.
“What is it?”
“I don't know.”
“The spirits.”
A third voice startled them. They turned to the Northuldra, who was smiling toothlessly. He was staring at the snowflake with an almost reverent gaze. His voice was dry, gravelly, and slightly drawling.
“The spirits of the forest,” he continued. “They watch over the Northuldra, wherever we are.”
He resumed walking. Kristoff made no comment, but the look he gave Elsa said enough.
They continued walking in silence. Some symbols were accompanied by what looked like offerings: pebbles arranged in circles, pieces of cloth tied around rocky outcrops, once even a small rag doll placed in the recess of a stone.
The air was beginning to change, paradoxically becoming more breathable despite the depth. The putrid smell of sewage was fading, replaced by something else. A vegetal scent that Elsa couldn't identify. Moss? Grass? There was also a slight hint of iodine.
They finally emerged into a vast circular room. Elsa halted abruptly, and even Kristoff was left breathless.
The high brick walls were embedded in the natural rock surface. The space was vast, much larger than Elsa had imagined. The ceiling was high, dotted with long, pointed stalactites, some of which joined stalagmites to form thick columns. In the distance, slightly to their left, a hole in the wall allowed water to flow into the fjord. Elsa realized that they were in the cliffs by the sea, hidden beneath the city itself.
But that wasn't what amazed them the most. It was the light that filled the place. Bioluminescent mushrooms covered entire sections of the walls and ceiling, creating a constellation of blue-green dots that bathed the entire cave in a ghostly glow. Hundreds, even thousands, of pieces of stained glass, suspended from threads, reflected colorful glints on the damp surfaces, dancing slightly in the breeze that rushed in through the opening at the back.
“It looks like a cathedral,” whispered Kristoff, expressing what Elsa was thinking.
Beneath this colorful dome was a village, or at least what resembled one. Dozens of tents were clustered around braziers, where ghostly figures could be seen warming themselves. Here and there stood miserable-looking huts on stilts, which people had tried to make more welcoming by hanging torn curtains, other shards of colored glass, and multicolored cushions whose dye had almost faded away.
Despite this, the Northuldras had left the moss that covered the posts and devoured the roofs, weakening the structure by absorbing moisture from the air. It was a choice that Elsa could only explain by the Northuldras' deep attachment to nature.
“You couldn't have built all this in four days,” Kristoff remarked in a low voice.
“It was an old smugglers' hideout,” explained the Northuldra as he descended toward the village. “Abandoned for years. Today, it's our home.”
They descended uneven steps carved into the rock. As they approached and entered the bluish light, the ghostly silhouettes took shape. The shadow became a hollowed-out skull, and the light exposed the contours of the skin, revealing tanned, emaciated faces with curious expressions.
The inhabitants of the village—that was the word Elsa had decided to use, for lack of a better term—were crisscrossing the rough outlines of streets. Here, a man stirred a broth of roots and herbs in a pot that had seen better days. There, a woman operated a creaking loom to make a shawl.
As Elsa and Kristoff passed by, the inhabitants stopped what they were doing and stared at them. As they walked behind their guide down what appeared to be the main street, Elsa felt the weight of their gazes growing heavier on the back of her neck. The quiet murmur of conversation gradually gave way to an oppressive silence.
Elsa held their gaze, studying their faces. These Northuldras were undoubtedly hungry. But more than that, they were afraid. Most of them had spent the last four days in this cave to avoid being persecuted by the people of Arendelle, and now two strangers from above were entering their refuge.
Arendelle was afraid of Queen Anna. Down here, the Northuldras were afraid of the people of Arendelle.
“I was expecting a dozen people,” Kristoff whispered beside her, his voice barely audible. “Not... all this.”
Elsa tried to count them in her head. Fifty? Sixty? Maybe more. It was hard to tell with those who remained hidden in the shadows of the tents. Entire families were crammed into this confined space.
Their guide didn't seem bothered by the silence. He continued walking down the main street. On either side, above the tents, stood precarious stilt houses. Seen up close, they were even more fragile than Elsa had thought.
Yet the place was far from gloomy. Garlands of brightly colored torn flags hung between the huts, and lanterns were suspended at regular intervals where the light from the ceiling and stained glass couldn't reach. Dried herbs and flowers were hung everywhere and even covered the ground in places.
Finally, they reached the center of the village, which opened up like a circular plaza. A stone platform, smoothed by the waves, had been erected, supporting a pile of canvas. Solid beams formed the frame of a marquee, whose canvas was secured to the ground with ropes. It wasn't really a shelter, more like a covered platform.
Under this marquee, a lantern flickered in the wind, filled with luminescent mushrooms that cast their blue-greenish light onto the platform. Directly beneath it stood the strangest throne Elsa had ever seen, stretched out lengthwise, made of planks and faded cushions, looking more like a bed or a high-backed sofa. Above it were fixed antlers, either deer or reindeer, Elsa couldn't tell.
And on this throne lay a man.
He did not sit enthroned with the stiffness of a king. No, he was stretched out at full length, almost carelessly, one arm hanging limply over the armrest, the other folded behind his head like a pillow. One leg was bent, the other stretched out, his bare foot resting on the opposite armrest.
The man sat up with calculated slowness, like a cat stretching after a nap. He pivoted to place his bare feet on the cold stone, revealing his full height. He was taller than Elsa had anticipated, perhaps taller than Kristoff or Jared, slim but not emaciated like the other inhabitants.
His brown hair fell to his shoulders, pulled back, streaked with gray strands and adorned with colorful beads, some of which fell across his face.
He wore what had once been a long Arendelle officer's jacket, with the epaulettes torn off, over a cream-colored linen shirt, clearly of Northuldra design. It must have been elegant once, but now it hung open to mid-chest, revealing a lean torso lacking the musculature one would expect of an officer or a king. Noble trousers torn at mid-calf completed this mismatched outfit. Under the blue light of the lantern, it was impossible to tell if his skin was pale like the people of Arendelle, or darker like the Northuldras.
But it was his face that caught the eye.
Fine, almost aristocratic features, completely clean-shaven, with high cheekbones and a well-defined jawline. He could have been thirty or fifty. Black lines, probably drawn with charcoal, emphasized two silvery, almost translucent eyes that stared intently at the two newcomers. An intensity that suggested a sharp intelligence and a disturbing lucidity behind all this staging.
A slight smile stretched his lips, not quite mocking, not quite benevolent. It was as if he already knew everything: who they were, why they had come, and what they were not saying.
Elsa held his gaze, unable to decide whether he was mad or simply lucid to the point of being frightening.
“Welcome,” he said in a slow, deep voice, spreading his arms wide. “Welcome to my humble kingdom.”
He stepped down from the platform and faced Kristoff. As Elsa had guessed, he was taller than the blond man.
“You must be Kristoff, the famous leader of the resistance?”
“Indeed,” replied Kristoff, slightly wary.
He then turned to Elsa. His silver irises made him look blind, but she could feel his gaze scanning her face. She waited patiently for him to finish.
“And who are you?”
“A friend,” she replied simply. “They call me ‘Sparrow.’”
A slight smile stretched across the King of Fools’ lips when he heard that name.
“Ah, a name well suited to those who seek their freedom.”
“And you are the King of Fools,” she added.
The man burst out laughing and returned to sit on his throne. Or rather, he slumped back against the backrest, one leg bent against him, his face resting on the palm of his hand, leaning against one arm of the chair. He displayed an almost revolting casualness.
“That is what I am called down here,” he replied.
“So you are not a king?” asked Kristoff, uncomfortable when the man looked at him.
"You are unfamiliar with our customs, my friend, but I do not hold it against you. There is no king among the Northuldras. I was not chosen by a divine entity as you worship in Arendelle, and we do not divide ourselves into nobility and commoners.”
He gestured toward the village surrounding them with another wave of his arm.
“These men, women, and children simply trust me. I advise them, for where they have lost hope, I am the one who brings them clarity.”
“The clarity of a ‘fool,’” Kristoff muttered loud enough to be heard.
Once again, the King of Fools was shaken by laughter.
“Dear Kristoff, are not fools those who see the world most clearly as it is?”
Judging by the look Kristoff gave Elsa, that was certainly not the case.
“I sense something in you, my dear,” said a new voice.
An elderly woman with graying temples, her hair and clothes covered in pearls, stepped out of the lantern's shadow and approached. They hadn't even noticed her until now.
She stood in front of Elsa and placed her wrinkled hands on the young woman's cheeks.
“Yes,” she whispered. “The spirits tell me so.”
“What is it, Yelena?” asked the King of Fools with almost childlike curiosity.
“You are destined for great things,” she replied, fixing her hazel eyes on Elsa's. “A great power lies dormant within you, just waiting to be unleashed. The spirits watch over you, the spirits tell me so...”
Over Yelena's shoulder, she saw Kristoff stifle a giggle. However, he couldn't help but smile every time the word “spirits” was mentioned.
“So you believe in the spirits of the forest and their... magic?” he asked, trying to hide his sarcasm.
“Indeed,” replied the King of Fools as Yelena returned to the shadow of the throne. “The people of Arendelle call us fools for it.”
He let out a laugh, quickly joined by those watching the scene. Elsa hadn't even noticed that they were surrounded by the rest of the Court of Fools.
“But who are the craziest, my friend?” the King continued when his laughter had subsided. “Those who believe in the magic of this world, or those who stubbornly refuse to accept its existence even though they see proof of it every day?”
“What are you talking about?” Kristoff asked, raising an eyebrow.
“The Queen,” Elsa replied.
All eyes turned to her.
“You're talking about Queen Anna's fire magic, aren't you?” she asked the King of Fools in a loud voice.
“Oh oh, your friend is perceptive! Indeed, that is what I am talking about.”
Kristoff frowned but said nothing more. He was clearly lost in deep thought. Elsa was the first to resume the discussion.
“I doubt you brought us here to talk about spirits and magic. You need us for something, don't you?”
“Ah, you get straight to the point. I like that.”
The King of Fools sat up straight in his throne, suddenly serious, his chin resting on his clasped hands.
“We have two requests. In return, we promise you our help, our unwavering loyalty, and... well, everything our poor people can offer you.”
“Speak, and we will tell you if we accept,” Kristoff said with new confidence.
"First, ten Northuldras have been captured by the soldiers of the bloodthirsty Rokar. In three days, they will be transferred to a fortress in the mountains, where a fate worse than death awaits them. I would like you to save them before it is too late.”
“And secondly?” Elsa asked quickly, before Kristoff could reply.
“Secondly,” the King repeated, “you understand that we are not joining you out of simple kindness.”
“Of course,” Kristoff whispered.
“Civil war threatens to break out at any moment, and whatever the outcome, we must be on the side of the winners. So I am taking the risk of betting on you, the resistance. What I ask, once you have defeated Queen Anna, is a place for my people. An end to oppression. We only wish to live in peace with Arendelle.”
“That will take time,” Kristoff remarked.
“A lot of time,” the King conceded. “But we are willing to wait, as long as it takes, if you commit to making things happen. To moving toward our acceptance.”
“I can't promise anything, but... What?”
He turned to Elsa, who was tugging at his sleeve. He leaned toward her, and she whispered in his ear:
“This is an opportunity to carry on Liv’s father’s legacy.”
Behind them, the King of Fools had grabbed a bunch of slightly dry grapes and was amusedly throwing them into his mouth. Kristoff looked at Elsa without saying anything for a few moments, then sighed.
“She wouldn't let us refuse, would she?”
“No,” Elsa confirmed. “And if we do, we'll lose their trust, forever.”
Kristoff straightened up, his expression unreadable, then turned to the King.
“You probably know the diplomat De Rùna?”
“Of course,” replied the other man, without stopping eating. “A great man who has done much for our people.”
“His daughter is in the resistance.”
The King of Fools smiled, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.
“Oh, really? That's interesting. Why isn't she with you?”
“She was seriously injured at the princess's funeral,” Elsa replied.
“That's unfortunate,” said the King of Fools, nodding gravely. “I hope she recovers.”
“Don't worry, she's tougher than she looks,” smiled Kristoff with what looked like pride. “But I'm sure she would have agreed to help you, in memory of her father. Refusing your offer would be to tarnish his legacy.”
He seemed to be convincing himself as he spoke.
“So we accept your deal,” he concluded. “But we'll need details.”
“Of course.”
The King popped one last grape into his mouth.
“Liv, is that right?” he asked with interest. “I'll try to remember that. I hope she'll be present at our next meeting so that I can thank her for everything her father has done. For now, it is to you that I extend my thanks on behalf of the Court of Fools. May your mission be crowned with success.”
Chapter Text
So, I wanted to wait a whole week before posting a chapter, but since today is my birthday... Here is my gift to you! 🎉
Enjoy this chapter released a bit earlier than usual!
The return journey was silent. Their Northuldra guide had accompanied them to the ladder leading to the surface, then disappeared into the darkness of the tunnels without a word. Only the sound of his footsteps receding on the damp stone reminded them that they had not imagined the last few hours.
Elsa and Kristoff made their way back through the streets of the lower quarters with the same caution they had shown on the way there. The sky was still dark; it must have been just after midnight. The air was cool, and the silence was broken only by distant barking and fighting cats. Luckily, they didn't encounter any patrols.
They walked side by side for several minutes without exchanging a word. Elsa could sense that Kristoff wanted to talk; his jaw was clenching and his gaze was lost in the distance. Finally, as they crossed a narrow alley halfway to the hideout, he spoke up:
“Do you remember when the King of Fools talked about magic?”
Elsa, who was walking ahead, turned to him. The pale moonlight was revealing his puzzled face.
“I figured something was bothering you, you were quieter than usual.”
She tried to lighten the mood with this remark, but Kristoff just gave her a small smile before returning to his serious expression.
“I remember, yes,” she added. “Why?”
“I've been thinking about it, and... I think they're right. About its existence.”
He ran a hand through his hair and sat down on an upturned crate leaning against the wall. Elsa leaned against the wall opposite him.
“You're probably going to laugh, but anyway...” he continued. “I've only talked to Liv about it so far.”
He took a deep breath, visibly gathering all his courage.
“I grew up in a family in Arendelle, you know that. But before that, I was... I'm not sure anymore, my memories are a bit confused. I think I lived in the mountains, up north.”
“All alone?” Elsa asked, surprised.
“No, actually. I think...”
He searched for the right words, visibly becoming more and more nervous, avoiding looking at Elsa's reaction.
“I think I remember little creatures. Beings made of stone, living stone. They took me in and raised me. But the only thing I really remember is being seven or eight years old and living with a family in Arendelle. They told me they found me wandering the streets, but...”
He paused, his gaze lost in memories he was trying to piece together.
“Trolls,” he finally whispered. I think I was raised by trolls. “The same ones from children's stories. Go ahead, you can laugh.”
Elsa watched him closely. She knew Kristoff well enough to know he wasn't joking. He was genuinely troubled, his eyes betraying the apprehension and relief of someone revealing a long-held secret.
Finally, she sighed.
“I can't laugh. Or cry. I'm incapable of it.”
“What do you mean?” Kristoff asked, watching her take another crate and sit down next to him.
“Ever since I was little, I've been unable to feel any emotion. I don't know what happened. Just like you, my childhood memories are confused. I think I remember playing with my sister in the snow, laughing with her in a big garden. And then, suddenly, everything disappeared. Something must have happened between those memories and my loss of emotions, but I can't figure out what. I can't even remember what it's like to feel something.”
She let a silence pass, avoiding the young man's gaze as well. She should tell him who her sister really was, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. What if Kristoff rejected her, what if the resistance condemned her for Anna's actions? She wasn't prepared to lose everything. Perhaps he already understood, but he said nothing.
Finally, he put his arm around her shoulders and patted them awkwardly in a friendly gesture.
“I always thought you were distant, a little...”
“Weird?”
“Probably,” he chuckled. “I understand now.”
Elsa waited for him to continue, her eyes fixed on the moon's reflection in the pommel of her rapier.
“Do you think it's related?” he asked. “Our confused memories, the trolls, your loss of emotions... What if the trolls and magic were at the heart of it all?”
Elsa thought for a few seconds. The idea seemed both absurd and strangely plausible. Then she shrugged.
