A/N- This story is essentially a darker retelling of Frozen. Arendelle is a crueller place. Our characters are all lonelier. And there's gay incest.

Muchas gracias to my beta reader, Nicpie.

It's written for the elsanna contest over on tumblr, which if you're on tumblr I wholly recommend you check it out. There've been some really amazing submissions.

Wish me luck! The next two parts of this fic will be up shortly.

Waking the Witch

By Nina Windia



1

It's cold. An abnormal cold. The flames that flicker in the grate struggle and gasp against the wintry air, spitting and hissing. They do little to alleviate the chill in the parlour room. It creeps into the stones, into the marrow of your bones. It's the stab in the pith of your lungs, shivering in your furs with every breath taken. Princess Anna pulls her cloak tighter around herself, eyes darting to the faces around the table; their eyes sunken, mouths distorted with unhappiness.

"The rumours are true, then?" she says. To even speak is painful, the sting in her chest like the bite of icy water.

She'd heard people whispering of it. The blizzard, they said, was coming from the North Mountain. The blizzard, which, at the height of summer, had raged for a month now unceasing. The question that was on everybody's lips: what was causing it?

A witch, the whispers whispered. A sorceress.

Others said: a ghost.

"It's true," says the Regent, who is also her uncle, Magnus, his hair and fur lined cloak dusted with frost. "The blizzard's being caused by your sister Elsa."

A stick falls in the grate. In the silence, it makes an almighty clatter.

Anna laughs. An unnatural laugh. A short, sharp, bark. "You must be mistaken. My sister is dead."

The shriek of the pulley as the coffin is lowered. The feeling of her father's hand heavy upon her shoulder. Anna can still taste it now: the overcast sky closed like a casket over her head. Throat seized shut, a corked bottle. Feeling like she'd never speak a word again.

Whispered words, overheard: "The Princess hasn't been the same since the funeral. She's quieter. There's less of her."

The black eyes of Arendelle's despicable, scheming ministers. Candles drop hot, acrid gouts of wax.

"Forgive me Princess," says the Regent. "There are some things… the King and Queen did not tell you."

An understatement, thinks Anna, hand pressed against the cold glass of her bedroom window. Her face is calm, but running inside her like an underground river is a quiet, controlled rage. She looks out at a wall of white. Beneath the snow-storm somewhere is the kingdom she's been preparing to rule for ten years, since she was eight years old. Her eyes slide closed.

Mama, I can't be Queen. I won't know how. You have to tell Papa. Elsa… Elsa is supposed to—

Her mother, shaking her by the shoulders, hard. Elsa is gone, Anna. It's up to you now.

Ten years. Ten years of mind-numbing politics and numbers and economics. The things Elsa was good at, that reduced Anna to tears. Struggling to keep up with her work, her tutors swatting her palms. Falling into bed each night, every night, exhausted. Sobbing silently against her pillows, because it was never enough.

Her parents believed in her. But now, they were dead. They'd left her, half-grown orphan heir, to defend herself from the coups, the endless scheming noblemen, cousins who would happily take the throne off her hands. Even Arendelle's ministers would have deposed her if they did not think her a helpless child, a puppet they could control. Well, she considers, let them think it.

Anna's eyes open. She stares out, stonily, into the storm. Her parents, they'd lied to her. And now, she can't even ask why.

Her hand tightens against the glass.

"More than one man has gone to the North Mountain to reason with Elsa," the Regent had explained.

"Fredderickson went," coughed a dried up old minister.

"What happened?" she asked.

"…None have returned," said the Regent.

Silence, like falling snow.

"They could have got lost in the blizzard. Or the cold could have gotten them," she offered. But it's a weak excuse, even to her. Her voice trailed away.

"Now, no one will go near the North Mountain," said the Regent. He shifted uncomfortably, and she realised— "Princess. You understand there is no way we'd ask if there was any other alternative, but—"

"You want me to go to go, don't you?" she said.

Beside her, her betrothed, Hans, started.

"Yes."

A protective gloved hand, gripping her shoulder. "You must be joking," Hans said. "What if she's killed?"

"With all due respect, Prince Hans, this is a matter for Arendelle to decide. It's not the Southern Isles' concern."

"It is, when the Princess is my fiancé," said Hans hotly.

"Hans." On her shoulder, Anna catches his hand with her own. "I understand you're worried, but I don't see any other solution either. People are dying in this weather. Elsa is my sister. She won't hurt me."

