Chapter 24 - Lightning Rampant, Thunder Rearing

A storm had been percolating over the mountains surrounding Lost Island Lake all afternoon. Elsa watched it with great interest from her bed in the chalet. Broad windows of clear and near-perfect glass revealed quite a stunning vista from this master bedchamber. She was perched against the headboard with pillows softening the press against her broken shoulder, her white hair in a broad and somewhat messy plait down her back. Anna's love letters were strewn across her lap, and the ice in her glass of lemonade softly expired in the sticky summer heat of the room. As of this point the windows were still open, and the curtains began to billow in the capricious breeze.

She was peripherally aware of the other voices in the chalet as Erik and Synneva readied the stock, the gardens, and the buildings for the monster storm brewing on the horizon. Canvas tents and supplies of food and lamp oil had been sent to the sentries stationed at the two entry points to the valley. The remainder of the guardsmen had been quartered in the barn as their makeshift barracks. She was glad of the precautions being taken, for the storm looked monstrous, yet to her eyes it was still oddly benign. Ferocious in the way that bumbling bear cubs were ferocious.

She was entranced by the way the blackness swelled and bulged over the high peaks of the mountains. She imagined it scraping against the rocky outcrops and scraggly pine trees with almost physical force.

It was a storm that contained both a threat and a promise. Death and life. Late afternoon sunlight occasionally crashed through the imposing clouds, shining bright and fierce on the tower of forming thunder. Elsa thought of the lightning incubating inside this most tempestuous womb, ready to come to earth with shock and awe.

And, as always, Anna's name was on her lips.

She thought of Anna as she considered the as-yet-unseen lightning. Of many metaphors that could be applied to her cousin and her love, lightning seemed particularly apt. It was a sheer force, undeniable, impulsive. It lit the sky for miles. It streaked to earth with power and beauty. Did it stop to consider the earth it struck, or to notice the sound of its passing?

Anna was lightning, and the thunder of her reverberated forever in Elsa's heart.

Elsa carefully reached for her lemonade with her good hand, wincing as she felt the screech of pain in her immobilized shoulder, the tug of stitches on her arm.

A shadow crossed over the sun, and she could see the trees starting to sway with the rising wind. Scattered drops of rain began to darken the balcony outside the doors. Only days ago she had stood out in a similar storm after a horrific nightmare, and had sent snowy birds darting into the rain-struck sky.

Much had changed since then.

(whatever is in this letter, it will change us. but it is our choice to make the change for the better.)

Was this same storm arcing out over Arendelle? Could it have hampered the progress of her courier? No, surely the young woman who rode with Elsa's letter would have made it back to the castle before the storm struck. Elsa needed Anna to have her latest letter. She needed Anna to know how loved she was, how dearly she was missed. How much she wanted Anna to come home. At this moment tomorrow, and Anna's return, seemed so far away.

(how I love you, Anna. come home to me.

come now.)

Perhaps this storm had bluntly extended its mass as far as the dwelling of the trolls, at the Valley of Living Rock. Could it have already spilled its wet and noisy load upon them, making Anna's journey difficult or dangerous? Would she be forced to stay there, curled up in whatever cave or shelter they could provide? Would Kristoff stay with her?

Elsa shied away from thoughts of Kristoff as gently as a flower closes itself at night. When she had heard of the arrival of the ice shipment two days ago, she had feared it would be Kristoff making the delivery. Then she had scolded herself for her feelings. Then she had actually thought about it and determined that of course Kristoff was staying with Anna, where he was truly needed.

Elsa returned her thoughts to her quiet contemplation of the oncoming storm, and of her beloved Anna who paced, unafraid, within the thundersome clouds.

So it happened that Elsa was completely unprepared for the quite sudden agonizing fist of heartache that constricted her breast. Tears welled up in her eyes, and then spilled down her face. They stung the tender flesh of her abraded cheek, the bandage having been removed from her face earlier that day.

A storm of memories struck her.