“I don't see how.”
“Me neither,” Kristoff sighed. “But if trolls exist, if magic exists... then maybe the Northuldras' spirits exist too. Maybe there really is something sleeping inside you, like Yelena said. And maybe everything Arendelle refuses to believe is real. That we really are the fools the King talked about.”
“I understand why you looked troubled when the King of Fools talked about the Queen's magic.”
They exchanged a glance. Elsa stood up and motioned for Kristoff to resume walking.
“In the meantime, the fools need sleep before deciding on a plan for the King’s mission.”
“You’re right, I’m exhausted,” Kristoff smiled.
They resumed walking, letting a new silence settle between them. This time, Elsa too was lost in her thoughts.
Kristoff's reflections had raised many troubling questions for her. And when they finally arrived at the resistance headquarters, she sighed as she realized she couldn't find answers to any of them.
The morning was chilly and dry. Guards moved in tight formation outside, patrolling the streets of the lower quarters. Safe in their hideout, Elsa and Kristoff stood in the meeting room around the round table. Scrolls had been pushed aside to reveal a map of the Arendelle surroundings; in one corner were scribbled the details given to them by the King of Fools.
In front of them stood Malek, Jared, Piotr, and Emilien, listening intently.
“The castle dungeons are full,” Kristoff began. “So the queen has decided to make room by transferring some prisoners to a fortress.”
He tapped his finger on the location of the building on the map.
“She blames the Northuldras for what happened at the funeral. Who knows what horrors await them there.”
“Is she wrong?” Emilien interjected.
Elsa frowned. She remembered the young man's intervention at the meeting the day before.
“I was there,” she reminded him. “The attackers didn't look anything like the Northuldras, and I doubt that people in Arendelle would have agreed to do their dirty work for them.”
“If the pay was good...” Malek muttered.
“If that were the case, they wouldn't be in their current situation,” Kristoff snapped. “Can we get back to the plan?”
“Yes, yes.”
The blond man gave Emilien one last suspicious look before turning his attention back to the map.
"Okay, so the ten Northuldras will be transferred in three days. They'll take this route (he pointed to a red line) through the mountains. It's the fastest and safest route for them. It's completely open terrain, except for that bridge.”
He pointed to the bridge that separated the plains from the beginning of the mountain range.
“I know it,” Piotr interjected. “It's located quite high up, and the 'ive' below is always 'aging.”
“Exactly,” Kristoff continued. "Rokar isn't stupid. He knows that such a spot is a prime target. He'll anticipate a frontal attack or a trap; they'll kill the prisoners as soon as they see us."
“So we have to make sure they don't see us,” Elsa continued. “Do you have any ideas?”
The other four leaned over the map, deep in thought.
“We could blow up the bridge,” Jared muttered, “but that would cut off our retreat...”
“What's your idea?” Malek asked without looking up from the map.
"We'll go scouting during the day, but there seems to be a ledge around here (she pointed to a spot on the mountainside near the bridge) that holds a lot of snow.”
“We'll ask Camellya to supply us with some sticks of dynamite,” added Kristoff.
The others looked at them as if they had gone mad.
“An avalanche?” Malek exclaimed. “But you're gonna kill them prisoners.”
“If we don't know how to control the dynamite, yes,” Kristoff conceded. “But I've heard you have some experience with it.”
“Well, I must admit that's not entirely untrue,” Malek smiled proudly.
“In that case, the avalanche will be just strong enough to stop the convoy and envelop them in fog for a few moments, but not enough to bury them completely.”
“At that point, Piotr, Jared, and I will rush the cages to free the prisoners,” said Elsa, looking at each of them. “Our priority is their safety. We must neutralize any soldiers or officers who are threatening them.”
“And Emilien and I will attack the soldiers at the rear,” continued Kristoff. Meanwhile, Malek, you'll join us. Once we're all together and the prisoners are freed, we'll escape by following the convoy's tracks in the snow. We're lucky, spring is well underway, the snow is receding; as soon as we reach a patch of grass, we can leave the paths and make our way to Arendelle.”
A silence ensued as the other four thought about it, weighing the pros and cons of the plan.
“Do you 'ealize,” Piotr began slowly, “that the'e a'e dozens of moments when the plan could go w'ong?”
“It's the best we've got,” Kristoff sighed.
“And there's no such thing as zero risk,” Elsa remarked.
Emilien suddenly stood up.
“Sorry, but I’m out. The plan is too risky, and I’m not willing to put my life on the line for people like them.”
“Emilien…” Elsa began, but Kristoff interrupted her by raising his hand.
“If that's your choice, I respect it,” he said simply. “But know that in the future, the Northuldras will remain our allies, and when we have won our fight against the queen, they will live with us in Arendelle.”
“I'll make sure to live far away from them,” replied Emilien, narrowing his eyes.
He turned on his heel and headed for the door, waving goodbye.
“Good luck with your plan, anyway.”
A heavy silence fell after Emilien slammed the door. Kristoff pinched the bridge of his nose, visibly exhausted and deep in thought. He gave Elsa a frustrated look, which she met with unwavering determination.
“The plan has changed. Malek, you climb up to the ledge, place the charge, and trigger the avalanche. I'll go up with you to secure the area and the retreat. As soon as the avalanche hits, we'll go down to support Sparrow's group.”
He pointed to the map, tracing a circle around the bridge.
“This means that the assault team is now smaller. Sparrow, Piotr, Jared: you rush the bridge alone. The avalanche will create a smokescreen, noise, and panic. You use this confusion as planned, but you won't have immediate backup as you did with Emilien.”
“We can do it,” Elsa assured him.
The other two nodded vigorously in agreement.
“Why not ask someone else to take his place?” asked Malek.
"I'm afraid I'd get the same reaction from the other members of the resistance. I'm already happy that the three of you agreed. But Emilien's reaction was to be expected.”
“We need allies, you said so you'self,” Jared said. “If we let them die, we lose all hope of an alliance.”
Kristoff nodded, serious but visibly pleased that his plan and its implications had been understood.
Two days later, on the eve of the rescue mission, a cool night enveloped the resistance hideout. The common room was lit only by a few lanterns, and thick curtains covering the windows prevented anyone outside from seeing any sign of life.
Piotr, Malek, and Jared were chatting quietly at a table while Elsa finished her meal nearby. But Malek threw breadcrumbs at her until she gave in and joined them.
“Come on, Spa''ow,” Piotr smiled. “We''e not going to eat you.”
“Tomorrow is the big day,” Jared said, playing with the crusts of his bread. “Are you ready?”
The other three nodded.
“Still,” he continued, “I find it hard to believe that we're going to use explosives supplied by a noblewoman. Are you sure they'll work?”
“Don't worry,” replied Malek, nudging him. “I checked them before going to set them up with Kristoff this afternoon.” It'll make a nice fireworks display, trust me.”
“I doubt the gua'ds will app'eciate the show for what it's wo'th.”
The three of them burst out laughing. To justify her lack of reaction, Elsa brought a cup of water to her lips and pretended to drink until they calmed down.
“We're kidding, we're kidding,” Malek said more seriously, “but Emilien's absence really hit me hard. I was so happy to teach him a few tricks, I didn't think he would back out just because the people we're going to save are Northuldras. As if it were their fault.”
“Prejudices are hard to forget,” Elsa pointed out. “And hatred towards the Northuldras is much more deeply rooted in Arendelle than one might think.”
“What do you think, Piotr?” Jared asked, turning to him. “We didn't hear from you during the meeting.”
“With my accent?” Piotr asked, surprised. “I'm not f'om A'endelle eithe', so why should I hate these people? I don't see any 'eason to be against this alliance.”
“Well said, old man!” exclaimed Jared, clinking his beer mug against Piotr's.
He laughed heartily, clearly tipsy, before taking a few big gulps.
“Slow down! You need to be in good condition for tomorrow,” Elsa said worriedly.
“This is my way of preparing, Sparrow! Don’t worry, tomorrow I’ll be as sober as a monk.”
They watched Jared empty his mug almost in one gulp. He put it down a little roughly on the table and couldn't hold back a burp.
“Here, a gift for the queen!” he exclaimed, laughing loudly.
“It's strange, though,” Elsa noted. “Tomorrow, we're going to face dozens of soldiers and risk our lives... And yet here we are, drinking and laughing.”
“Especially those two,” Malek teased, pointing at Jared and Piotr.
“That's because we don't know what tomo''ow will b'ing, Spa''ow,” Piotr explained. “So let's enjoy the p'esent moment!”
They talked and laughed for another ten minutes or so, after which they began to take their leave. However, as Elsa headed for the exit, her eyes stinging and already thinking about the cozy bed that awaited her, Malek's voice called out to her from behind.
She turned and saw the young man standing in front of her, avoiding her gaze. He looked... embarrassed?
He took a deep breath and handed her something wrapped in a thin cloth.
“Here, this is for you.”
“What is it?” she asked, approaching him.
“Just take it,” he said impatiently.
She took the object and discovered the Damascus steel dagger that Malek had recovered from the old barracks.
“I was thinking of selling it, but...” Malek began, his cheeks reddening. “I think it will be more useful to you than to me. Think of it as a good luck charm. And it will give you something extra to defend yourself with.”
Malek's gesture touched her in a way she couldn't quite define. She didn't need a good luck charm, but she understood the intention. It was a symbol of her comrades' affection and hope. A hope that, although she couldn't feel it herself, she was now determined to protect.
“Thank you, Malek.”
“You can give it back to me after the mission, when you don't need it anymore!”
He walked past her, resuming his usual arrogant demeanor.
Elsa felt another object slip from the fabric between her fingers. She discovered, against the handle of the dagger, the coin Malek was always playing with.
When she looked up, she saw the young man wink at her and put a finger to his lips briefly, for barely a second.
When they came out, they found that Jared and Piotr had been waiting for them.
“You took your time,” Jared remarked.
“I was finalizing one last detail with Sparrow for the mission,” Malek lied immediately.
“Enough talk about the mission. The only detail we need to worry about right now is getting some sleep.”
Elsa watched them walk down the hallway, all three of them in front of her. For the first time in a long time, she felt like she was truly part of something bigger than herself. More than a team, more than a group of friends.
She belonged to a family.
Chapter Text
I know I was supposed to post this chapter tomorrow, but I was too excited to show it to you, so here it is 😂
Enjoy! 🫶
The next morning, before they left, Elsa and Kristoff insisted on visiting Liv. The young woman had become more docile after the nurse threatened to tie her up to the bed. “You thought Camellya was capable of anything, but that old woman is scary,” she had told them.
She wished them luck with long, long hugs. Kristoff had to clear his throat to get her to let go of Elsa.
“Come back soon,” she said as they headed for the exit. “And in one piece.”
The journey to the bridge was tense and silent. The fresh grass gradually gave way to slush, then an icy crust. The path was barely visible, and they walked in single file behind Kristoff. The sun was high in the sky, blinding on the glistening surface. Noon was approaching.
The bridge finally appeared before them. They crossed the massive, ancient stone arch that crossed a rocky chasm. On either side, steep cliffs plunged into the depths. Below, a raging river roared, its icy water crashing against the rocks with a deafening roar. The drop was easily thirty meters, maybe more.
Elsa looked up at the mountains rising before them, specifically the one to the left of the path. Somewhere up there, Malek and Kristoff had set the explosives the day before, on the ledge invisible from here.
She looked both ways across the bridge, but it was the only crossing over the river for miles around. The convoy would inevitably pass this way.
“Okay, this is where we split up,” Kristoff said, turning to the rest of the group. “Malek and I will climb up to connect the detonator, rappel down to safety, then pull the lever,” he summarized. “After the explosion, we'll join you as quickly as possible.”
He walked away with Malek, who was holding the detonator lever in one hand. He turned, glanced briefly at Elsa, and patted the pocket where he usually kept his coin.
She watched them walk away, their silhouettes climbing up the mountainside until they were nothing more than two dark dots in the snow, and finally disappearing from sight .
“Let's go, too,” she said to Piotr and Jared. “The convoy should be here soon.”
They took up position, crouching behind a pile of rocks that slightly overhung the bridge. From there, they had a clear view of the road the convoy would take. All they had to do now was wait. At her belt, opposite her rapier, Elsa could feel the cold metal of the dagger.
The roar of the river broke the silence, turning into a dull hum in her head. Elsa scanned the horizon, watching for the slightest movement, the slightest sign of the guards approaching.
The minutes stretched out, seemingly endless. Then, in the distance, a cloud of snow rose above the road. Silhouettes gradually took shape.
“Here they come,” Jared whispered.
The convoy advanced slowly. At the front, two horsemen scanned the surroundings suspiciously. Behind them came two heavily laden carriages; Elsa could make out the bars of the cages and, inside, human forms huddled together. Five per cage. Two other horsemen brought up the rear, their weapons clearly visible.
“They have muskets,” Piotr noted. “Luckily, we'll be cove'ed by the snow.”
Elsa felt all her muscles tense.
She saw the first carriage turn onto the stone bridge. The clatter of hooves on the cobblestones echoed in the silence.
Then, suddenly, as soon as it reached the other side, a low rumble shook the mountain.
A white mass hurtled down the rocky slope with a deafening roar, tearing everything in its path. The snow fell in a blinding cloud just as the second carriage crossed the bridge. The convoy disappeared entirely behind a swirling white curtain.
The neighing of frightened horses and the screams of the guards reached them, muffled by the din.
“Now!” Elsa shouted.
They leaped from their hiding place and rushed toward the bridge. Elsa drew her rapier, Malek's dagger in her other hand. The snow fog engulfed them, and she immediately lost sight of Piotr and Jared.
Visibility was zero. Elsa felt her way forward, surrounded by fog so thick you could cut it with a knife. The sounds of chaos surrounded her on all sides: panicked neighing, shouted orders, clashing metal.
A figure loomed in front of her. A guard, disoriented, trying to understand what was happening. She didn't give him time to react and struck him in the face with the pommel of her rapier. The first blow to stun him, the second to knock him out. The man collapsed with a groan.
She continued on, searching for the cages in the fog. A cry caught her attention—sharp, desperate. She rushed in that direction and finally made out the bars of a carriage. An officer, sword raised, was about to stab a prisoner through the bars.
Elsa rushed toward him, nearly slipping on the cobblestones. He turned around, surprised, and narrowly parried the first blow. The rapier struck his guard and slid along the blade. The man threw himself at her and they rolled in the snow. He was heavier than her and ended up on top. Elsa felt the emptiness beneath her head: they were at the edge of the bridge.
He elbowed her in the ribs, and a sharp pain prevented her from breathing. Her eyes misted over, and she felt a gloved hand wrap around her neck. She tried to pull it away, but it was impossible. She put one hand on the man's face to try to push him away, but to no avail. So she dug her fingers into the guard's eyes.
He immediately let go of her with a scream. Elsa struggled to her feet, sputtering and catching her breath. The other man did the same, one hand over his eye, the other still firmly holding his sword. He tried to strike her, but she easily parried the blow.
They now stood there, face to face, blade against blade, metal clanging as they circled each other. She, her short hair tousled by the wind, breathless; he, one hand covering his left eye. Elsa's blade was on the wrong side, pointing outward.
She pinched the hilt of her rapier between her thumb and forefinger, let the blade fall under her opponent's, then brought it up sharply on the inner side. She pushed his blade away with hers and, with a swift movement, plunged the tip into the guard's arm and advanced. He was forced to retreat so that the blade would not sink in completely, and soon found himself at the edge of the bridge.
“No... Please have mercy!” he cried above the roar of the wind.
Unfortunately for him, Elsa was incapable of feeling pity. She withdrew the tip of her rapier, and for a moment, relief flashed across the guard's face.
Then she kicked him hard in the stomach, and he fell into the void.
Completely indifferent to his fading cry, she turned to the cage. She struck the lock with the pommel of her dagger, again and again, until it gave way. Five terrified Northuldras looked at her suspiciously.
“Get out! Join the King of Fools in Arendelle!” Follow the convoy's tracks until there's no more snow!"
They didn't need to be asked twice. They scrambled out of the cage as best they could.