"Ten years ago, maybe. But you've no idea what she's like now. People can change, Anna."

She knew that, all too well. Which is why she insisted: "I'm going. My mind's made up."

Hans's voice dropped to a concerned murmur. "I just don't want you getting hurt…"

More like: he didn't want to lose his ticket to the throne. Hans was the fiancé chosen for her by her father. When she came of age, they'd be wed. But he didn't love her. Anna knew that, as he knew she knew. As such, they were perfect partners, mutual in their deceit.

Anna had once dreamed of white weddings and crisp bouquets, but they had wilted the day they lowered her sister's coffin into the hole. Love was a magic she'd long stopped believing in.

The Regent cleared his throat. "Princess, I know this is an ugly thought. But, if you cannot convince Elsa to stop the blizzard… for the good of Arendelle…"

He slid, with two fingers across the table a bundled up object tied with twine.

Put an end to this winter.

On her dresser, unwrapped from the cloth, lies a knife.

He stands out in the blizzard beside his sled and reindeer. A young man. At least, she thinks it's a young man beneath all the layers and the coat of snow.

By the gate, a gaggle of councilmen crowd like crows, there to see her off.

Squinting through the snowfall. "Are you the one going to take me to the North Mountain?" she asks.

He turns. Blue eyes. "Looks like it, doesn't it?" he says.

"I kind of expected…"

"More?" he quips. "'Fraid not. No one else was stupid enough to volunteer."

With a crackle, the fire finally starts. The pages of the Arendelle Gazette blacken and crumple inwards. Anna thrusts her ice cold hands above the flames and moans with pure pleasure.

When she's slightly more defrosted, her eyes move to her guide— who she knows now as Kristoff— soaking in the warmth like sunshine. So far he's proven uncommunicative, gross, and—

"Can I ask you a question?" she says.

"You can, though I can't guarantee you an answer." Picking at his earwax.

—Incredibly rude.

She raises her head high. "All I was going to ask was why you agreed to take me," she says, more than a touch of haughtiness in her voice.

In reply, Kristoff rolls an imaginary coin between his fingers.

"Money," she says.

"I harvest ice for a living," he explains. "And, as you can see here…" he extends his hand to the snowy forest.

Ouch. That's a rough business to be in right now, she thinks.

"That must be tough for your family," she says simply.

"Who said anything about family? I live alone. Always have. Only family I've got is old Sven here." He loops a hand over his reindeer, nestled down beside him, and gives his fur a ruffle. "Now let me ask you a question," he says. "This is what I want to know. Why is the Regent sending the crown princess to the Snow Queen?"

"The Snow Queen?" Anna murmurs.

"Come on. I know it must be different growing up fancy in a castle, but you must know the prophesy. Even a school child could recite it," Kristoff chides her.

"I know it," Anna says. And in the snowlit forest, she recites:

"Your future is bleak

Your kingdom will splinter

Your land shall be cursed

With unending winter

With blasts of cold will come dark art,

And a ruler

With a frozen heart

Then all will perish under snow, under ice,

Until you are freed with a sword sacrifice."

By her hip, hidden in a secret pocket stitched into her petticoat, the weight of the blade hangs heavy.

"But—" she says quickly, "that's just a legend. A myth. It's not real."

Kristoff raises his hands to the world around him. "I don't know about you, but it's looking pretty real to me right now."

Anna stares down at her hands, silent.

"It's not just the weather either," Kristoff says. "I've met people, and they've seen her." Anna's head snaps up. She listens. "They say she has white wild hair and eyes cold as diamonds. I bumped into a stranger on the road and he told me he looked into them. He said there was nothing inside them." He speaks in a whisper. And one by one, the hairs on Anna's neck stand on end. "He escaped, but his friends weren't so lucky. He said she had a tame bear. Except, made completely out of snow. And it mauled his friends to death. There was no remorse on her face, he told me…"

She shivers. A shiver that reaches down into her bones. "You're trying to frighten me," she accuses him.

"You should be frightened. We're walking into the heart of the monster's lair, after all. Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

The image appears to her, as if from smoke. In her mind's eye Anna can see her clearly: white hair, fangs, claws. A monster. A witch. But she sees her sister too. Her kind sister, always thoughtful of others, who told her to shush when she tried to bellow down the castle with an Indian war-cry. Who put her homework down to play with her when she was lonely. Her sister, who she'd never stopped crying for.