She remembered seeing Anna in the castle hallway two days after Anna had saved her from Hans on the fjord. It was the moment that their eyes had first collided with the weight of romantic love behind them. How she had turned to get another look at the woman who had been her sister, and how astonished she had been to see the same confusion and desire written upon Anna's face as Anna looked right back.

She remembered Anna in the palace bathtub, pale from illness, a bandage over the catheter hole in her chest, her long and lithe leg lifted from the cradle of bubbles as she soaped herself. How Elsa had blushed to pour the final bucket of water over her, closing her eyes to the sight of her and yet how greedily her ears had feasted on the slick sounds of Anna sluicing the water from her body.

She remembered Anna upon this very bed, her naked body straining in the moonlight, peaked breasts rising, her teeth clamped over her lips in order to contain the love cry in her mouth.

Oh Anna.

How I miss thee!

Elsa allowed herself this quiet mourning, this wistful remembering. Her eyes were rapt upon the storm, now slowly sliding down the peaks that surrounded the northern edge of the valley. She carefully dabbed at the tears that trickled down her cheeks, especially those that seeped from the eye that was still partly swollen shut.

She saw the thunder of Anna everywhere she looked; every scene held traces of Anna's vibration, from this very bed in which she sat to the green slopes of the valley where they had taken their walks. From here she could see only the edge of the barn, and she thought of kittens and a book of poetry (it was only a prop) and Anna in armour made of ice. Anna, graceful as willows, quick as lightning.

Her thunder rearing.

At that moment distant rumbles came to her ears, and Elsa couldn't help but smile. Her thoughts had synchronized with the storm, and it was glorious.

Then she passed out of thought altogether, and merely swam in a lake of peace and contentment, gently rocked by the waves of thunder that came to her from the dark afternoon sky. Pain in her body ebbed and flowed, but she took little note of it.

In this moment, as in all moments, she was greater than her pain.

A respectful knock came on her door. Feeling an edge of disappointment at being disturbed, she dabbed her eyes once more as she called out, "Come in."

It was Synneva. The tiredness was back in her face, but her eyes were smiling. "Are you ready for the storm?" Elsa asked, figuring that the sooner this conversation was started, the sooner it would end, and she could get back to her silent contemplation of the oncoming tempest.

"As ready as we can be," Synneva admitted, coming into the room with a small tray of candles and jars of oil for the lamps. "In the nautical sense, we have battened the hatches and trimmed the sails."

Elsa watched as Synneva checked the lamps, brimming them with oil, and then she deposited the candles by Elsa's bedside before closing the windows to the capricious breeze. "It's like to be a long night," Synneva said. "Long, and loud."

Elsa didn't even know the thought was on her mind until she spoke it aloud. "What is the disposition of our guards? Do we expect anyone to take advantage of a storm such as this?"

Synneva momentarily paused. "I know that we have the sentries at the two entry points to the valley. But, I could have the Captain make a report if you wish."

"That's not necessary," Elsa said, shaking her head. "I don't know where that thought came from."

"Henrik could be right intuitive at times," Synneva slowly said. "If you have a strange feeling, I would say to honour it."

Elsa took a moment to try and look inside herself, but now all she felt was the same grinding ache of pain that had been her constant companion these last few days. She opened her eyes again (though she could see but little through her wounded eye) and smiled a small and rueful smile. "Don't mind me, Synneva. It's nothing but worry over Anna."

Her aunt's eyes were as sharp as ever. "How's the pain, Elsa?"

"Okay for now."

"There's a fine line between being stoic and being a martyr, Elsa. We can't overuse some of these drugs, but they do have their purpose. You've only had one dose so far today. You may have another if you wish."

"They make me fuzzy," Elsa said. "And I don't want to dull the storm." She swivelled her head to regard the blackened clouds creeping towards them. More vibrations of distant thunder pressed upon her skin. "It's so beautiful," she whispered.

"As you wish," Synneva softly replied. "Gerda will bring your dinner in about an hour. The bell is right there beside your table, and a guard will be outside your door all night. If you need anything, please use the bell."