A gunshot rang out, then another. She squinted and saw Jared leading the other five prisoners out while Piotr disarmed a guard and threw the musket into the void.
She saw another guard aiming at her from her left. Too close for her to dodge...
A roar rang out, and Kristoff entered her field of view. The man tried to turn toward him, but the resistance leader had already thrown himself into the fray. The shot missed him by a wide margin, and the guard ended up on the ground, nose bleeding, out of combat.
“Come on, let's get out of here!” Malek exclaimed behind her.
She nodded, still panting, and followed him out of the fog that was beginning to lift.
That's when a man appeared. Blood covered his face and a dagger was stuck in his ribs. A desperate scream distorted his mouth as he threw himself at Malek.
Elsa watched in horror as the two men hung in midair, as if time had stopped. Without thinking, she dropped her weapons and rushed to catch her comrade.
She fell flat on her stomach and managed to grab Malek's wrist at the last second.
The young man's weight pulled her inexorably downward. Her left hand desperately clutched the edge of the bridge, her fingers slipping on the wet stone. Below, the man who had pushed Malek had crashed onto the rocks.
Elsa squeezed Malek's wrist tighter, but her fingers slipped on his snow-wet skin. She tried to pull him up, pulling with all her might, but her own body was approaching the edge.
“Sparrow... Let go of me.”
“No... No!” she exclaimed.
Yet she knew it was the only rational thing to do. The others were still fleeing into the fog, and if she persisted, they would both be swept into the void. They were alone. She had to let go of him to survive.
Yet something inside her refused, against all logic.
“You won't be able to pull me up. My hands are slipping...”
“Then hold on tighter!” she cried.
With every passing second, her grip became more precarious. He shook his head, a grimace of pain crossing his face as he tried to pull himself up. It was a futile effort. His fingers slipped further from Elsa's.
“It's over, Sparrow. We both know it.”
He met her gaze, and Elsa saw that he had already made his decision. His eyes had the determination of someone who had accepted death.
“Go, and save them. The future of Arendelle depends on it.”
“Malek...”
“But I have one last question, Sparrow,” he growled between gasps. “Your name, your real name... What is it?”
Elsa felt something tighten in her chest. Even now, even here, she was afraid. But he deserved to know.
“Elsa... My name is Elsa,” she whispered.
She saw him digest the information, his eyes widening slightly. Then he was shaken by a brief laugh that made him slide a little further.
“Princess Elsa? With us, against her own sister?”
“Yes.”
“You've surprised me right to the end,” he scoffed with a smirk. “No matter what your name is, in the end you'll always be our Sparrow.”
His grip slipped again. Elsa could feel her heart beating in her temples, but it wasn't because of panic or sadness. No, it was simply because of the effort she was making to hold on.
With difficulty, she managed to pull the coin Malek had given her the day before out of her pocket and slipped it into the young man's hand, who managed to grasp it with his fingertips. He closed his fist around the polished gold.
“Take your fortune,” she whispered. “Take it with you to paradise.”
“Thank you, Elsa... Fly with your own wings, little sparrow.”
Her hand let go. Completely frozen, she watched Malek close his eyes, his eternal smile on his lips, before disappearing into the swirling waves between the rocks.
Elsa stood there, her hand outstretched into the void, staring at the white foam below. Then, slowly, she turned her back to the ground, one arm over her eyes.
“I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry...”
She didn't know how long she repeated those words. The world was nothing but a gray fog around her.
A hand pushed her arm away, and Kristoff's face appeared, strangely blurred. He shouted something at her as he placed a rapier and a Damascus steel dagger in her arms. She couldn't hear a single word he said and stood there staring at him for several seconds.
Suddenly, as if someone had flipped a switch, all the sounds reached her ears.
“Sparrow, we have to go. Now!”
She reached out and grabbed Kristoff's outstretched hand, holding her weapons close to her chest.
The fog had dangerously descended, and they didn't have much time left to escape. Elsa nodded, signaling to her friend that she could run, and they fled, following the tracks left by the convoy.
They left the trails as soon as they crossed the edge of the slush. The ground became muddy again and littered with dead leaves. After running for several long minutes, Kristoff ordered them to stop in the shade of an oak tree.
They took the opportunity to catch their breath and make sure they weren't being followed. Elsa looked Piotr and Jared over: they were covered in bruises and minor wounds, but they seemed unharmed. The young woman leaned against the bark of the leaning trunk and let herself fall to the ground.
Her gaze fell on a small robin perched on a branch. It stared at her for a moment, chirping softly, and shook itself.
Then it spread its wings and flew away, carrying its song with it.
Chapter Text
Thank you all for your kind comments, I'm so glad you like the story!
I hope you enjoy this new chapter too 😊
The resistance headquarters had never felt so gloomy. The rooms seemed smaller than usual, whispered conversations echoed off the walls of the corridors, and when laughter arose, it sounded so strange, so stifled, that it quickly died away.
In the common room, the highest windows, the ones that no one could see through, let in the sun, whose rays grew warmer with each passing day. Yet a cold mist had enveloped the hideout.
Elsa was leaning against the doorframe, staring absently at the few members present in the room. Some were whispering a few words, others had sat down at a table and were absentmindedly twirling their glasses in their hands. In a corner, Jared and Piotr were drinking slowly, despite the early hour, glancing at the seat that Malek had occupied less than twenty-four hours earlier.
Emilien had his face buried in his arms, slumped on a table. Elsa remembered that he was close to Malek, who was like a mentor to the apprentice thief. The blond man raised his head, and for the first time, she could see his eyes beneath his curly locks. They were dark, reddened from held-back tears.
“There weren't enough of you,” he said, staring at his hands.
He spoke in a calm tone, but in the quiet atmosphere of the hideout, it sounded like he was shouting.
“You should have taken someone else with you.”
“You were supposed to come,” Jared reminded him in a loud, sharp voice. “But you backed out.”
Emilien glared at him.
“To free some Northuldras? That mission... No, this whole alliance is a mistake. Kristoff’s idealism just cost Malek his life. Who knows how many of us will die in the future because of these savages? People who aren’t even worth dirtying our clothes...”
“Shut up, Emilien!” Jared shouted.
He stood up so abruptly that he staggered and his chair nearly fell over. Piotr tried to intervene as best he could, despite the difference in size.
“He died fighting for what he believed in! To give Arendelle a future, free from prejudice and people like... like you!”
“Like me?”
“People controlled by hatred! You're no different from the queen!”
“Say that again!” Emilien yelled, rising from the bench.
“That's enough,” a tired voice intervened.
Elsa jumped. She turned and backed away into the room.
Kristoff entered, his features drawn, dark circles under his eyes. He looked at the two men who were ready to fight.
“Jared is right,” he said. “Malek died for his ideals. If you were truly his friend, that's what you would remember to honor his memory.”
Emilien stared at him. A thick silence fell over the room, where no one dared to move or even breathe.
Finally, he walked towards Kristoff. Everyone held their breath, expecting him to hit him. The leader of the resistance did not flinch as he watched him approach. But Emilien simply gave him a shove with his shoulder as he left the room.
The seconds stretched out as the few people present tried to process what had just happened. Then Jared slowly sat back down, and Kristoff sighed.
“I need to be alone,” he whispered before leaving.
Elsa glanced around the room. Everything was back to the way it had been before Emilien spoke. Elsa took a step toward Jared and Piotr's table before stopping.
What could she possibly say to them? She felt nothing. She could only observe their grief and pain without understanding it. If she tried to comfort them, her words would sound hollow, and the two men would probably take it as an insult to them and to Malek's memory.
So she changed her mind and left the common room, looking for Kristoff.
She found him in the training room. The room smelled of leather and sweat, and the silence was broken only by repeated thuds.
Kristoff was hammering away at an old punching bag hanging from a beam. His breath was wheezing, and his fists were striking relentlessly. His knuckles were already bloody.
Elsa approached slowly, almost fearfully—if she could have been fearful.
“Kristoff...”
What could she possibly say to him? Perhaps what she really thought, what she had been mulling over all night.
“I'm sorry... I should have tried to pull him up. If I could have seen that guard before he jumped on him... I could have prevented this. It's my fault that—”
“No.”
The sound of the blow echoed throughout the room. The bag spun around under the force of the impact, the chain holding it in place creaking dangerously.
Elsa remained silent.
“It's my fault. He was my responsibility. I was the one who decided on this alliance, I was the one who chose him for this mission...”
“He agreed to do it,” Elsa pointed out. “He could have let us down like Emilien did.”
Kristoff turned to her, a sad smile on his lips.
“Do you think Emilien is right?”
Elsa raised an eyebrow.
“To blame the Northuldras?” she asked. “That's stupid and completely irrational.”
“As can be someone who has just lost his best friend,” Kristoff nodded gravely. “It's the pain of his grief that's coming out.”
Elsa watched him for a moment as he tried to catch his breath. Her eyes lingered on his bloodied hands. She walked over to a small cupboard in the corner of the room and took out some bandages and some slightly dried disinfectant.
“Let me see your hands,” she said softly as she returned to her friend.
He looked at her, taken aback, before holding them out to her. She began to clean his knuckles before bandaging them, as he had done with her palm wound a few days earlier.
A silence fell between them. Elsa wanted to ask him a question, but it seemed so stupid... She held back, but the words finally slipped out despite herself.
“How do you grieve?”
Kristoff looked up at her, surprised by her question, before remembering their discussion after the visit to the Court of Fools. Sparrow felt nothing. No feelings. Pity tugged at his heart; Sparrow's condition was a real curse in this situation.
“Grieving...” he pondered. “It's not something you do. It's... a weight you carry. It's a weight on your shoulders, but mostly in your heart. It prevents you from breathing, plunges you into a sickening whirlwind for weeks, months, years; even your whole life. We would like the whole world to stop turning so that it could be as tormented as we are, but we realize that it continues to turn, tirelessly, even with this emptiness. When you realize that you will never hear that person's voice again. That you will never be able to look into their eyes again. Never see them smile again. When you miss their expressions, their gestures, their habits, even the most annoying ones. You remember all of this, and it makes you suffer, but at the same time it warms your heart, because these memories keep that person alive within you. Some people believe that they are watching over us from heaven. Or from the stars. So you remember, as much as you can, even if it's painful, because remembering also means cherishing those precious moments you shared. The weight of grief never goes away, you can't "get better". But you find a place for it to be a part of you, and you learn to live with it.”
Elsa, who had been listening attentively, suddenly pretended to be very interested in the bandages she was finishing wrapping. This gave Kristoff enough time to wipe his eyes.
“That looks awful,” she finally whispered.
She had finished healing her friend. She was thinking about his words, and at the same time, fragments of memories were coming back to her. Her mother's voice singing her a lullaby, her father's laughter as Elsa imitated his mustache. The loud voices of a close-knit family playing in the snow. Despite her best efforts, she realized that her parents' faces remained blurry. She was unable to remember them.
“When my parents died, many criticized my lack of reaction,” she explained. “Others took it as a blessing, since I am unable to feel pain. However...”
Her voice trembled inexplicably. She frowned. She felt perfectly calm, though. How could it be otherwise?
“However,” she continued, “every time I visited their grave with my sister, I wished for it. I wished to feel pain, even if only a little. I felt like I was dishonoring their memory by being unable to do so.”
Kristoff took her hand in his and patted it. She could feel his trembling, surely due to the pain of hitting the bag.
“You're not dishonoring their memory, Sparrow,” he replied in a voice that was strangely soft for him. “Everyone expresses their grief differently. Emilien through anger. I express mine by hitting this bag. You'll find your own way. He gave you a dagger, didn't he?”
Elsa nodded and drew the Damascus steel dagger she kept at her belt.
“Then keep it. Learn to use it with your rapier. That way, Malek will still be fighting with us a little longer. Your grief may not be sentimental, Sparrow, but it can be expressed through your actions. Whether it's for Malek or your parents, honor them by continuing their fight. By believing in what they believed in.”
Elsa smiled at him, and he smiled back. He pulled her into an embrace, patting her shoulder.
“Thank you,” she whispered against him. “Thank you.”
The weeks had passed at a strange pace; the days dragged on slowly, stretching out almost painfully, yet the month had gone by too quickly for Elsa's liking. As Kristoff had said, the resistance had learned to live with grief—it wasn't the first comrade to die for most of them—and life had returned to normal.
They had received a letter from the King of Fools informing them that the ten prisoners had arrived safely at his court. He offered to meet with Kristoff and Sparrow whenever they wished, and deplored the loss of Malek. Some members of the resistance reacted bitterly to this last part. But for many, Malek's loss had reminded them of the fragility of the resistance and the necessity of this alliance.
Elsa threw herself into training with renewed intensity. Every day, she could be found in the training room, her rapier in one hand and her Damascus dagger in the other. The two weapons danced together in a deadly ballet that she perfected day after day. The rapier for range and elegance, the dagger for close range and unexpected ripostes. She was now able to disarm or knock down her opponents almost every time.
Piotr and Jared accompanied Elsa during her training sessions and the few missions Kristoff entrusted to them.
As for Emilien, he had eventually disappeared. One morning, his bed was empty and his belongings gone. No one knew if he had left of his own accord or if something darker had happened to him. Kristoff had sent a few men to look for him, without much conviction, but to no avail. The young blond thief had vanished into the streets of Arendelle.
One morning, as she finished her practice routine and helped Jared up, Elsa heard excited voices echoing through the shelter's lobby. Footsteps approached, and Piotr threw open the door, a broad smile on his face.
“She's he'e!”
Elsa looked up abruptly. She didn't need to ask who it was. She quickly holstered her weapons and rushed out of the room.
When she entered the lobby, she found a small crowd gathered at the front door. There, arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe with almost insolent pride, stood Liv.
Her cheeks had regained some color, and a stiffness in her posture betrayed a recently healed injury. She was wearing high boots and tight black pants that contrasted with a light white shirt. Its loose sleeves were tightened at the forearms by large buttons, and thin leather gloves covered the rest of her skin. Finally, the ensemble was enhanced by a wide dark belt around her waist, with a small black cape falling behind her legs.
“Calm down, calm down!” she laughed, raising her hands as several members crowded around her to welcome her. “I'm fine, I assure you. I had to fight with the nurse, but she finally let me out...”
Her voice was drowned out by exclamations of joy, laughter, and questions. Liv's gaze scanned the crowd until it settled on Elsa, who had stopped a few steps away.
Without a word of apology to those around her, Liv pushed through the crowd and came to stand in front of Elsa.
“Sparrow!” she cried with relief.
She pulled her into her arms and buried her face in Elsa's shoulder, hugging her tightly—not as tightly as she probably would have liked, her injury still limiting her. Her fingers clung to the back of Elsa's tunic as if she feared she would disappear if she let go.
Over her shoulder, she saw the members of the resistance exchanging smiles and amused glances.
“Welcome back,” the blonde whispered in her ear.
Liv was shaken by a small laugh that quickly choked off.
“Don't make me laugh, the scar still hurts...” she gasped.
She tightened her grip for a split second before releasing it. She kept her hands on Elsa's arms, holding on to them like an anchor.
“Liv!” Kristoff finally intervened, having approached them, with a mixture of amusement and feigned indignation in his voice. “Aren't you even going to say hello to your best friend?”
Liv turned to him, and a mischievous smile spread across her face. She raised a hand and waved at her friend, wiggling her fingers like a child, with revolting nonchalance, and immediately turned her attention back to Elsa.
Kristoff rolled his eyes with an exaggerated sigh.
“I give up,” he muttered, but a smile played on his lips.
Liv superbly ignored his comment. Her eyes scanned Elsa's face intently.
“Are you okay, little Sparrow?”
“I should be asking you that,” Elsa replied.
“After spending a month stuck in bed, I'm really happy to be able to use my legs again.”
“Knowing you, you probably got up in the middle of the night to punch your pillows.”
Liv put a finger to her lips and winked. “It's a secret!”
She finally let go of Elsa and walked over to Kristoff, who had been watching their exchange with a fake sulky expression.
“I'm just teasing you, you big oaf!” exclaimed Liv. “Come here!”