One thought, slicing through the fear like a knife blade: My sister's not a monster.

"You won't remember this," Magnus had explained to her in the parlour room, "but your sister always had a talent. She could create ice and snow at will. It deeply worried— god bless their departed souls— the King and Queen. One day, by accident, Elsa hurt you with her powers when you were playing. And your memories were tampered with so you would not remember.

"The King tried to have Elsa hide her powers, but they grew too strong to be concealed. It was a dark time. The staff were frightened to go near her. Everyone was afraid Elsa's powers would become known to the other nations and they would believe her the instrument of the prophesy. Others worried that it was she the prophesy foretold.

"Eventually the decision was made. We announced to the world Elsa had died of the red fever. There was a child who had recently succumbed to the disease in the town, and we buried her in Elsa's place. We moved Elsa downstairs, where she could learn to control her powers safely."

Downstairs. What she later learnt her uncle meant: the dungeons.

Before she'd left, she pushed her way past the servants who tried to stop her and made her way to the deepest part of the castle. What she'd found, behind a reinforced door, at the end of a long, dank hall, was a room. It was desolate. Bare. A bed, a dresser and the wall gaping open like a wound. Ice-cold wind whistled through. On the dresser, a hairbrush. Several long blond hairs. Anna held it to her chest.

She'd been here.

A glint caught Anna's eyes. Something metal, so broken and splintered it took her mind a few moments to piece together what she saw. Chains. And cuffs.

Anger, festering under her skin like an unscratchable itch. Anna lost herself with rage.

"You lied to me!" she'd screamed at the councilmen. "All of you, you knew, and— and I was eight years old, crying because my sister was dead, and you had her locked up. She's not the monster, you all are!"

Someone restrained her, and eventually she calmed down. When she spoke again, she stood up straight, her words ice. Gone, the act of the naive young princess.

"I'll do it. But not for any of your sakes. For Elsa's. And when I return we're going to have an inquiry into your crimes."

Someone spoke up against her, and her eyes narrowed. "Don't you dare talk back to me, councilman. I am Princess Anna, daughter of King Alexander. You're lucky I don't hang the lot of you this instant. That's what I want to do." And slowly, he sat down, silent.

In the snowy forest, Anna stares into the flames. With a large phut snow slides off a branch of a pine tree and lands in a pile. Nails dig into her skin.

"Scared, Princess?" Kristoff says with a smirk.

"No." Her voice rumbles from the pit of her stomach. "I'm angry."

In the forest, something snaps. The crack of bracken. The crunch of snow, underfoot. Kristoff tenses. Sven's ears pick up.

"Is it her—" starts Anna.

"Quiet!" hisses her guide. He grabs the lantern and swings it round, peering into the dark.

"You must let me talk to her—"

"I said quiet!" he snaps, smothering her mouth with his hand.

Aggravated, she makes to shove his hand away, when she hears it: a long, distinct growl.

"Wolves!" she says. "But… there should be no wolves this side of Arendelle."

"The weather must have pushed them this way," Kristoff said, lighting a torch from the sled off the open flames. "They're hungry."

Eyes open in the dark.

His voice, taut: "Get in the sled."

By the time she's in, Kristoff has already harnessed Sven and leapt in beside her, reigns in hand. The sled jerks off, leaving Anna's stomach behind them.

She twists round and stares into their trail, blinking against the snow that stings her eyes. And sees them. Eyes first. Bright. Mouths, panting, muzzles slathered with saliva. Fur matted, hanging in angry clumps to starving frames, they chase the sled down like they're starving.

Kristoff thrusts the torch into Anna's hands as he drives. Without a second thought she leans over the sled to grab a sack from the back. She lights it and hurls the flaming bag into the midst of the wolves. It hits one, and the rest scatter.

"Those were our supplies," Kristoff says through gritted teeth. "We're not going to survive long without those."

"If we live past the next ten minutes, I'll be content," says Anna, as she throws another flaming sack. It catches quicker than she thought and she singes her palm. The pain is white-hot, but she bites down the scream.

The snow is coming harder now. The poor visibility tightens, till they're driving into a sheet of white.

The forest opens up before them. Too late they see it: rending the earth in two is a deep gorge.

"We're going to jump it," says Kristoff, reigns gripped tight, jaw hard with determination.

"You're kidding!" exclaims Anna.