Elsa nodded. She didn't want to be rude, but it was time for her aunt to go. Elsa needed to watch the storm.

Synneva huffed her rather characteristic huff, a huff that spoke a thousand words about the supposed stubbornness and immortality of the young, and then she did leave, closing the door carefully behind her.

The storm closed upon the chalet just as Elsa finished pecking, one-handed, at her dinner.

And then stayed, as if hovering here for some divine purpose.

Elsa was enraptured.

She had seen many a storm. She had watched them from the steep eaves of her childhood bedroom, saw the wind lash the ships anchored at the harbour, saw waves froth on the edge of the fjord, saw lightning fork down in great vengeful spikes of light.

But this was different. This storm was no longer outside. It was inside her body and her memory as well, and she accepted every moment of it. The lightning of the attack of men and wolves had come, and the thunder is what had remained, bruised and stitched and plastered into her skin and bones. The storm was in her mind, the lightning of Isolde's sacrifice and capture leading to the thunder of lies and deception and separation from those most dearly beloved. Erasmus, the huntsman, stalking her family through the generations like an implacable tempest.

But this storm wasn't his, couldn't be his. No more than the wolves were truly his. Perhaps partnerships were forged; perhaps promises were made, even to beasts and men. There was always coercion, a balance of threat and reward, for he who styled himself as a God while doing the devil's work.

There would be sticks and carrots, brimstone and blessings.

Sackcloth and salvation.

But could the huntsman truly own or command, or could he only compel? How deep did his power lie? How deep could it lie, if it was all stolen from others? First it was stolen from the lost souls, de underjordiske in their kingdom under the earth, and then it was stolen from people such as her ancestor, Prince Marik. Was this power only an inanimate object, the ownership of which could be passed or transferred or stolen as one might steal a loaf of bread?

Could magical power have a soul, or consciousness? Or was it only a fundamental force, like lightning itself?

Lightning rampant, like that which now arched in great roaring forks within the bruised sky above the chalet. It was elemental. It existed in its own space and time, within its own boundaries and laws of physics. It could not be caught and controlled, no more than you could hold the ocean in a bottle. It could be used, but it could not be captured, could not be stripped of its power. It was eternal.

Thunder reared like a black stallion through the air, pressed with hooves of force against her eardrums, so loud it made the windows shake in their frames.

A wild, exultant joy filled Elsa, the Queen of Arendelle. This was energy at its most primal, its most basic. And for the moment, it was hers.

As she was hers. She belonged to no one else. Not even Anna. And certainly not Erasmus.

"I am not his," she whispered. "I will never be his. Though he capture me, though he torment me, though he take my life from me, I will never. Be. His."

Deep inside her heart, a white rose bloomed, and the petals shimmered with snow. She felt its radiance and its supremacy, as if it drew power from the lightning that lashed above the chalet. The rose hummed with thunder from within and without.

I am Elsa, it said.

Another fierce crack of lightning, followed almost instantly by a rolling boom of thunder.

And deep along her spine, a voice spoke, as if awoken by the lightning, and the thunder. The weight of snow suddenly pressed hard against Elsa's palms, seeking release.

Greetings, Elsa. I am Snofrid.

Elsa flailed out in surprise, and cried aloud with the pain of her sudden movement just as another roll of thunder reverberated through the room.

Purple gauze overtook her vision, and she bent her head, her heart distant, her body distant, everything distant behind this wall of agony clouded with faint.

She didn't know how long it took to return to herself, to leave the gray world of the not-quite-unconscious behind. She only knew that her former reverie was gone, smashed to pieces with a voice that had come from inside her, but was not her.

I've gone insane. Great. Now I'm the mad Queen of Arendelle.

She would have laughed had she not been in such pain.

For the next twenty minutes, Elsa tried to regain her composure, but her wounds were awake now, her shoulder grinding, her head and face throbbing, her arm and leg aching. She kept her eyes shut to the brilliant waves of light that still punctuated the darkness, though the thunder continued to crowd her ears. She breathed and breathed and when she could bear no more, she took the little bell in her hands, waited for a break in the rumbling, and shook it.