She hugged him, albeit more briefly than Elsa, her arms barely reaching around Kristoff. He burst out laughing and briefly lifted Liv as if she weighed no more than a feather. The young woman cried out in surprise and burst out laughing—before immediately starting to cough.
Kristoff instantly set her back down with a worried look.
“It's nothing,” Liv reassured him. “Like I was saying, the scar...”
Then she motioned for Elsa to come closer.
“Okay, you two, tell me what happened. I want to know everything!”
They had gathered around the round table in the meeting room. Kristoff spoke first, summarizing the events in a tense voice: the first contact with the King of Fools, the mission to rescue the Northuldras, the ambush, Malek's death. Elsa added technical details about the mission's progress and recounted her perspective on Malek's death, as she had done before the resistance upon their return to base. She again omitted the moment when he had asked her for her real name.
When she recounted the moment Malek's body disappeared into the river's eddies, she felt Liv's hand rest on her arm. She knew Elsa couldn't feel anything, but she couldn't help making a gesture to comfort her.
Then Kristoff quickly mentioned Emilien's disappearance and, on a more positive note, the letter from the Mad King confirming that the prisoners were safe and sound, and his invitation to meet him again.
“I'd be curious to meet him,” Liv interjected. “Sparrow was right, I'm all for this alliance. You did the right thing.”
“In fact, we had something in mind,” Elsa added.
“As you know, we recovered some compromising correspondence from the queen,” Kristoff explained.
He looked at Liv apprehensively as he brought up this sensitive subject; these letters revealed the reason behind his father's death. But the young woman did not react.
“If we play this card skillfully,” he hastened to continue, “we could cause a scandal among the nobles.”
“But no one will believe people from the lower quarters,” Liv remarked.
“No, indeed,” Elsa conceded. “But the Northuldras have a large network, both underground and among the nobility. Some of them were working for important families before they ran away.”
“We could consult the King of Fools, who surely knows which family will have the most influence for the result we're looking for,” Kristoff added. “We need a family powerful enough to challenge Anna, but idealistic enough not to sell the letters in exchange for a place at court.”
“So you want to consult the King of Fools to find out which family to give the Queen's letters to, spread a scandal, and cause a riot throughout the city?” Liv summarized.
“Exactly.”
The young woman thought for a moment.
“I'm in. I want to be part of anything that could bring down queen Anna, whether directly or indirectly.”
That same evening, the trio walked through the same winding tunnels as last time, guided by another Northuldra; this time, a woman with a prominent nose and bony fingers who must have been Elsa's age.
They emerged once again into the huge gallery that housed the Northuldra village, and Kristoff let out a small, satisfied chuckle at Liv's exclamation of surprise.
“My friends!” exclaimed the King of Fools when he saw them approaching.
He came down with his arms outstretched, a playful, friendly smile on his lips. He shook hands with all three of them, surprising Elsa with the strength of his grip.
“Come, come, come closer.”
He motioned for them to follow him. He returned to sit on his throne under the stretched canvas, near which three wooden stools had been placed. They were quite dilapidated but surprisingly comfortable.
“You have kept your word,” began the King, “and thus become allies of the Court of Fools and every Northuldra. As promised, we give you our loyalty and all that our people can offer in return.”
“Thank you,” replied Kristoff gratefully. “That loyalty came at a high price...”
“I have heard about it,” the King nodded gravely. “Those you freed have told me about your mission in detail, and how you lost one of your own. What was his name?”
“Malek.”
“Then, if you will allow me, I would like to recite a poem in his honor. I hope you will enjoy my words.”
Kristoff looked at the other two in surprise, but the King of Fools did not wait for his response. Reclining on his throne, he recited:
"O Freedom, passionate lover,
The caress of your bare skin
Gives us a glimpse of a thousand promises
Of love and beauty that drown us in ecstasy.
In his embrace, Malek, distraught,
Kissed the lips of her virtue.
But jealous of this proud lover,
Another man fatally confronted him.
But did he not know that she embraces those
Who burn with fire for her?
Thus, she welcomed Malek, embraced him with love,
While her enemies, never may see a new day."
Applause rang out all around, which the King of Fools acknowledged with a wave. Liv and Kristoff joined the others, and Elsa followed suit two seconds later. She didn't really understand what the poem meant; perhaps it was some kind of tribute from the King. Thinking back to Kristoff's words, she wondered if this was his way of mourning. But he had never known Malek, so why would he be grieving?
“Thank you,” Kristoff finally said. “That was beautiful, and he would have loved it.”
The King nodded with a small smile. Then his eyes fell on Liv, who held his gaze.
“You must be de Rùna's daughter,” he said. “The same fire burns in your eyes.”
“Did you know my father?” asked Liv, stunned.
“I saw him many years ago, when he was negotiating peace with our chief. You look a lot like him.”
“I... Thank you.”
Liv looked completely thrown off balance by this display of kindness from the King. Seizing the opportunity, Elsa added:
“Actually, we came to see you to ask you something. Something to do with Liv's father.”
“Ohoh!” exclaimed the King of Fools, resuming his nonchalant air. “Tell me everything.”
Kristoff glanced at Elsa and Liv, who both nodded. He took a bundle of letters out of his coat.
“We are in possession of several letters. They are correspondence between Queen Anna and Prince Hans of the Southern Isles. They date back several years, before Anna ascended the throne, and reveal...”
He looked at Liv apprehensively. The young woman nodded again, her face impassive, but her cheeks had turned pale.
“Yes?” pressed the King.
“They reveal that Anna orchestrated the death of her own parents to seize the throne. And that Liv's father had discovered this. That is why she had him murdered.”
The silence that followed was absolute. Even the court surrounding them held its breath, stunned.
The King of Fools' face instantly lost its amused expression. His eyes narrowed. He slowly sat up straight on his throne, his face becoming an impenetrable mask, all traces of his usual eccentricity gone.
“May I see them?”
Kristoff stepped forward to give them to him. The King's eyes ran over the lines, and Elsa watched his face harden as he read. His jaw clenched and his fingers tightened on the paper.
“Everything has been planned with him: from the destruction of the ship, leaving no wreckage or survivors,” he read in an icy tone. “According to your instructions, it will never reach Arendelle”... “that he dared to threaten to denounce you is unacceptable”...
He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. Elsa was surprised to see that all traces of madness had disappeared from his gaze. The man staring at them now was perfectly lucid. Lucid and full of anger.
“Tell me,” he said, “what you want to do with these letters, and we'll help you.”
“We want to make them public,” replied Elsa. “But intelligently. No one will believe the resistance if we brandish them ourselves. We'll be accused of falsifying them, of lying to tarnish the queen's image.”
“But you,” continued Kristoff, “you know the noble families of Arendelle. Their networks, their influences, their power games. You are capable of finding the one who will spread these rumors before placarding the letters. The one who would not sell the opportunity to bring justice in exchange for a place at the royal court.”
The King of Fools thought about it.
“The nobles and the court are all fine words and manipulation. They live for recognition, fighting to prove the superiority of their blood. You will need someone who doesn't care about any of that. Someone who is admired as much as they are envied, who is welcomed but also hated. Someone who is respected out of courtesy, but who is influential enough that their word carries weight.”
A crazy gleam now lit up his eyes. The King of Fools had regained his eccentricity.
“I know such a person, and so do you.”
Liv let out a surprised “Oh!” The others turned to her, who had apparently just realized who the King was talking about.
“You mean...,” she whispered.
“Lady Camellya of Vellthorne.”
Chapter Text
I've been feeling a bit down lately, so writing has been a little difficult. But don't worry, I still have two more chapters ready to post!
Thank you again for all your kind words, I really love reading your reactions and theories! This chapter and the next are the ones I enjoyed writing the most, and I can't wait to see what you think! 🫶
Two days later, at dawn, as the patrols were being shifted, two figures made their way toward the Vellthorne orphanage. Hidden in the darkness, they glided like shadows, and the doors opened silently.
Despite the early hour, a few children—the older ones—were already in the courtyard. They let out cries of joy when they saw Liv arrive, and she ruffled each of their hair. Seeing Elsa's gaze, the young woman felt compelled to explain:
What? I had to keep myself busy before the nurse let me out. I played a little hide-and-seek with the little ones, and I taught the older ones the basics of self-defense... Stop making fun of me.
I'm not making fun of you, Elsa replied. “I just didn't imagine you playing with children, that's all. But now that you mention it, you're so similar, so... candid.”
Liv nudged her, sticking out her tongue. Then she turned to the children and asked them if Camellya was in her office, which they confirmed. So they took their leave and knocked on the office door. A sleepy voice invited them in.
The King of Fools had warned her of their arrival, of course, which explained why the noblewoman was already awake. Sitting behind her desk, still wrapped in her thick red robe, she invited them to sit down.
Elsa took out the bundle of letters and placed it on the desk between them. For a long moment, no one spoke. Then Camellya reached out, picked up the first letter, and began to read.
Her face betrayed nothing. No surprise, anger, or disgust. Just absolute concentration. She read the first letter in its entirety. Then the second. Then the third.
Liv looked away toward the window, unable to bear the oppressive silence. Elsa, meanwhile, watched Camellya closely, trying to read her face.
Finally, she placed the letter back on top of the other two. Her hands weren't shaking, her face was almost impassive, except for her clenched jaw and flushed cheeks beneath her makeup. She listened patiently as Elsa explained the resistance plan, then took several long minutes to think it over.
Liv got up to look out the window at the courtyard. The children were rehearsing the gestures she had taught them, which brought a smile to her face.
Camellya accepted. But the resistance would have to be patient: such a plan could not be executed in a matter of days. She would have to use her network and influence at court sparingly. Elsa nodded, in complete agreement with the noblewoman, but Liv turned to her with a frown.
“You mustn't come back here,” added Camellya, accompanying them to the door. “The guard patrols are increasing, and if you're seen too often at the orphanage, I'll be asked questions. The King of Fools will contact me if necessary.”
Nothing happened during the first week.
The resistance resumed its usual routine: a few reconnaissance missions, monitoring the movements of the guards, nighttime meetings where strategies were discussed and news that never came was awaited.
Kristoff would pace the meeting room, glancing frequently toward the entrance as if he expected a messenger to appear at any moment.
“It takes time,” Jared would remind him regularly. “These things don't happen overnight.”
“I know,” Kristoff would reply. “But every day that passes is another day Anna could find out we have the letters.”
Elsa didn't really understand this impatience. The plan was in motion. Camellya would do what she said she would do. The rest was beyond their control, and worrying wouldn't change anything.
But she could see that the others didn't work that way.
In the second week, a messenger arrived with a letter from the King of Fools. He explained that some Northuldras had overheard rumors while passing by the noble gardens. People were beginning to talk anxiously about the agreement with the Southern Islands, wondering why the Queen had not been seen for over a month. Reports from resistance scouts corroborated this information.
“It's a start,” Liv commented cautiously as the week drew to a close.
The third week proved her right: it was a start, certainly, but a very slow one. Much slower than expected by Kristoff, who was increasingly seen pacing back and forth in the meeting room. Every time someone entered, he would turn his head sharply in their direction, no doubt hoping to hear the news he was eagerly awaiting.
“Why isn't it working?” he exclaimed angrily one evening as Elsa and Liv entered the room.
“The nobles are talking to each other,” Liv replied softly, trying to reassure him. “Camellya has to take the time to make sure she gives the information to the right families, and from there, they calculate what they have to gain or lose. They won't revolt out of indignation, to avenge Agnarr and Iduna, but out of self-interest.”
“It's taking too long,” Kristoff grumbled as he sat down.
His fingers tapped nervously on the edge of the round table.
“You're used to quick-hit operations,” Elsa reminded him. “But this kind of revolt takes time, a lot of time, before it breaks out.”
“So what do we do?”
“We wait,” Elsa concluded simply. “We've thrown a stone into a vast pond, and we have to wait for the ripples to spread.”
Liv sat down opposite Kristoff with a sigh.
“There's one thing I agree with them about,” she commented, lost in thought. “The queen's absence is strange.”
“We haven't seen her since the funeral,” Kristoff remarked. “Do you think something has happened to her?”
“Possibly. But her absence is really worrying. Her shadow hangs over Arendelle, I feel like she's present everywhere I go...”
“Me too. At least when she showed herself, we knew exactly where she was. Now... it's like she's everywhere.”
Elsa said nothing. She put a hand to her heart. What if she was wrong? What if something really had happened to Anna, but she was truly incapable of feeling it?
She, who could feel nothing, nevertheless sensed this collective tension, between heavy anticipation and invisible threat.
The emptiness. The calm. The silence. How long had it been since she had experienced this? It was so pleasant.
Serenity, at last.
Her senses had become so heightened that she was acutely aware of every sensation in her body. The tingling in her fingertips. The warmth of her closed eyelids. Her deep breathing, her muscles relaxing with each exhalation. The sensation of floating, of falling slowly, as if she weighed less than a feather.
She felt so good. Nothing was stopping her from staying here forever.
But who would protect Arendelle without you?
She opened her eyes, a simple movement that seemed to take years. But all around her was opaque blackness. Arendelle would do just fine without her. She no longer needed to worry about the prophecy, about her place on the throne. She would close her eyes again, and she would be reunited with her father, her mother, her sister. Her family, whom she missed so much.
So you give up. You condemn your parents' kingdom to sink with you.
A red glow shone above her, far, far above her head, blurred as if the young woman were submerged in water and watching the light on the surface. The ripples stretched as far as the eye could see, but everything below remained shrouded in darkness.
The people are divided. They lack faith in you. While you lounge around, chaos grows. The threat of the prophecy will take advantage of this, and you do nothing.
What did she care? She would just let herself fall forever, never to wake up. Let them deal with this prophecy.
It will come from the mountains and destroy everything. The city, your legacy, your parents' legacy. Evil has already begun to eat away at Elsa's memory. Remember what they did at her funeral.
She frowned. She felt her fall stop. She expected the warmth of rest, but she was surrounded only by an icy sensation. She floated on the surface of cold water, watching the glow in front of her become more and more flamboyant. It was now the size of a sun.
They spread panic. Spilled blood. Defiled your sister's memory. And you, coward that you are, you're going to let them go unpunished.
She wasn't a coward. Just tired.
They will reduce Arendelle to ashes. Knock down the menhirs, profane the graves, burn the last vestiges of your family.
And what could she do about it?
You have the means and the power to stop them. All you lack is determination. You can do what is necessary. The counselors whispered the solution to you, but you were too afraid to listen to them.
No, she wasn't afraid. She was only thinking of Elsa, of what she would say. There had to be other ways...
Elsa is gone. Because of you. You failed to make the right decisions in time. But you can still rectify your mistakes. You can correct them, correct their disobedience...
The red sun grew larger and larger, threatening to overwhelm her. It gave off such intense heat that she felt her skin melting. And yet, compared to the cold of the waters in which she was floating, it wasn't so unpleasant.
The sun was right. The flames were right. She couldn't afford to give up. She had already lost so much, she couldn't let those sacrifices be in vain. She would only find peace when the threat of the prophecy was destroyed.
And all her enemies were reduced to ashes.
Wake up.
Anna opened her eyes.
She was lying on her bed, her muscles sore and numb. A throbbing pain pierced her skull beneath the bandages. The blurred figures of the medical team rushed around her, but she paid no attention.
“Rokar,” she ordered in a weak, hoarse voice. “Bring me Rokar.”
The Captain was called, and a few minutes later, he found his Queen sitting up in bed, pushing away a nurse who was insisting she eat her soup. He rushed to the bedside and knelt down.
“My Queen,” he whispered with restrained emotion. “I am so glad to see you awake. In your absence, I made sure that the Council remained at your command and that your word was respected— ”
“Rokar,” Anna interrupted him. “You did well. But I was too weak. Too merciful. They dared to attack me and, worse still, to defile my sister’s memory.”
Her eyes glowed with a bright orange light that he had never seen before. The room was bathed in stifling heat, the flames in the hearth abnormally high. Even the Queen's voice seemed distorted, deeper, more gravelly than in the Captain's memories. But he attributed that to her recent awakening.
Anna pointed to the city outside the window.
“I want them to learn what fear means. What it costs to attack me and my family. Gather the Council and tell them that I approve of the measure they so desired.”