"Nope," says Kristoff, unhooking Sven, who leaps ahead. Forget ten minutes. Anna begins to wonder if they'll survive the next ten seconds.

She grips so hard to the sled her nails dig into the lacquer. The sled flies. Such a strange, weightless experience. She sees the other side of the gorge. For a moment, it looks like they'll make it. Then the nose of the sled begins to descend.

"Jump, Anna!" cries Kristoff. They leap. All the breath is knocked out of her as she slams into the snowy ledge.

However, there's not a second of relief. A moment later she begins to slide. Her hands scrabble uselessly at the powdery snow— she can't get a good grip. No— no— no—

Something metallic flies past. The snow anchor sticks into ground at the side of her head. She grabs on with everything she's got, eyes darting up to her rescuer. Kristoff, she thinks with gratitude, deciding that for all his bad habits she'll never think badly of her guide again.

"What are you waiting for? Pull me up!" she calls.

"I don't know if you're in the position to be ordering anyone this minute, your Highness."

His tone of voice. It's dripping with spite. He must have lashed the rope to a sapling, because he approaches her now, empty-handed. She's in mortal peril, dangling above the abyss, and he sits calmly before her, cross-legged. What is he thinking? "Y'know," he says, "I really hate you royal types. You tax us till we're half-dead, and then you still presume to lord it over us. You sit pretty inside your cosy castle, and I bet you've no idea the hardships the common man faces, do you?"

"Kristoff," she says, calmly, "pull me up. Please."

He ignores her. "I've got some interesting news for you, Princess. The council and the Regent want you dead. That's why they hired me, to take you up the Snow Queen's place. They don't really think you're really going to be able to stop her. It's a pretty smart plan, actually. Two birds, one stone. You know."

She grits her teeth, tight. She'd underestimated her council. Those dirty, scheming—

"Take me to her then," says Anna. "That's what they've paid you for, right?"

"Right. Thing is though, so long as you're dead, I doubt they're going to care how. Because I don't really want to go near the sorceress's palace."

"Kristoff, you—"

"Don't give me that, Princess. S'nothing personal." Standing up, he dusts the snow from his coat. Shrugs. "It's just that I'll do anything. For the right price." In one clean stroke, he slashes the rope with his hunting knife.

And Anna falls.

She wakes, though part of her wishes she didn't. Everything aches. She sits up, and a coating of snow slides from her. She squints up to the top of the cliff face, blinking against the snowflakes, but sees no-one. She's close by to the wreckage of the sled, splinted into a dozen pieces. She decides all things considered, she's been lucky: I could have landed on the sled and been impaled.

She needs to leave. Now. Before Kristoff comes back to check the wreckage. But when she tries to stand, her left leg gives way. Slipping back down, she stares at it, stupid with cold and pain. Until she notices the strange angle it's lying at.

Dislocated, she thinks, dully.

She feels someone watching her in the dark. She looks around, nervously. If Kristoff comes now, she couldn't be more helpless if she tried. She goes for her knife.

That doesn't mean I'm just going to sit here and die though.

He approaches her from out of the dark. Except—

It's not a man. It's a wolf. Smaller and scrawnier than the wolves on the clifftop, it approaches her with a snarl. Anna clutches her knife tighter. She doesn't intend to be taken down by the runt of the litter.

The wolf's legs bend, and it springs. The wind knocked out of her for the second time. Its disgusted matted fur. The wolf's hot fetid breath in her face. With her hands and all the strength in her uninjured leg, she throws the animal from her. With a snarl, it lunges back. And Anna plunges the knife into its exposed underbelly. Frightening, how the blade slides threw sinew and flesh like butter. But then the fear is gone from her, replaced by blistering anger. She stabs, again and again, over and over.

… Until she realises the wolf is already dead.

The knife falls into the snow, the white now stained a much darker shade. She feels light-headed. The pain and the cold are too much for her. And there's nowhere she can go anyway, on a leg like hers. She slips back into the snow, which is no longer feeling quite so cold, or hard…

The thought comes to her: that never before had she taken a life. She always thought she would be too afraid.

She'd never expected that she would enjoy it.

Am I going to die here…?

She didn't even make it to see her sister. What a pathetic thing I am, she thinks.

…as she succumbs to the dark.

The last thing she sees: A dove, alighting on the carcass of the wolf. Pure white. Like snow.

To be continued.