A young guard came, and Elsa recognized him. He was the same guard that had followed Elsa out of Sera's hospital the night she had gone to the bell tower to mirror the aurora with her snow. She remembered the delight in his face as she had made her creations, and she inwardly grimaced that he had to see her brought so low.

He fetched Synneva for her, and then Elsa suffered through a short yet kind examination, as Sera asked her questions and poked and prodded here and there. Elsa kept her lips clamped shut over the possibility of her insanity; for now, she only wanted ease to her pain.

Synneva's tonic came, with a goodly sized portion of the syrup of poppies, and Elsa had to beg to be allowed to stay upright, to continue to watch the storm, despite the splintering ache in her broken shoulder and hole in her chest. Synneva checked the sling that held her wounded arm close to her chest, fluffed the pillows again, and then huffed her sarcastic yet beautiful huff before she once again left the room.

It didn't take long before Elsa slipped into a different kind of reverie. It was not quite sleep, yet she was not quite awake, either. The world entire seemed blunted, and the growling roar of her injuries began to slip down this glitter-edged slope of opiate, retreating as slowly and inexorably as the thunderstorm outside.

And in this haze, Elsa thought of the voice she had heard, the voice that had come from somewhere near her spine. A woman's voice, it had been, light, sweet, yet still older than Elsa's own. The voice a snowflake would have if it had seen a thousand winters.

And that voice from her spine had said, "Greetings Elsa. I am Snofrid."

Only here, in the pain-lined edge between bliss and delirium, did Elsa suddenly remember another voice that had come to her not so long ago. The exact words came easily, joyously, to her mind.

This wounding is yours. Only you can accept it, and bless it, and thus transform it.

All darkness carries the seeds of redemption.

This wounding is your gift. Use it.

At the time, Elsa had felt an enormous gift of peace come upon her. She had never considered the voice to be anything but her own deep intuition, her own sensible soul.

But now?

Now she wondered.

She closed her eyes to the rain, to the retreating hooves of thunder, and asked in the dulled fortress of her mind, "Are you there?"

She heard nothing.

"I heard you, you know. Snofrid? Come talk to me, please."

And nothing more.

Elsa sighed and opened her eyes. Well, opened one eye only a slit, enough to bring greater focus to the darkened corners of her bedroom. Synneva had left one of the lamps lit, and a small fire was crackling merrily in the fireplace. As the storm moved on, full dusk danced into the space the storm left behind, like twilight children following the Pied Piper of Hamelin.

Fine. Mad Queen of Arendelle it is.

The syrup of poppy continued to seep through her bloodstream, and Elsa slipped even deeper into its haze, grateful that the pain had receded, though it seemed to have taken her reason along with it.

So she listened to the rain, her thoughts like clouds drifting across the sky of her consciousness.

She thought of storm bear cubs, growling and play-fighting their way down the valley and away from the chalet, as the lightning and thunder moved further and further away.

And she thought of the kittens in the barn. She had held two of them on her lap, and they had purred their growly purr as they flexed and retracted their sharp little claws into her thighs. The smell of hay had been strong, the sunlight fierce as it beamed through open windows and doors.

She thought of Anna, standing in that fierce sunlight of the barn, dust motes flashing above the strawberry-gold of her hair. Anna standing with sword in hand, wearing breeches and a saucy smile.

Anna in armour made of ice, saving Elsa from men and wolves. Never hesitating to leap into the fray. Anna carrying her up the long slope, then standing by the kitchen table as the bolt was pulled out of Elsa's shoulder.

That was her last memory of Anna. Anna holding her hand, her face stricken, her composure brittle. How dearly Elsa wanted to see her Anna again, and be assured that she really was all right. To kiss her and ease all memories of men and wolves. To prove that she was still so very missed, so very loved.

Elsa thought of Anna, and then blinked in surprise.