“My Queen?” whispered Rokar.
“Tell them I authorize the Purge.”
The town square was overcrowded. Elsa, Kristoff, and Liv had to elbow their way through to try to reach the bulletin board, but it was a lost cause. They were in the middle of a dense, impenetrable sea of bodies.
Some, like Kristoff, raised their heads to try to see over the others.
“Well?” asked Liv.
“Can't read it from here,” he replied, shaking his head.
Liv sighed loudly.
“I wonder what all the fuss is about.”
“Want me to carry you on my shoulders?” Kristoff teased.
“No, I'm fine.”
“People seem worried,” Elsa observed.
She looked at the faces around them. Fear and confusion mingled on most of them. Others showed joy and relief. Two young men exchanged glances and immediately disappeared into the crowd, vanishing as quickly as possible.
Opposite them, on the other side of the royal bridge, the magical fire had reignited with a vengeance. Its blaze was higher, more intense, more threatening than ever. The mere sight of it made Kristoff and Liv tremble, and even Elsa reflexively buried her head in her shoulders.
Then, rising above the anxious hubbub, a loud voice rang out.
“People of Arendelle! All those who have not been able to read the royal decree, listen to me!”
To their left, perched on a wooden platform, a town crier held a megaphone in one hand and an unrolled scroll in the other. A relative silence fell over the crowd, but the man still brought his brass instrument to his lips to amplify his voice.
“By order of Her Majesty Queen Anna of Arendelle, a state of emergency is hereby declared. The following measures shall take effect immediately upon this proclamation:
Firstly:
The Royal Guard will be immediately doubled in size. A new regiment will be formed, and its soldiers, known as ‘Executors’, will be selected and placed under the direct command of Captain Rokar.
Secondly:
Any individual whose loyalty to the Crown is deemed uncertain or suspect shall be placed in preventive detention. These interrogations are necessary to maintain public order and identify any threats to the stability of the Kingdom.
Thirdly:
The Executors are granted the absolute right to proceed, without prior approval, with the arrest, trial, and execution of sentences against any citizen suspected or found guilty of active or passive support for dissident groups.
Fourthly:
Every subject of the Crown is called upon to be vigilant. It is the duty of all to cooperate with the Executors, to report any person deemed suspicious to them, and to denounce any form of connection with or participation in dangerous organizations.”
The man had to raise his voice despite his megaphone, for a veritable uproar was now shaking the assembly.
“These measures will be lifted when Her Majesty Queen Anna of Arendelle deems that order and security have been restored to the kingdom,” he continued. “Let justice reign! Glory to Queen Anna!”
“Glory to Queen Anna!” repeated many voices in the crowd.
The town crier rolled up the parchment and stepped down from the platform, ignoring the questions and protests that erupted from all sides. Liv let out a curse.
Then, from the top of the town bell tower, a bell began to toll slowly and heavily, like a funeral bell, marking the immediate enforcement of the decree.
Kristoff turned to Elsa and Liv, his face pale.
“We have to go. Now.”
He discreetly pointed to the edge of the square. Armored guards were beginning to deploy, forming a line that slowly encircled the crowd.
“They're going to start checking identities,” Elsa whispered. “Looking for suspicious faces.”
“And we're among them,” Liv concluded bitterly.
They melted into the mass of people leaving the square, mingling with ordinary citizens returning home. Behind them, guards had already seized several people and were dragging them roughly across the castle bridge by their broken arms.
The bell fell silent, but its echo seemed to linger in the air for a long time.
They left the stream of citizens hurrying home and found themselves in the alleys of the slums. They suddenly seemed narrower, darker, more oppressive.
“Anna's back,” Kristoff whispered. “I can't believe it... She dared to set up... It's inhuman...”
“Maybe it will give Camellya's plan a boost and move it forward,” Liv ventured hopefully.
Neither of the other two responded. They knew very well that this was now misplaced optimism. Almost naive. This decree nipped any attempt at rebellion in the bud.
Anna paced back and forth across her apartments, her eyes scanning with satisfaction the first reports from the Executors' Regiment. In just a few days, they had proven themselves to be formidably effective; soon, the prisoners would have to be transferred to the fortress in the mountains.
This trash is starting to pile up too much in the dungeons beneath your feet.
Despite her apparent calm, the Queen had felt anger boiling in her veins since she woke up. When things didn't go her way, she felt a dull sensation, almost like a migraine, behind her eye. But today, that anger was like a melodious song in her ears, spreading intense pleasure throughout her body.
They will finally pay for everything they have done.
Through the window, she could see the city emitting wisps of smoke in certain places. Flames were shooting out of a house in the distance. A sigh of pleasure escaped the Queen's lips at this sight.
One less traitor in my kingdom.
There was a knock at her door. She turned and saw Rokar enter the room, immediately turning red in the stifling heat. He looked nervous. Yet Anna was very happy with him: he had remained loyal to her during her long sleep, and now showed unparalleled zeal at the head of the Executors.
“My Queen,” he bowed.
“What do you want, Rokar?” she barked curtly.
The Captain cowered, clearly unaccustomed to the Queen's harsh voice. His eyes darted around the room, never settling on one spot for more than a few seconds, deliberately avoiding Anna.
His behavior quickly exasperated the Queen.
“I have something to tell you...” he whispered.
“What is it? Come on, speak!” she cried.
He took several steps back and swallowed hard. She felt as if he were about to declare his own death sentence.
“I... I have something to confess... About Princess Elsa.”
Chapter Text
Someone on FFN pointed out that Kristoff accidentally called Elsa by her real name instead of Sparrow in the chapter 21! It's fixed now! 😰
In barely a week, Arendelle had become unrecognizable.
The magical blaze rising from the castle had become a constant and oppressive presence. It was tearing through the sky like a vertical scar, and around it heavy black clouds were slowly swirling, sometimes streaked with lightnings of heat. Thick ash rained down, covering the rooftops and cobblestones.
The flames were reflected everywhere: on the facades, the windows, in every puddle. Wherever you were, the feeling that the castle towered over you weighed heavily on the back of your neck. That its motionless presence followed your every move, even when sheltered from its purplish-orange light. During the executions, some swore they heard a sigh, an exclamation of pleasure, escape from the blaze, which intensified on the occasion.
The city had forgotten the color of the sun.
The streets, already sparsely frequented since Anna's coronation, were now deserted after nightfall. A heavy silence had replaced the hubbub of the market square, broken only by the clatter of metal boots on the cobblestones. A regular sound. Threatening. Inevitable.
The Executors patrolled in small groups, weapons drawn. The mere sight of their black armor with red crests was enough to make one's blood run cold. They stopped in front of random houses and entered without a word. Sometimes they came out alone, sometimes they dragged someone behind them. A man, a woman, sometimes even a teenager who protested in vain, until his jaw was broken. As they passed by, people changed streets, closed their doors, and drew the curtains on their windows. But no one ever intervened.
But the Executors were not alone. From the very beginning, they were joined by citizens who had answered the Queen's call, volunteers who had chosen the name “Guardians of Loyalty.” Men and women determined to protect the kingdom from traitors. They wore no uniforms or armor, only the mask of a neighbor, a friend, a trusted person.
The few shops still open in the lower districts were closing one after the other. Doors were marked with a red cross, a sign that the occupant had been convicted of treason and that their property had been confiscated. Posters were plastered on the walls. “The Queen watches over her loyal subjects,” “Citizens, enlist!” “Help the Executors purify the city of traitors.” Newspapers ran articles such as “The Northuldras, allies of the resistance?” and “Ten distinctive signs of a rebel.”
Arrests were on the rise. The dungeons were overflowing, and soldiers began transferring prisoners to the mountain fortress. The road soon became known as the “ Path of No Return,” and the fortress was renamed the Bastion of Death. There, people were sent never to return. There, they were locked away from everyone. There, they were executed outside the law.
Very quickly, public executions began. The gallows had been erected on the very platform where the town crier had stood. The first victims were an elderly man who had tried to hide a Northuldra from the Court of Fools. Both were hanged in front of a crowd that shouted insults at them. Many applauded. Some remained with their faces and fists shut in rage before turning away.
Arendelle was no longer a place where the upper classes crushed the lower classes, where the poor were starved for an alliance in pursuit of a prophecy.
Arendelle had become a place of terror for all. Fear and dread enveloped the heart like a frozen fog as soon as you crossed the city gates. And, at its center, the high flames of Queen Anna's castle.
Elsa was sitting at the table in the meeting room, observing the defeated faces around her. Kristoff was standing near a map of Arendelle pinned to the wall, arms crossed, jaw clenched, counting the red crosses marking the houses that had been raided. They were getting closer and closer to the hideout. Liv was slumped in a chair across from her, dark circles under her eyes, holding a cup of cold tea she wasn't drinking. And Jared was pacing back and forth like Kristoff had a few days earlier. But he wasn't moving out of impatience; it was panic that drove him.
Piotr hadn't been back for two days.
“They must have taken him to the Bastion of Death,” Jared whispered for the hundredth time. “If he's still alive.”
“Unless we cause something big enough to bring the Bastion guards, the fortress is impregnable,” Kristoff reminded him, cutting Jared off.
Jared turned to his leader, frowning.
“With my idea...”
“No,” Kristoff said firmly, looking him in the eye. “We will not bring the remaining explosives into the castle. The risk of innocent casualties is too high.”
Jared snorted.
“Are they really innocent if they work at the queen's castle?”
“Yes.”
All eyes turned to Elsa, who kept her gaze fixed on Liv's cup. She thought back to Gerda, who had helped her escape.
“They stay out of fear,” she continued, “rather than loyalty. Given the current climate, you can't really blame them.”
The other three sighed collectively. She was right, of course, as always with her cold, relentless logic.
Jared slumped into an empty chair to her left.
“So we're not going to do anything?” he whispered, completely defeated.
“Not for now,” Kristoff replied grimly. “First we have to think about the survival of the resistance.”
“If only he hadn't had that damn accent...”
A silence fell. In the distance, outside, a noise rang out, making them jump. Maybe a stray cat had knocked over a crate, or maybe it was something more sinister.
Elsa looked up and met Liv's gaze. The young brunette's lips were trembling.
“We're losing,” she whispered. “Anna is crushing us. We can't move, we can't recruit, we can't even go out without risking arrest. We're trapped here like rats. Gunder was hanged the day before yesterday, Katheryn has fled to who knows where. Not to mention Emilien, who is still missing, and Piotr, who is either being tortured or already dead. The plan with Camellya is ruined. The nobles aren't going to revolt now, no one will. Why would they? They look out their windows and see hanging bodies. They're too scared. Everyone is scared. (She looked up at Elsa.) I'm scared too. Every time I hear footsteps outside, I think it's for me. That I'm going to end up in the Bastion, that I'm going to...”
Her voice broke.
Elsa stood up, walked around the table, and sat down next to Liv, putting her arm around her. The young woman nestled her head in the curve of her shoulder.
“We'll get through this,” Elsa said. “I don't know how, but we'll find a way. Like we always have.”
She felt Liv's hand tighten on her arm.
Elsa looked around. Physically, nothing had changed; the table was still in the same place, as were the chairs, the maps, and the scrolls. But the atmosphere was different, even worse than after Malek's death. Heavy, oppressive, suffocating. Like being plunged into a furnace that consumed all hope. She didn't feel it, but she could see it in her friends' faces and gestures.
She couldn't believe Anna had ordered all this. It wasn't like her sister, it was so violent, so bloody, so... inhuman, as Kristoff had said a week ago. Anna was far from being a good queen, she had finally accepted that, but this sudden explosion of violence... What had happened? She felt as if her sister had lost all sense of humanity... And with it, any hope of saving her.
Someone knocked on the door, and the face of a woman with black, curly hair appeared in the doorway.
“Hey, there's someone here to see you three,” she announced. “He says he's the King of Fools...”
They exchanged glances, completely astonished. The King hadn't been heard from since the decree, and now he was showing up in person at their hideout? They rushed out of the room, still struggling to believe it.
Anna was alone in her office, her chin resting on her clasped hands. In front of her were piles of reports from the Executors and the less formal ones from the Guardians of Loyalty. Arrests, executions, the number of prisoners sent to the Bastion of Death. The numbers were increasing every day. She should be satisfied. And she was, in fact.
But?
But one name kept coming back to her. With her eyes closed, Elsa's face floated before her. She was still alive. Once again, she replayed the conversation with Rokar in her head.
“After I took care of her, I threw her into the moat,” he had said. “She seemed dead to me. I never thought she would be recovered and cared for by the resistance...”
He was lying, of course. His eyes didn't lie. He was too weak to do what you asked him to do. And now, as you predicted, Elsa has joined the resistance.
Your own sister has betrayed you.
She slammed her fist on the table, leaving a new black mark. Slowly, she got up and wandered around the room, her footsteps sending up wisps of embers.
Who had she been crying for? The ghost of someone who was still alive? “But I'm here. I'll always be here, Anna, by your side.” Elsa's voice echoed in her ears, distant, distorted, muffled as if Anna were underwater.
But there she was, surrounded by flames, by the stifling heat of the room, more powerful than ever. She had shed her tears in vain.
You will never shed another.
How dare Elsa confront her? Question her reign? Was she trying to oust her by finding allies among the worst things in the slums?
She was the one who understood you. But she never understood. She never will, she who feels nothing. She doesn't understand your anger, your hatred.
Her doubts. Her fears.
Her loneliness.
“I am surrounded by traitors and cowards!” she screamed.
She sent the scrolls covering her desk flying in a huge burst of flames. The sheets of paper flew away before slowly burning up.
She screamed in rage, again and again, her fists pounding the surface of the desk. Carried away by anger, she lifted the furniture and turned it over violently. The heavy impact and the heat of the flames licking the glass caused the window to crack.
People had always looked at her with fear because of her flames. They feared her, doubted her, doubted her choices. She had tried to calm her anger, to appear normal, but it was impossible. They had mocked her. They had lied to her.
Lies! Cowards! They don't understand that your powers make you unique! It's thanks to them that you can reign! That you will be the greatest Queen of Arendelle, the one who will save them from eternal cold!
No one tried to understand. They only saw what they wanted to see. They didn't try to find out what the purpose of it all was. All they knew how to do was criticize her.
Traitors.
Cowards.
Let them burn.
Let them all burn.
And the resistance...
“I will reduce them to ashes!”
She shouted these words at the city through the window. Her breath was short and wheezy, and she could feel the flames licking deliciously at her skin and her loose hair, the strands sticking to her face.
Then she burst out laughing. A maniacal laugh that shook her whole body. She pressed a hand to her face, her fingers over her eyes, as her laughter continued, uncontrollable.
They thought they could stand up to her?
You are the power.
She was chaos. Flames. Hell.
You are the one capable of making sacrifices.
They were the sacrifices necessary for Arendelle's survival.
You are the Queen.
She was the one who would face the eternal cold to free the kingdom. She was the one who would bring down all those who stood in her way, including her own sister, the traitor.
You are chaos, power, the burning fire, the resolution, the liberator.
She was Anna.
Her laughter stopped as abruptly as it had begun. She spread her fingers and looked through them at the city lying below.
“I will destroy them,” she whispered. “I will kill you myself.”
She turned calmly and headed for the door. She would need Rokar's help to flush the rats out of their nest. She was going to pull him out of the infirmary, contact reinforcements at the Bastion, and end the resistance. Once and for all.
The door slammed shut, leaving behind a calcined, overturned, destroyed room.
Elsa, Kristoff, Liv, and Jared emerged into the entrance of the resistance's hideout. All around them, everyone was busy: documents were being hastily tidied away, clothes were being thrown haphazardly into a bag, and weapons were being gathered up.
Amidst all the hustle and bustle, joined by the woman who had come to find them, were the King of Fools and five other Northuldras. It was strange to see them without the usual blue glow of the cave, especially the King, sitting cross-legged on a barrel, whose skin color Elsa could finally see, slightly lighter than that of his compatriots. Illuminated by daylight and extricated from the semi-darkness that reigned in the sewers, he did not look any healthier than the other Northuldras.
“My friends,” he said when he saw them approaching, his voice devoid of its usual eccentricity. “I have come to warn you.”
“What's going on?” asked Kristoff. “Why did you come in person?”
“And why is everyone emptying the place?” added Liv, looking around.
“Because the Executors are coming here.”
A relative silence fell over them. Kristoff, incredulous, opened and closed his mouth several times.
“But how...?”
“I don't know,” replied the Mad King, shrugging his shoulders. “But they're coming, that's a fact. I'll take you to my Court. My five friends here will each lead a group to other entrances. If we hurry, we may be able to avoid the royal guard and the Executors.”
Kristoff took a few seconds to think, his eyes fixed on the King's. Then he turned to the other three.
“Pack your stuff. You have five minutes. We're leaving.”
I really enjoyed writing Anna's breakdown! While I was working on her waking-up scene, a friend sent me THIS clip from Hazbin Hotel (I don't watch the show myself, sorry! 🥹) (warning, possible S2 spoilers!!) It instantly reminded me of Anna and I knew I HAD to write something inspired by this song... I hope it came through well and that you enjoyed reading it! 🫶
Chapter Text
Elsa rushed up the crowded staircase to her room. Her eyes quickly scanned the small room, which contained only a straw bed and a chair on which her blue cape lay. She grabbed it and wrapped it around her shoulders, the fur brushing against her cheeks.
Then she knelt beside her bed and felt around underneath it. Her fingers closed around the blade of her old rapier, which she pulled out. The ceremonial rapier was covered in dust, but that didn't stop the hilt, engraved with the Arendelle coat of arms, from sparkling. It seemed to belong to a bygone era, to someone else, a blind Elsa.
Now that she was used to a real weapon, the young woman noticed how light this rapier was; the slightest impact would have been enough to break it.
She was attaching it to her belt, just below her real rapier on her left side, when Liv's voice rang out from the staircase:
“Sparrow, it's time!”
“I'm coming!” Elsa replied, leaving her room.
As she returned to the ground floor, she discovered that the resistance had divided into five groups, each led by a Northuldra.
“I will lead you to the Court myself,” declared the King of Fools when she arrived before him.
He pointed to Elsa, Liv, and Kristoff. Their cheeks were flushed with apprehension, which stood out even more against their pale faces. The King of Fools, meanwhile, was still sitting cross-legged on his barrel as if they had all the time in the world, but when he stood up, it was with the agility of a cat and the urgency of a hunted man.
“Please, everyone! Silence!” Liv shouted.
The conversations quickly ceased.
“We're going to leave, one group at a time,” she continued in a loud voice. “Follow the Northuldras—please put your egos aside today, this is about our survival!—and from their village, we will leave the city. From there, we will head to Haliori.”
“Haliori?” asked Kristoff.
“They are allies,” replied the young woman evasively. If anything goes wrong, keep this goal in mind: Haliori! Say you are friends of Liv's, and they will let you in! Is that clear? Now let's go!
The groups left one by one, after the Northuldras signaled that the way was clear. Jared walked past the trio, giving them a solemn nod. Elsa wondered if this was the last time she would see him. Finally, they were the last to leave, and they followed the King of Fools through the winding streets of the slums, leaving behind the building that had been their home for so long.
They found themselves once again wading through cold, slimy sewer water. Luckily, they hadn't encountered any soldiers along the way, but the sound of boots echoed all around them, surrounding them with invisible enemies they narrowly avoided.
The King of Fools was leading the way, his lantern casting moving shadows on the damp stone walls. The smell of mold and filth was overwhelming. Elsa, Liv, and Kristoff struggled through the mud in single file.
Above their heads, the low ceiling shook regularly. Footsteps. Lots of footsteps. They had no idea how many soldiers were hunting them, but they were relieved to have managed to evade them so far.
They turned again and again, and soon Elsa recognized the tunnels marked with symbols. After two trips back and forth to the village, she believed she had managed to memorize the way through this sticky maze.
The King of Fools suddenly froze, and Kristoff almost bumped into him. The trio looked at each other for a few seconds, not understanding why he had stopped. Elsa was the first to sense it.
Instead of the usual smell of plants and salt that greeted them as they approached the village, she now smelled sulfur, burnt wood, and acrid smoke.
They exchanged another glance, this time filled with apprehension.
“Let's hurry,” whispered the King, his features betraying his concern.
After one last bend, they emerged into the large cavern. Before them lay a scene of horror.
Large, voracious flames were licking the stone walls, consuming the moss and bioluminescent plants with unnatural appetite. The bright, flickering light of the fire had replaced the discreet and comforting blue-green glow, an unpleasant reminder of the flames from the royal castle.
The village was now nothing more than a field of charred ruins. The stilt houses had collapsed, and flags fluttered in the air, blown by the stifling heat. But above all, beyond the crackling of the flames and wood, screams echoed deafeningly.
Chaos reigned supreme. Northuldras were running toward the mouth of the cave that led to the fjord, carrying children and elderly people while shouting orders. In the center of the cave, near the place where the throne had stood, a desperate battle was raging. A squad of Executors, their black armor reflecting the blaze, were slaughtering the last defenders who were trying to buy time for the civilians.
Liv put a hand to her mouth, her face pale, and Kristoff let out a curse.
The King of Fools watched the scene, his expression unreadable. The fire reflected in his pupils, hardening his gaze. When he turned to Kristoff and grabbed his arm, his face was twisted with determination and chilling rage.
“Head for the docks,” he ordered. “With luck, you'll find boats there to leave the cave and reach the outskirts of the city.”
“What about you?” asked Liv, her voice trembling, her eyes fixed on the village.
“I'm going to save my people. Their survival is more important to me than guiding you.”
“But you're going to—,” Kristoff began.
“No doubt,” the King of Fools cut him off. “But I cannot claim the title of King if I let my people die.”
He descended a few steps of the staircase carved into the rock, then stopped and turned back to them.
“Good luck. I hope we meet again someday.”
Before they could reply, he turned and rushed toward the village, where he disappeared into the flames.
“Let's go,” said Kristoff. “Hurry.”
They ran in the same direction as the King, but as they were about to dive into the central blaze, they hesitated.
“This way!” said Elsa.
She pointed to a narrower street between the tents, where the flames were lower. They skirted around the central inferno. The heat was unbearable, burning their lungs and drying out their eyes. Elsa had to lift her cape to protect Liv from the showers of embers that fell on them like flaming rain. They stepped over bodies, slipped on pools of blood, and were nearly buried by a hut that collapsed in a sea of flames. Elsa felt as if her skin were melting.
They finally reached the back of the cave. Even the cool sea breeze that reached them was not enough to relieve their burns. Luckily, some boats were still moored at the dock, rocking gently to the rhythm of the waves, indifferent to the horror raging around them.
“Get in!” Kristoff exclaimed.
Around them, the din of flames and fighting grew closer. The light from the blaze cast gigantic shadows on the walls of the huts that were still standing. The Executors were inevitably approaching. But there seemed to be something else, a threat that Elsa couldn't identify... But something deep inside her urged her to hurry. An urgency that made her heart race. Something was watching them.
As she and Liv jumped into the boat, Kristoff began to undock it. Then he jumped in behind them and began to row. Helped by the current, he steered the boat toward the exit. The air was getting cooler, daylight replacing the light of the fire. Liv breathed a sigh of relief, and Elsa turned around against her will.
There she was.
The sight of the burning cave receded, framed by the dark rock. And there, through the curtain of flames and smoke, a figure stood out, straight and motionless in the midst of the chaos. Elsa couldn't see her face from this distance, but she didn't need to. She knew that posture, that flaming hair, that aura of anger that emanated from her. No, it was no longer anger... It was hatred, a hatred so visceral that Elsa felt it tighten around her throat like a hand. Even through the distance, the darkness, the smoke, Elsa felt the weight of her gaze.
“It's... It's...” Liv stammered, terrified. “It's her... She's right there...”
“Yes,” Elsa replied in a flat voice.
Her voice didn't tremble, but her fingers were clenched around the edge of the boat. Kristoff looked up to see who they were talking about.
He was the bravest, most reasoned man Elsa knew. And at that moment, he looked like a child facing his worst nightmare. He and Liv were frozen, their mouths open, their eyes wide, the color drained from their faces.
“We have to move!” Elsa cried.
Kristoff jumped and seemed to come to his senses. He plunged the oars into the water with new, desperate strength, avoiding raising his head again.
Elsa turned back to her sister, who was watching her swim away. A wall of flame passed in front of the queen, engulfing her silhouette, and it was the last thing she saw before being blinded by the daylight.
They were outside.
The fresh sea air was a welcome balm on their faces. Kristoff rowed for several more minutes until he felt he was far enough away from the cliffs. There, he leaned over the side and splashed water on his head. He was trying to regain his composure, but his fingers were still trembling. Liv was curled up in the boat, her arms wrapped around her legs.
Elsa was lost in thought. What would have happened if Anna had caught them before they took the boat? Would she have killed her, along with the Northuldras? Would she have had all three of them locked up? What if Elsa had been able to talk to her, reason with her, stop all this?
She sighed resignedly. No, Anna couldn't turn back now. The thick black cloud escaping from the cave was proof of that.
“Liv?”
She leaned close to her friend, who looked up. Kristoff and she were both covered in sweat, and Elsa suspected it wasn't just from the fire.
“Liv, we have to go,” she said calmly. “Where should we land to get to Haliori?”
Liv looked at her for a few more seconds, then swallowed hard and straightened up. Her face was still pale, but she looked determined.
She scanned the coastline. Luckily, they were north of the city. If they had been south, they would have had to go around the royal castle or cross the plain on foot, which would have cost them precious hours.
“Over there,” she said, pointing to a pebble beach in the distance. “We just have to find the road and head for the mountains.”
They set off again and, after what seemed like an eternity, they finally reached the shore. They jumped onto the bank and left the boat to the tide.
“What now?” asked Krisotff.
Liv spun around, then her gaze fell on the snow-capped peaks ahead of them. She pointed her finger at one of them.
“That mountain over there is right next to Haliori. Let's go.”
Elsa and Kristoff exchanged glances, completely stunned by how Liv was able to distinguish a specific mountain. They shrugged and followed her.
The path reminded Elsa of the one they had taken during the convoy interception mission. Fortunately, they didn't have to cross any rivers this time. Soon, the grass became wetter until it was covered with a thick white blanket. Elsa pulled her cape tighter around her shoulders.
As they progressed, the wind picked up. At first a light breeze, it quickly turned into a violent gust, lifting and carrying snow from the mountains in all directions. With disconcerting speed, the blue sky was soon obscured by a thick, opaque white fog.
The gusts whipped Elsa's face, and her teeth were already chattering. The wind roared in her ears as she struggled to make out Liv's silhouette in front of her.
“Kristoff!” Liv called out.
No answer.
“KRISTOFF!”
Only the wind answered her. She turned to Elsa and held out her hand.
“Come on, Sparrow! We can't get lost too!”
Elsa grabbed her hand, feeling Liv's icy fingers in her palm. The young woman clung to her as if her life depended on it, which may not have been far from the truth.
“Don't let go of me, Sparrow.”
“I'm here, Liv,” Elsa replied.
They struggled forward, calling out to Kristoff from time to time, but never getting a response. They were completely alone, lost in the blizzard. Elsa's only anchor was Liv's hand, clasped tightly in hers. Her fingers were trembling.
After several long minutes, a black silhouette appeared far ahead of them. Assuming it was a dead tree, they headed towards it, hoping that Kristoff would also have the idea of using it as a landmark.
Then the silhouette came to life.
A guard, colossal in his black plate armor, was approaching. His helmet, topped with a winged faceplate, two steel blades as sharp as feathers, gave him the appearance of a steel bird of prey ready to swoop down on its prey. All that could be seen of his hidden face were his dark eyes, as black and shiny as his armor, and his breath escaping from the grille. His hand gripped the hilt of a greatsword so imposing that Elsa would have needed both hands to wield it.
The young woman drew her rapier and dagger, ready to fight, immediately imitated by Liv, who pulled two knives hidden in her sleeves. But they quickly froze.
Behind the guard, two others had just appeared. One carried a sword similar to the first, the other rested a morning star on his shoulder. One of them shouted something they couldn't hear, his words carried away by the gusts of wind.
Elsa resumed her position, but her confidence had vanished. Together, the two of them would have been able to defeat a single Executor. But against three opponents, their chances of survival were virtually nil. Despite all her training, she didn't know how to get out of this situation.
But she was determined not to die.
She threw herself between Liv and the first Executor, ready to strike him with her sword. But she saw no opening in his armor. The soldier raised his weapon and struck her with the pommel. Elsa was thrown to the side and tasted blood in her mouth. Unbearable pain shot through her cheek, and her vision blurred. All she could see was the snow beneath her, gradually turning a sparkling red.
She saw the soldier's metal boots appear in her field of vision. It was over.
In a split second, she felt another blow to the back of her skull and the cold of the snow beneath her cheek as she fell, unconscious.
Chapter Text
Sorry for the delay, I was supposed to post this chapter yesterday, but I had a migraine because of a neck pain!
I have another chapter written, but I'm going to wait before posting it. The next few chapters will be important, so I want to be able to go back and forth between them if necessary! 🫶
Elsa didn't open her eyes immediately.
She was assailed by three unpleasant sensations: first, a putrid smell of urine, mold, and mustiness, so virulent that it made the sewers of Arendelle smell like a bouquet of fresh flowers. Then there was the cold feel of metal around her wrists, signifying that she was chained to the wall. Finally, there was the excruciating pain in her jaw and the back of her skull, which was throbbing terribly. She swayed violently, as if tossed about on a ship caught in an endless swell, and had to pinch her lips to contain her nausea.
Slowly, she opened her eyes.
She might as well have kept them closed, so thick was the darkness. But as her pupils adjusted, she discovered the room she was in. Walls of damp, ice-cold stone formed a cramped cell, enclosed by thick iron bars that opened onto a dimly lit corridor. Her legs might have given way beneath her when she realized where she was, had she not already been sitting in an uncomfortable position.
Something moved to her left. She turned her head, which she immediately regretted; the movement triggered a new wave of nausea that blurred her vision.
“Sparrow?” asked Liv's voice. “Are you awake?”
“Yes,” Elsa managed to whisper through clenched lips. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. But are you? I was so scared when I saw your face covered in blood...”
“I'm fine,” Elsa lied.
She realized that indeed, a sticky sensation on her face indicated that it was covered in dried blood that was pulling at her skin.
“Where are we?” she asked before Liv could call her lie.
“There's only one place they could have taken us so quickly,” Liv replied bitterly. “What the people call the Bastion of Death.”
A cold draft swept through the room, but Elsa couldn't tell if it was the reason for her shiver, or if her body had reacted on its own to the mention of the terrible name. She realized she was no longer wearing her cape, whose fur would have been welcome.
“They took our belongings,” she remarked.
“Yes. I was conscious when they brought us here, and I saw them take our weapons to a room near the entrance.”
“They didn't knock you out?”
“I surrendered when I saw you collapse in the snow,” Liv confessed. What else could I have done? I didn't stand a chance, and I didn't want to die like that..."
“I don't blame you,” Elsa reassured her. “You made the right choice.”
A silence fell between them, broken only by the clinking of the chains Elsa was trying to break free from. But it was a lost cause.
“Do you think Kristoff is okay?” Liv asked worriedly.
“I'm sure he is,” Elsa replied, more to reassure her than out of conviction. “He must be in Haliori by now, asking for help to find us.”
“It's several hours' walk from Arendelle to Haliori... What if he doesn't get back in time? What if, when he arrives, he finds our tortured bodies and—”
“Calm down, Liv!” Elsa exclaimed.
The effort to raise her voice made her stagger against the wall. She understood her friend's concern, but they had to focus on their survival first.
“I won't let them hurt you. And I trust Kristoff to get here in time.”
To tell the truth, she didn't know why the Executors had taken Liv. It made sense that they had locked her up, since she was the Queen's sister. But Liv... Maybe they wanted to get information about the resistance out of her? In that case, they wouldn't hesitate to torture her... And Elsa, despite what she said, wouldn't be able to do anything about it.