Anna stood in the doorway to her bedchamber, plastered with wetness, water dripping on the floor. She bore Elsa's sword at her waist. Her face was pale, her smile bright. Her eyes were like the sun breaking through stormclouds at the dawning of the world.

Anna stripped off her sodden cloak, handing it to someone without the door, revealing the plaster cast on her wrist.

The retreating thunder laughed beyond the chalet, a deep and joyous chuckle of lovers reunited.

"Anna?" Elsa whispered.

...

There are some moments in stories that are glossed over, and given only a sentence or two to describe them. Civilizations rise and fall, people live and die, and then time passes, as time always passes, in the weight of words scarcely noticed by an impatient reader. As if letters and their more noble companions of words could actually convey a sense of reality.

Anna knew she was living one of those moments as her horse galloped through the storm, drawing ever closer to the chalet at Lost Island Lake. If her life were a story, to be told to squally yet beloved grandchildren at a time in the future, what space would she impart to this segment to give it the gravity it deserved? Could words even suffice?

No. It would be glossed over in the space of a heartbeat. But here she was, living it. Stuck in it.

She had left the palace two hours ago, riding into the teeth of the storm. She had deigned to put on an oiled jacket and a skirt divided for riding, and one of the stablemen had lashed an emergency pack to her saddlebags. She bore nothing else save Elsa's sword and her letters, the last one still in her hand and stuffed into an inner cloak pocket only as she mounted her horse.

The last few words beckoned to her.

Come home to me.

Come now.

She had refused Olaf's and Kristoff's company, and so a lone Palace guardsmen rode with her.

She rode like a madwoman, using every lesson ever taught about riding in adverse conditions. She slowed down as she forded small streams now swollen with stormwater. She barely felt branches whipping her legs as she cantered on the grassy verge of the wagon-path. She rode like Freya incarnate, every step drawing closer to the chalet and to Elsa.

Grand Pabbie's words echoed in her mind as the thunder echoed off the mountains surrounding them. Anna only allowed the words at their most primitive; as mere sounds and furor with no meaning; they were like thunder and thunder alone. She could not think of what he had actually said. Not yet. Not now. Neither would she think of the responses she had given to the patriarch of the trolls, nor the tone of voice she had used in speaking.

Shame burned her as ardently as her anger.

Two hours into this madcap journey they were forced to stop in a clearing surrounded by trees. The eye of the thunderstorm was upon them, and the horses were maddened by the flashes of lightning and the instant claps of thunder. The guardsman urged Anna into the middle of the meadow, and they stood moderately apart from each other, drenched by the torrential downpour of rain. She held the reins and tried to keep her horse calm while thoughts of Elsa filled her mind.

Lightning was rampant in the sky above her, thunder rearing.

Was it only twenty minutes they spent waiting out the dread fury of the storm? Surely it was no more than thirty. Poor Anna did not feel alone in her skin, nor in her mind. The voice of Grand Pabbie was still with her, as was the voice of her long-dead father, and she tried to drown them both out with the recitation of Elsa's most beloved written words.

"Know this, and know this well. I love you."

"Do not fret, sweetheart. Pain is temporary. Love is forever."

"In my dreams, we are together forever. But they are dreams. I need your reality. I need you."

"How I love you, Anna. Come home to me. Come now."

She held on to the reins of her horse as if she could similarly catch and hold her thoughts. The storm ravaged her mind as well as this little clearing.

How would Elsa look when Anna returned? Could she bear to look upon Elsa's ravaged face, her broken body? She had only letters and words to comfort her during these past few days of forced separation. Letters, words, and a million memories.

The anticipation of seeing Elsa again grew to almost unmanageable proportions. It reminded Anna of all those years they had spent apart. In the weeks leading up to the coronation, spending the whole day with Elsa had been all Anna could think about. A whole day with the castle doors open, a whole day with her sister, the newly crowned Queen. The anticipation had been so great it had almost knifed her insides.