Time became an abstract, elastic, and cruel concept. They had no way of knowing what time it was. Only the intensifying cold and their mounting fatigue served as reference points.
Elsa felt her fingertips go numb and a small cloud of condensation formed with each breath she took. Meanwhile, a constant rattling sound told her that Liv was trembling.
Even if they had wanted to, it would have been impossible for them to fall asleep. Her aching body screamed with fatigue, her eyelids grew so heavy they hurt, but her few attempts to fall asleep always ended in failure. She was constantly jolted awake by the slightest sound: the clanking of chains, the wind rustling on the ground, the irregular plip-plop of raindrops falling in the distance, and even Liv's breathing.
Her brain kept her awake, forcing her to analyze every sound, to imagine every possible scenario, including the most horrible ones. The more time passed, the more her hope dwindled.
Was Kristoff alive? Had he reached Haliori? Was he organizing a rescue, or was he lying frozen somewhere in the mountains? But how much time had passed? Hours? A whole day? More?
There was only silence, a thick silence, disturbed only by imperceptible noises. A heavy silence that prevented her from breathing. The silence of the condemned awaiting their executioner.
At last, after what seemed like an eternity, something changed. Noises echoed in the distance, in the corridor. Heavy, dragging footsteps, accompanied by others whose clanking betrayed the wearing of armor. Someone was approaching. The flickering light of a lantern gradually illuminated the corridor, burning their eyes, which had grown accustomed to the darkness.
Two figures stopped in front of their cell: an Executor standing back, and another man carrying the lantern. Elsa struggled to see his face, completely dazzled, as she blinked to clear her eyes of the tears caused by the sudden light.
“Well, well... What do we have here?” asked Rokar's voice.
Elsa froze. Rokar hung up the lantern and took a step forward, illuminating his face, which had been hidden in the shadows until then. Liv gasped in terror.
The entire left side of his face was burned. It was now nothing more than a mass of exposed flesh with strange and grotesque folds, glistening slightly in the light. His ear was no more than a pile of skin protruding from the side of his head, and the top of his half-burned skull revealed singed hair. His eye was half-closed by his melted eyelid. Miraculously, his mouth was mostly unharmed.
“Rokar...” Elsa whispered.
“Captain Rokar, please,” he sneered.
A silence fell, during which they stared at him, and he stared back.
Then his gaze settled on Elsa, and a smile stretched across his intact mouth, an obscene grin on his half-destroyed face.
“You're wondering what happened to me, aren't you?” he asked in his gravelly voice.
He caressed the burnt flesh of his cheek with his fingertips, almost tenderly.
“The Queen's punishment for my failure. I was supposed to kill you, you see, but you chose to disappear into thin air. So I pretended I had succeeded in my mission... Out of fear. I was weak, and I feared the Queen's reaction.”
Elsa remained silent. Anna had done this to Rokar, the new chief of the royal guard and now captain of the Executors. The man whose name was almost as feared as Anna's.
“But after the attack at the funeral... When she woke up from her coma, I had to tell her the truth; or most of it. I continued to pretend that I had succeeded in my mission. I had killed you, then thrown you into the moat to get rid of you. But you were rescued by the resistance, who nursed you back to health and recruited you into their ranks. She didn't believe me, I could see it in her eyes.”
He suddenly stopped caressing her cheek and quickly withdrew his hand, as if he had just felt intense pain.
“In her fury, she... Well, you can see what she did. But today, I have the chance to make amends for that mistake. After she saw you escaping from the sewers, the Queen realized that you and your companions were heading for the mountains to reach the Northuldra forest.”
Elsa remained silent, but swallowed with difficulty. That explained the presence of the Executors in the mountains.
“The Queen has ordered me to bring you back as soon as possible. She wants to kill you herself, with her own hands. We will leave tomorrow at dawn. What joy she will feel, finally able to get rid of her sister, the traitorous Princess, once and for all... And prevent the prophecy from coming true.”
Liv, who had stiffened in horror at the sight of Rokar, suddenly froze. Her gaze, initially fixed on Rokar, slowly turned to her friend. Her face turned deathly pale, her eyes widening as if she had just understood what Rokar was saying.
“What?” she whispered in a strangled voice.
Rokar turned to her, his face pressed against the bars, a maniacal smile on his lips.
“Oh, she didn't tell you? Allow me to introduce Princess Elsa of Arendelle, the one who betrayed and plotted against her own sister...”
“I never plotted against her,” Elsa replied in a perfectly calm voice. “Anna got that idea into her head all by herself. She never listened to me. I never betrayed her!”
Rokar burst out laughing, sounding like a dog barking.
“Yet the first thing you did when you ran away was join the resistance!”
“Because I opened my eyes! I saw the consequences of the reign of...”
She was interrupted by the sound of a bell in the distance. Rokar stood up straight, his eyes narrowed in anger.
“The alarm bell,” he grumbled. “Looks like your little friends have come to rescue you...”
He burst out laughing again, but Elsa was no longer listening to him. Her gaze had shifted to the Executor behind him, a mountain of muscle who had remained perfectly still until then. But the moment the bell rang, he approached Rokar, removing his helmet.
Rokar understood that something was happening by looking at Elsa. He started to turn around, but the Executor raised the hand holding his helmet and brought it down violently on the captain's skull. Rokar was thrown to the ground with force, unconscious.
When the Executor stood up, Liv and Elsa were surprised to see not a man, but a woman facing them. Her brown hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, her tousled bangs falling over her eyes, already hidden under half-closed eyelids, but whose gaze was perfectly alert.
The woman leaned over Rokar's body and grabbed some keys hanging from his belt. As she tried to find the one that matched their cell, Liv let out a cry of surprise.
“Merethe*!” she exclaimed. “Is that really you?”
The woman opened the door to their cell at last and entered, a smile playing on her lips. This seemed like quite an achievement, given the serious, impassive expression on her face.
“Kristoff arrived in Haliori and begged Harold for help,” she explained.
Her voice was dry and confident.
“They realized that you—and surely other members of the resistance—had been taken prisoner here. So here we are.”
In the distance, they could hear the echo of fighting. “We” probably meant the Haliori guards.
Merethe leaned over and began to undo the handcuffs on Liv's wrists.
“We're lucky that most of the guards have been called to Arendelle for backup. We have to hurry before they come back.”
She helped Liv to her feet, then turned to Elsa. As she crouched down to free her, Liv exclaimed:
“Wait! Didn't you hear what he said?”
“I did,” Merethe replied over the jingle of keys. “But my orders are to free both of you. You'll work out the rest between yourselves.”
Over Merethe's large shoulders, Elsa saw Liv glaring at her, fists clenched. Her heart ached. She could feel her friend's rage bubbling up, waiting for the right moment to explode.
Once her sore wrists were freed, Elsa stood up with Merethe's help, who lifted her by one arm like a rag doll. The movement drew a muffled groan from her, and a sharp pain shot through her jaw and the back of her skull. They left the cell, but Merethe stopped them.
“Wait.”
She grabbed Rokar's body and pushed him roughly back into the cell they had just left. He fell heavily against the opposite wall; if he hadn't been knocked out before, he was now. Merethe handcuffed him to the chains that had restrained Liv, then locked the cell behind her.
“That'll teach him hospitality,” she muttered. “Let's go!”
She grabbed the lantern Rokar had hung up and set off at a run. The two women followed her through dark, winding corridors. Merethe threw Rokar's keys through the first window they came to.
As they moved forward, the echoes of battle grew closer. They could hear orders being shouted between the clanging of metal and the cries of war.
“We'll get your weapons and get out of here,” Merethe explained without slowing down.
“I know where they are!” Liv replied.
Her face remained clenched, but the urgency of the situation compelled her to act.
They stumbled upon the first bodies, those of Executors and a few soldiers. None appeared to be Haliori soldiers. As they approached the entrance, the sounds of battle faded; the rescue operation was over.
“Here,” said Liv.
She opened the door to a small storage room. On a dusty shelf, they saw their weapons and Elsa's cape, crudely folded.
Elsa rushed over and grabbed the cloak first. She wrapped it around her shoulders; the weight and warmth of the fur immediately reassured her. The movement made the pain in her head throb, but she ignored the rising nausea. She hooked both her rapiers and her dagger onto her belt. Liv grabbed her knives and hid them in her sleeves without a word.
“Got everything?” asked Merethe. “Then let's go.”
They stepped outside and found themselves facing the wide doors of the Bastion of Death, which were ajar, letting in the cool mountain air. Elsa instinctively pulled her cape tighter around her shoulders.
They stepped over one last body and left the Bastion.
After hours—or was it days?—in the stench, the smell of snow and pine trees assaulted their nostrils. Little by little, they felt their muscles relax as the Bastion disappeared behind them.
The blizzard had stopped, leaving only patches of snow and ice. The wind had stopped, replaced by the sound of their footsteps in the mud. Liv hadn't said a single word to Elsa since they left the cell, and the shadow of her anger weighed heavier than any chain.
Every step was torture. Their muscles ached from their long immobility, and the light reflecting off the snow was hurting their eyes. Liv was limping slightly but didn't slow down, keeping up with the fast pace Merethe was setting. Each stride rekindled the dull ache at the back of Elsa's skull, but she forced herself to keep up.
After an hour of silent walking, they found a path winding between the mountains. Elsa recognized its S-shape: it was the road she had taken with Kristoff weeks earlier to reach Oaken's shop. Behind them, the path passed through numerous hamlets, which looked so peaceful from here, unaware of the terror that prevailed in Arendelle.
“Let's keep going,” said Merethe. “We'll be there in a few minutes.”
They resumed their journey, and soon the snow disappeared, the temperature warmed up pleasantly, and green grass waved lazily around them.
The town lay in a valley nestled between peaks, protected from wind and snow. Rudimentary stone ramparts surrounded it, giving it a fortified and rustic appearance. Green flags fluttered peacefully atop the watchtowers and the roofs of the small houses that jutted out above the ramparts. One building towered above the rest, halfway between a fortress and a manor house, which could only be the lord's residence.
The wind carried the echoes of the town's sounds to them: the quiet murmur of cheerful voices, of a population full of life. A whisper that sounded delightful to their ears after the silence of the Bastion.
“Here we are,” said Merethe. “You are safe now. Welcome home, Liv.”
* pronounced Maretta.
Chapter Text
Hey there!
Sorry it took me a little longer to publish this chapter, but as I said before, I wanted to write the three new chapters together so I could go back and forth to rewrite certain things without disrupting your reading!
I hope you enjoy this chapter, see you for the next two! 👀
They passed through the gates of Haliori. The city stretched out around them, bustling with life that seemed almost unreal after the cold silence of the Bastion. The delicious smell of fresh bread tickled Elsa's nostrils and her stomach protested, painfully reminding her that she hadn't eaten anything in hours, perhaps even days.
Liv took the lead and guided them along the wide, cobblestone main path that wound between the houses on a gentle slope. The adjacent streets, narrower and made of beaten dirt, were lined with homes built of rough stone and wood.
Everywhere Elsa looked, the place was teeming with life. She found the bakery, from which the smell of bread wafted, which also served as a café, judging by the tables she could see through the windows. The place was crowded and filled with cheerful voices and laughter.
Further on, a tailor was adjusting a tunic on a customer; a little further still, an apothecary was receiving a crate whose smell dissuaded Elsa from guessing its contents.
But what surprised her most were the citizens they passed. They were not pale like the inhabitants of Arendelle; on the contrary, their slightly tanned skin told of hours spent in the sun, working and living normal lives. They smiled politely at them, without staring.
Elsa found it hard to believe what she was seeing. Haliori seemed out of time, preserved from Anna's grip, yet so close. An oasis where life went on, unaware of the terror. For the first time in ages, Elsa felt welcome.
Then she looked at Liv's stiff back, and the illusion shattered. No, she wasn't welcome, and she had no right to relax. When Liv told Kristoff and the lord of Haliori who Sparrow really was, she was sure she would find herself exiled to the mountains. If they didn't execute her.
The three women came out onto a small square that served as a market, located just in front of the castle forecourt. Elsa wanted to stop and take in the surroundings and the people there, but Liv was striding purposefully across the square.
The space between the stalls was teeming with people, but it wasn't because of the market. Elsa quickly recognized familiar faces, people who were in the Arendelle resistance. When she saw four Northuldras talking apart from the others, she realized that the evacuated groups had indeed managed to reach Haliori. However, she dared not imagine what had become of the fifth group.
Merethe stopped to talk to the city guards. From what Elsa understood, these were the ones who had led the assault on the Bastion of Death and had returned in small groups just before them. Merethe, Elsa, and Liv's group was the last.
But Elsa was barely listening. Among the faces, she spotted Jared's, engaged in lively discussion with someone she couldn't see. The crowd shifted slightly, and she managed to see the person he was talking to: Piotr. His face was bruised, a gash ran from his cheek to his ear, he had a swollen black eye, and he was missing hair and teeth. But he was smiling. He was alive.
“Liv...” she began, to tell her friend the news.
But the brunette didn't hear her and continued on her way. After one last glance at her two comrades, Elsa followed her.
They reached the steps of the castle.
“Sparrow!” exclaimed a familiar voice. “Liv!”
They looked up just in time to see Kristoff running down the steps, a broad smile of relief lighting up his face. He rushed towards Liv and hugged her.
“I was so scared... As soon as I arrived, I told Harold that we had been separated and that you had probably crossed paths with the Executors, and he immediately organized an assault with...”
He was speaking quickly, as if to release all the stress that had built up over the last few hours. He seemed to deflate as he relaxed, still holding Liv close.
But his friend did not return his embrace. She remained standing, stiff and serious. When he realized this, Kristoff paused and stepped back, his brows furrowed in confusion.
“Follow me,” she said firmly. “I have something to tell you.”
The young man glanced at Elsa for an explanation, but she avoided his gaze.
They walked through the large wooden doors and into a large hall richly decorated with banners, tapestries, and armor. Behind them, as the doors closed, the bustle of the market gave way to a solemn silence. But once again, Elsa didn't have time to take in the room: Liv, who seemed to know the place, strode across the hall and pushed open the door to what appeared to be a small office.
Elsa slowly closed the door behind her, feeling as if she was sealing her last moments.
Liv's breathing quickened, wheezing in the silence of the dusty, cramped office. She ran a hand over her face. Kristoff looked at her with concern.
“What's wrong, Liv?” he asked, surprised.
“What's wrong?” the young woman repeated, enraged. “What's wrong? Her! That's what's wrong!”
She pointed an angry finger at Elsa, who stared at Liv's fingernail without showing the slightest sign of remorse or emotion.
“The problem? What could Sparrow have done—?”
“'Sparrow'!” Liv scoffed contemptuously. “What a horrible nickname I've given you, right? Do you know who she is, Kristoff? Do you know?”
The blond man's gaze shifted from one woman to the other, completely lost.
“Elsa!” Liv declared. “Princess Elsa, the one we all thought was dead, the sister of that fucking flame tyrant!”
A heavy silence fell over the room. Liv was breathing heavily and, after a few seconds, let her hand fall. Kristoff sighed.
“Well... yes.”
Liv turned to him, her eyes wide with astonishment.
“'Yes'?” Is that all you can say?”
“Did you guess?” asked Elsa, speaking for the first time.
“I was part of the royal guard, didn't I tell you?” asked the blond man casually, shrugging his shoulders.
“No, you didn't tell us anything about that!” replied Liv through clenched teeth.
“I joined the royal guard when I was still young, encouraged by the family who took care of me. When Anna ascended the throne, I saw her cruelty and... I deserted, joined the resistance, and quickly became its leader.”
“So you knew? From day one?” asked Elsa.
“Of course! I recognized my former commander right away. But you seemed so sincere, so lost... like a sparrow.”
He leaned toward Liv as he said the last word. Her cheeks were red and burning with rage. She staggered, her mouth open, her face frozen in shock at the double betrayal. She took a step back until she bumped into the table behind her. She finally managed to speak, but the words came out with difficulty.
“You knew... You knew... And you didn't say anything? All this time...”
“I made a choice,” Kristoff justified. “To give her a chance.”
“A CHANCE?”