This felt much the same way. Just deeper. Wider. And much more painful as a result. This anticipation had more than a month of history to support it, a month of living, laughing, loving

(crying

almost dying)

The moment Anna deemed it safe to move on, she remounted her horse and continued, always followed by the faithful guardsman. As she rode, she recognized the landmarks that led to the chalet, and to Elsa. The ancient lightning burned tree that had a young sapling growing out of it. The narrow passage along a cliff above a swollen river. Finally she saw the open vista of Lost Island Lake with the rather large chalet that had been the inheritance of family Avundir. Her lost and hidden family.

And a sentry tent by the side of the road, scarcely illuminated by a flickering torch of pitch that hissed and sputtered in the slowing swells of rain. A guard had emerged to stand in the middle of the road, hand upraised. Anna slowed her horse, inwardly pleased to see the enactment of those security measures she had requested before leaving for Arendelle. Full dusk had fallen, and there was barely enough stormlight to see the wagon track to the chalet. She would have to be careful with her horse, even on this, the last tiny segment of her journey.

If she was but seven days younger, she might have ignored the danger of galloping in the full dark of night through puddles of rain and muck.

She was older now. God grant she was moderately wiser.

"Princess Anna," the guard said. "Any news from Arendelle?"

"No news, Ser. Any news from the chalet?"

"Only that Queen Elsa is recuperating well."

"Then I shall be on my way. Stay as dry as you can."

"Thank you, Princess. Godspeed."

The thunder was now a distant rumble on the horizon. The chalet was lit with lamplight. Anna couldn't see the master bedroom from here, as it looked out upon the lake itself. The rain was a steady drizzle, and she could feel the pressure of a cough building in her lungs as her stomach growled in hunger. There was a dull ache from the healed hole in her chest where a catheter had once been. Synneva was going to tear a strip off her. How great a price would she pay for this journey she barely contemplated making?

She only knew that she could not have stayed in Arendelle, could not have stayed at the palace one more night alone. Not with Grand Pabbie's words in her mind. She had to see Elsa. End of argument.

It was very dark, with only enough ambient light to outline the edge of the wagon track. Anna contained herself to a fast walk, allowing the horse to cool down from their ride. She rehearsed the words she would tell her cousin, her love. She found she was trembling, though whether from exhaustion or excitement she could not tell.

Soon enough they were pulling up near the house, where a guardsman waited without the chalet to take her horse. She gave unnecessary instructions for them to continue to cool the horses and give them a good rubdown.

Her heart was pounding as she entered the chalet, where Synneva Avundir was waiting for her. "Are you mad?" her aunt hissed, though the smile on her face took the bite out of her words.

"Yes, but you knew that already," Anna replied, stopping only long enough to take off her sodden boots. She immediately continued through the chalet, her aunt on her heels. "It's nice to see you, too, by the way."

Synneva ignored her sarcasm. "You recall that you had pneumonia only a few weeks ago."

"Yes."

"Gods, girl, you are headstrong."

"Again, you knew that already. Hopefully, I'm not entirely foolish. Could you please prepare a tonic, and ask Gerda to draw me a bath? I'll need to eat as well."

"I will do as you ask, but please listen, Anna. Elsa took a bad turn just an hour or so ago. She's had another dose of painkiller, so she'll likely be groggy."

"What happened?" Anna paused long enough to ask.

"I'm not entirely sure, but it's probably nothing to worry about. These injuries take time to heal. She's doing remarkably well, considering."

"Thanks to you."

Synneva shook her head, casting the compliment aside. "Just be careful with her, Anna. Be gentle. And I'll give you ten minutes for your reunion, but then you need to have your tonic and a bath and a meal. I don't need you sick again."

"Twenty minutes."

"Fifteen. Doctor's orders."

Anna snapped her socked heels together and gave Synneva a salute before resuming. "Cheeky miss," she heard Synneva say.

Anna continued down the hallway, her aunt tugging at her cloak. Anna could see the guard stationed at the far end of the hall. He glanced at her and nodded. She nodded back.

The door to their room was slightly ajar. Anna could hear the light crackling of the fire within, and the rain thrumming against the roof. The last rumbles of thunder sounded low and contented. Her heart was in her throat, cluttered with hope and anticipation.

She pushed open the door just as Synneva finally managed to divest her of her cloak. "Fifteen minutes," Synneva murmured again before she retreated.

Anna was oblivious to everything except Elsa. Her cousin and her Queen was half reclining in her bed, lit by creamy lamplight and flickering firelight in the full dark that had descended upon the chalet.

Elsa sat there, her one eye slightly dull yet wide open, looking straight at Anna. She heard her name pass over Elsa's beautiful lips. Anna had enough sense to shut the door behind her and then she halted, unable to move or speak. A complex mixture of shame, hope and love coated her legs and lips with lead.

"Is it really you?" she heard Elsa say.

Anna couldn't reply over the beautiful lump in her throat. She had prepared so many things to say to Elsa in this moment of reunion - it had kept her occupied throughout the interminable ride, but all thought fled from her at the sight of her love. What good were words anyway?

So she stood, and she looked, and she noticed many things.

The bandages had been removed from Elsa's face. The healing claw marks on her cheek were vivid red against her pale skin save where black stitches bristled. The injured eye was still swollen mostly shut, and her wounded cheek was yellowed with fading bruises. Her skin, normally pale, was still ashy and gray, but the eye that looked upon Anna was leaping with strength and with love, only slightly overcast with painkiller.

Her hair was slightly mussed and fell in a broad plait down her back. Her injured arm was still wrapped in bandages and caught up in a sling, immobilizing the broken shoulder. Under the thin sheet, Anna could see the thickness of the plaster cast on Elsa's leg.

And while Elsa looked so much better than she had that terrible first morning after their battle, Anna felt her heart wrench to see her so marked, so altered. So broken. Once again she began to curse herself for running out of the chalet that night, but then she looked, really looked, at her cousin and her lover.

Elsa shone with peace and contentment, waves of serenity coming from her as if she were the ocean itself. Her eyes were not filled with recrimination or with blame. They were suffused with love. She sat quietly and joyously, lit by firelight and lamplight, and smiled for Anna, even though the smile must have tugged painfully at the stitches still in her cheek.

In her mind's eye Anna once again saw blessed angel wings unfurling from Elsa's shoulders, the day they had saved Olaf together. While her cousin had always been every inch a queen, she had never shown this particular depth of poise and grace. Was this understated elegance a consequence of those horrible wounds? Was there really such a gift to be found in heartache, pain and misery?

Her stillness was incredible. It imposed its own gravity on this moment of reunion. Anna wanted to climb into that stillness, wrap it around her shoulders like a blanket, and allow her frenzied mind and body to finally ease.

Most of all, Anna looked at Elsa, this terribly altered and altogether lovely Elsa, and fell in love all over again. Once again, she had come home, to the true dwelling of her heart.

Anna didn't want to cry in front of Elsa, but everything she had experienced in the last few days was suddenly too much to bear. She thought of kissing Elsa goodbye while Elsa slept, and how she had hoped and prayed that Elsa could have woken; yet Elsa did not. She thought of the sword in the hands of Nils' father, she remembered the ancient hymn of mourning sung in the great cathedral, and she recalled the look of consternation (and Anna don't forget the hint of disgust) on Kristoff's face as she spoke of Elsa.

And she thought of Grand Pabbie's final words, his pronouncement of Elsa's doom, which had stuck to her skin and clothes like audible stink. Words that had revolved constantly in Anna's subconscious, tattooed, branded, stitched forever into her memory.

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she wiped them away with her plastered hand even as she forced herself to walk, not run, to Elsa's side. She unbuckled Elsa's sword as she walked, and paused to lean it against the nightstand.

Their eyes remained locked on each other; Elsa watched every step Anna made. As Anna neared, Elsa held her good arm out to her, and it was like abandoned gloves and open doors and promises both made and kept.

It was so beautiful, that open arm.

Anna trembled.