Liv's scream shook the walls. Elsa's ears rang.
“A chance?” she repeated, screaming. “When she is... When she has... When I think that I fell... Raaaah!”
She let out a roar of anger, spun around and overturned the table, before throwing every object she could get her hands on across the room. A chair exploded into pieces, a vase shattered. Elsa felt a shard cut her cheekbone, but she didn't move.
Finally, Liv had nothing left to destroy against the wall. She stood there, her back turned to them, breathing heavily.
“You killed my father,” she whispered at last.
A short silence followed. Kristoff opened his mouth to defend Elsa, but she interrupted him with a gesture.
“Liv,” she began. “I understand your anger. But on this point, you're wrong. Anna is responsible. Not me. I didn't know anything about it.”
“Oh, you understand?” Liv sneered. “Even though you can't feel anything? It all happened right in front of you, in the castle where you lived! You're no less guilty than Anna!”
“And there's one thing you're overlooking,” Elsa continued, monotonous and unperturbed. “Do you remember why she had your father murdered?”
Liv froze. Her breathing slowed slightly as she stared into Elsa's eyes.
“Because he knew she had killed Agnarr and Iduna.”
“Precisely. My parents. Our parents. You're right, I can't feel anything. But if I could, don't you think I'd be just as justified in being angry as you are? Anna had all three of them killed in her thirst for power.”
Another silence ensued. Liv seemed to be thinking, at a loss for words. Kristoff swallowed hard, not daring to intervene. Elsa lowered her eyes.
“But you're right. Anna was protecting me from these plots, from the consequences of her reign. You're the one who opened my eyes. And since then, I've felt guilty for not doing so sooner. You can hate me, but don't forget who your real enemy is.”
“I don't... It's her that I...”
Liv paused and took a deep breath, her eyes closed. She seemed calmer, but her fists were still clenched and trembling.
Finally, she unclenched her fists slowly, as if it were difficult for her, her fingers stiff. Her breathing was slower, but her gaze remained hard in her shining eyes.
“I... I need time,” she finally said, her voice broken. “To think about all this.”
At that moment, someone knocked on the door. All three turned to see Merethe's face appear in the doorway.
“Sorry to interrupt this happy gathering,” she said, “but Harold is waiting for you. Especially you, Liv, he's missed you a lot.”
Liv glanced back at Elsa one last time before walking past her toward the door.
“We'll follow you,” she said.
Merethe led them, not to the throne room as Elsa had thought, but to a large living room on the ground floor. Small round tables were scattered around the room, covered with green silk tablecloths, and directly opposite them, in front of a large window, stood a larger rectangular table made of solid wood. Seated at this table was Lord Harold.
The man was tall, but above all broad and imposing. His unruly, bushy beard was streaked with silver. His nose was straight and his jaw square, like the warriors of old, his wrinkles carved with precision by a meticulous sculptor. The creases at the corners of his eyes gave him a look that was both mischievous and serious. On his silver hair, carefully pulled back, rested a ridiculously simple golden crown. He exuded an undeniable patriarchal aura.
As soon as he saw Liv, his face lit up and he stood up to walk around the table, arms open.
“Liv! Come here, you little rascal!”
His voice was deep and resonant. Liv threw herself into his embrace and, for the first time since her arrival in Haliori, she smiled and burst out laughing.
“How long has it been, six years?” asked Harold.
“Only four!” laughed Liv. “You still have a knack for dramatizing things.”
“Can you blame me? I worried every day knowing you were in Arendelle…”
He stepped back, keeping his large hands on Liv’s shoulders. His expression grew more serious.
“Are you okay? Nothing bad happened to you there?”
“It's... a long story,” she replied, glancing at Elsa and Kristoff.
Harold followed her gaze and approached the other two, spreading his arms wide again. For a second, Elsa feared he would hug them too, crushing their ribs, but he didn't.
“I'm forgetting my duties as a host!” he exclaimed. “You must be friends of Liv's! Welcome, welcome to Haliori. I wish I could have met you under better circumstances.”
“The honor is all ours, Lord Harold,” Kristoff replied, bowing slightly. “My name is Kristoff, leader of the Arendelle resistance.”
Elsa watched him for a second before realizing she had to do the same.
“And my name is Spa... I mean... Elsa.”
She bit her lip, dreading Harold's reaction. The gaze of her two friends weighed heavily on her, but she decided to ignore them. She didn't want to hide anymore.
Harold, however, didn't seem to make the connection between her and the princess. His face took on a serious expression as his gaze shifted from Kristoff to Elsa.
“Thank you for watching over my Liv and taking care of her.”
“Harold, I need to talk to you about something,” Liv said from behind him.
He turned to her and nodded. He returned to his seat by the window and invited them to sit opposite him.
“What is it, Liv?”
“You remember that I went to Arendelle to find out the truth about my father.”
The lord nodded.
“I found it, thanks to Kristoff and... Elsa.”
She pursed her lips as she uttered the last word.
“I was right. The Northuldras had nothing to do with it.”
“Then who...?”
“The queen herself,” Liv announced bitterly. “She had him murdered because he discovered her secret.”
She explained Anna's plot with the Southern Isles to make the royal parents disappear and take their place on the throne. When she had finished, Harold stood up, his face dark, his features contorted with anger, his fists clenched. He remained standing there, frozen, as if he had been struck by lightning. Finally, he ran a hand over his face, massaging his temples. Liv, worried, started to get up, but he stopped her with a gesture of his hand.
“I'm fine, little one. It's just that... I considered your father my own brother. I never would have imagined... And King Agnarr and Queen Iduna too...
He took a long, very long breath, then sat back down in his chair with a sigh. The weight of age suddenly seemed to overwhelm him, but his eyes remained alert. He clasped his hands in front of him.
“Tell me about Arendelle. What's really going on there.”
“The situation has deteriorated considerably, Lord Harold,” Kristoff explained. “Her flames have grown more powerful, and Anna has implemented purges led by the Executors. They are arbitrarily arresting and executing citizens, aided by volunteers who call themselves the ‘Guardians of Loyalty’, with the sole aim of getting rid of the resistance... Getting rid of us,” he concluded grimly.
Harold looked at him gravely. He seemed to understand Kristoff's guilt.
“What about the resistance?” he asked.
“We managed to evacuate,” Liv replied, “thanks to the Northuldras' help. I advised them to come here, to Haliori. Five groups left Arendelle before the Executors descended upon us. From what I saw in the square, at least four have arrived here.”
Kristoff suddenly stood up, looking determined, and leaned forward slightly, placing his hands on the table.
“Lord Harold, we are not here only to ask for refuge. I have seen how you organize yourselves, how you fight. I saw how you launched the assault on the Bastion while taking care not to reveal your colors, so as not to draw suspicion on Haliori.”
“Most of the Bastion’s soldiers were called to Arendelle,” Harold began, trying to justify himself.
“That's not the point. I come here, before you, to ask for your help. You have already granted it by saving my friends, and I do not wish to abuse your hospitality. But the resistance needs a safe place to regroup and organize. And we need training. Most of our members are civilians who have taken up arms out of desperation. They are brave, but they lack discipline and military training. We need you to train our men in combat. We need to turn the resistance into a real army.”
A heavy silence fell over the room. Harold sat up straight and looked at Kristoff, Liv, and then Elsa in turn.
“You're asking me to protect rebels who are wanted throughout the region by the Crown?”
“Yes.”
“To train civilians with no military knowledge or discipline, which will take months, even years?”
“Yes.”
“To engage Haliori in a conflict against Queen Anna?”
“Yes.”
“To risk drawing her wrath and all the military force at her disposal?”
“Yes.”
Harold stood up and held out his thick hand.
“It's agreed.”
Kristoff shook his hand, visibly disconcerted by the ease with which the Lord had agreed to help them. As soon as Harold released his hand, the young man bowed respectfully.
“Thank you, Lord Harold.”
“Merethe,” called the old man.
They turned as Merethe, who had been standing silently by the door, approached the table.
“Yes, my Lord?”
“You heard him. I want you to train these people in combat as soon as possible.”
“Of course, Lord Harold,” replied Merethe.
She bowed as far as the Executors' armor she still wore would allow. Then she addressed Kristoff:
“I will need to assess your skill level. I will give you a week to rest and get used to Haliori. You will meet me in seven days in the barracks courtyard at one o'clock sharp.”
Kristoff nodded. The meeting was clearly coming to an end, but Elsa quickly turned to Harold. The movement reawakened the pain behind her skull, causing her to wince.
“Lord Harold, if you'll allow me... I'd like to gather the resistance in this room right now. I have something to tell them. I'd like you to be there, too.”
Harold frowned in surprise. Kristoff glanced at him, immediately understanding what was going on. Liv clenched her jaw but said nothing.
“Very well. In the meantime, I'll ask the servants to prepare the guest rooms for you two. As for you, Liv, your room is just as you left it when you departed.”
“Oh no...” Liv whispered, biting her lip.
Harold stood up and left the room with Merethe. Before the door closed, they heard him say:
“And you, Merethe, after this gathering, you should take off that armor. Black doesn’t suit you.”
A quarter of an hour later, the large living room was crowded with people. The forty or so resistance members had gathered in small groups, some sitting around round tables, others standing between them or leaning against the walls. The atmosphere was strange, a mixture of relief at finally being safe and anxiety about the sudden meeting. No one dared raise their voice; everyone spoke in whispers.
Elsa watched them, standing behind the armchair where Harold had been sitting earlier. Kristoff stood to her right, arms crossed, and Liv leaned against the window frame behind them. She hadn't spoken to Elsa since their conversation with Harold. Among the assembly were the four Northuldras who had led the refugees here, ready to leave for their people's forest as soon as the meeting was over. All these people she had deceived.
Harold and Merethe stood back against the far wall. The lord of Haliori crossed his arms, a silent observer. Merethe, still clad in her Executor's armor, stood motionless, her face eternally impassive.
Kristoff cleared his throat, and little by little, the conversations ceased.
“Thank you for coming,” he began. “I know you are exhausted and need rest. But Sparrow insisted on speaking to you. It is important.”
He gestured toward Elsa. She scanned the crowd, searching for words. But they didn't come. What could she say to them? How could she make them understand? She turned to Kristoff, who nodded encouragingly. Liv's gaze weighed heavily on the back of her neck.
“Thank you, Kristoff, thank you all for being here,” she began. “Actually, I have two things to tell you. First of all...”
She decided to start with the least bad one.
“I wanted to apologize. You probably think I'm cold, distant, weird. You're not really wrong. The truth is, I can't feel anything. No emotions. I'm trying to understand, I'm doing my best, and I hope that if... that you'll be indulgent.”
She almost said, “If you still want me among you,” but stopped herself just in time.
The faces around her softened, understanding, although some tried to hide a hint of mockery. A silence fell; Elsa didn't want to continue and see their expressions turn to anger. But she had no choice.
“As for the real reason for this meeting... I lied to you. Or rather, I didn't try to tell you the truth. You all know me by the nickname Sparrow, which was given to me by Liv when I joined the resistance.”
She heard Liv move behind her, but resisted the urge to look at her. Instead, she fixed her eyes on Jared and Piotr. If anyone in the resistance, apart from Kristoff and Liv, deserved the truth, it was them.
“My real name is Elsa. Princess Elsa of Arendelle. Queen Anna's sister.”
A deafening silence followed for a long second. Then, like a thunderclap, the reactions erupted.
“What?”
“That's impossible, she's dead!”
“Anna's sister?”
“Are you kidding us?”
“Traitor! Spy!”
Some were incredulous, others overcome with anger. Piotr had sat up and stared at her in amazement from beneath his wounds. Jared's eyes were wide and he seemed to have lost the ability to speak.
Elsa wanted to close her eyes, disappear, wait for the wave of hatred to wash over her. But she refrained. She had to face their stares, their words.
“She's the one who sent the Executors after us!” accused Clea, a woman with black, curly hair.
“SILENCE!” Kristoff's voice boomed.
Calm gradually returned, even though the hostile stares did not turn away from Elsa.
“Listen to her before you accuse her,” he continued in a firm voice, his eyes glaring at the black-haired woman.
“Why?” spat Rendall, a red-haired man. “Why should we listen to this bitch's sister?”
“Because I knew,” Kristoff replied calmly. “I recognized Elsa from the very first day. The elders of the resistance know this, I was part of the royal guard. I immediately recognized the leader of the guard, the one they called ‘the Protector’. And I chose to give her a chance. A choice I do not regret.”
“How can you say that?” protested another man, whose arm was wrapped in bloody bandages. “She put us all in danger! And you too!”
Jared suddenly stood up, which did not go unnoticed. He towered over the assembly and glared at them murderously.
“Oh yeah?” he said sharply. “And where were you when we freed the Northuldras who had been sent to the Bastion? I never saw any of you volunteer to help them! Sparr... Elsa tried to save Malek. She has always fought alongside us. She infiltrated the funeral, she never ran from danger, and if Liv is still alive, it's thanks to her!”
He sat back down, his jaw clenched. Several people looked down.
“I understand your reactions,” he continued in a calm but still trembling voice. “But don't forget everything she's done for us. Elsa is not Anna.”
Elsa looked down as an awkward silence enveloped the room.
“Malek knew,” she said suddenly. “Before he died, he asked me my name. And when I told him, he... He burst out laughing. He said I would always be your Sparrow.”
“That sounds like him,” Jared replied with a smile. “And as far as I'm concerned, he's right.”
“What I'm cu'ious to know,” said Piotr, speaking for the first time, “is how and why you joined the 'esistance.”
All eyes turned to Elsa, who cleared her throat.
“First of all, I must tell you that I knew nothing about any of this. The famine, the state of the lower quarters. I only had a vague idea. But Anna kept me in a gilded cage, far from her plots, ignorant of everything. This role of head of the guard, of “Protector,” was just a facade. Until Liv opened my eyes.”
This time, she turned to her friend. The brunette stared at her intently and even gave her a slight smile, before suddenly becoming gloomy again.
“Anna quickly convinced herself that I was in contact with the resistance and that I wanted to betray her. She asked Rokar to assassinate me, and I was only able to escape the castle with the help of our former nanny, Gerda.”
A murmur ran through the assembly, who exchanged stunned glances.
“She wanted to have her own sister killed?”
“That's not all.”
Liv's voice rang out behind Elsa. She stepped forward to stand beside the Princess, looking sternly at her comrades.
“You all know that Anna had my father killed. The truth is, my father was the last survivor of the sinking of the royal ship. He had threatened Anna to reveal the truth to Arendelle... She had King Agnarr and Queen Iduna, her own parents, killed to take their place on the throne. Elsa...”
She looked at her, and Elsa couldn't decipher her gaze.
“She is just as much a victim as we are here.”
A silence followed this statement. Clearly, the crowd couldn't process all these revelations. Elsa tried to smile at Liv, who didn't smile back, before continuing:
“She slaughtered innocent people, children, entire families. And I stood by, blind and useless. I can't feel anything. No joy, no sadness, no guilt. But if I could, I would carry the weight of every life Anna destroyed. I can't change the past. I can't give you back what you've lost. All I can do is fight alongside you to stop Anna, if... if you still want me.”
The resistance fighters exchanged glances and whispered animatedly among themselves. Several of them sighed, including the black-haired woman and the red-haired man.
“I don't like this,” he muttered. “But we need everyone we can get.”
“And what will you do when you face her again?” asked a bald man in his fifties.
Elsa swayed imperceptibly.
“I... I don't know. But I won't let her stay on the throne, of that you can be sure.”
Others nodded, some reluctantly, others with more conviction.
Kristoff looked around the room, then nodded.
“Good. Then it's settled. Lord Harold and Merethe, the captain of the Haliori guard, have agreed to train us in combat. Go get some rest. You'll need it. We'll start training in a week, and no absences will be tolerated!”
The assembly slowly began to disperse. Some took one last look at Elsa, still suspicious. Others ignored her completely. Jared gave her a brief nod and a smile as he left.
Kristoff put a hand on Elsa's shoulder.
“You did the right thing,” he said softly.
He and Liv followed Harold and Merethe out. Elsa found herself alone in the room.
She hoped he was right.