Anna sat down on the side of Elsa's bed and gently leaned into her cousin, wrapping her good arm around Elsa's waist and burrowing her head into the warm and welcoming crook of Elsa's neck and shoulder. Her trembling intensified with exhaustion and a sense of wondrous homecoming. She pressed her lips against Elsa's neck; a butterfly kiss.

She felt Elsa kiss her hair. Her arm was tight on Anna's shoulder. They remained thus, for a moment dipped in caramel and honey.

And then Elsa shifted so she could put her fingers under Anna's chin, and she lifted Anna's face. Anna's soul joyously met Elsa's soul as their eyes met in love and reunion, and then Elsa drew Anna's lips to her own for a kiss.

At the first touch of Elsa's lips, Anna felt her heart tear in two. Joy ripped her apart.

Their lips moved slowly, decadently, against each other. Again and again Anna pressed her lips against Elsa's, taking her time to experience the beauty of those lips, the softness of that mouth, inhaling velvet sips of air, barely registering the taste of salt on her tongue from her tears. The kiss seemed to last a thousand years, and yet it wasn't enough. Could never be enough.

The kiss was gratitude, it was love and affection and the erasing of all blame or guilt. Whatever residual feelings of shame and hurt Anna had been harbouring, whatever misgivings she had hoarded regarding Elsa's feelings toward her, that all melted away in this series of kisses, soft kisses, warm kisses, hot and dry kisses of surpassing tenderness and need.

Indeed, Anna had to contain the raging ardour in her heart, and reminded herself again and again to be soft, to be gentle, to be wary of Elsa's injuries and wounds, especially now.

Elsa wrapped her fingers around Anna's neck, breathed against Anna's tongue, and whispered, "I love you so much. Oh, Anna, how I love you. Thank you for coming back to me."

Anna felt her heart swell in her chest. Love consumed her. It took all her willpower not to crush Elsa with her desire and her need.

And then Anna remembered what Grand Pabbie had said, his calamitous words rearing like thunder in her mind, and her altered heart stuttered in her chest even as her whole body suddenly convulsed in a shiver. She suppressed a cough building up in her lungs.

Elsa pulled away, but held Anna's cheek in her palm. "What is it, sweetheart?"

"Oh, Elsa, it's so good to see you again. I couldn't wait, honey, I just couldn't wait another day." Anna remembered the promise she had made, though it seemed so long ago now, to tell Elsa the truth. So she continued, saying, "I have things to tell you, Elsa. But I need a tonic, and a bath. I can't get sick again." Then her stomach growled, scraping against her spine, and Anna sat back, rubbing her middle. "I'm also kind of hungry, I think."

Elsa smiled, and pulled Anna back for another kiss. A minute later, Anna could hear a hitch in Elsa's own breath, and she regretfully pulled away. Before she could ask Elsa how she was feeling, Elsa whispered, "I'm so glad you're here. You crazy girl, you rode through that entire storm, didn't you?"

"Guilty as charged."

"My lightning girl," Elsa said with enormous affection.

Anna quirked an eyebrow, having never heard that particular endearment before, but Elsa waved her comment away. "Have your tonic and a bath, Anna. You're right, you can't get sick again."

"Are you all right, Elsa? How are you feeling?"

"I'm as well as I can be, sweetheart. I can tell you everything after you've washed and eaten." Elsa wrinkled her nose. "You smell like wet horse. Not exactly romantic."

"So galloping through a storm to see my lady-love is no longer romantic?" Anna mused, smiling. She took Elsa's hand and lifted it to her lips. She gently kissed Elsa's fingertips and then said, "Mayhap I'll have to think of something even better."

"Mayhap? Who are you, Shakespeare?"

"Wow. Can't even woo a girl with words like mayhap."

"Not when you smell like wet horse. Just kiss me again, lutefisk. And then wash. The sooner you are done, the sooner you can come back. And not smelling like wet horse."

Anna smiled, but it was a little forced. She hadn't anticipated this level of glibness from Elsa. Was it only the painkiller, or was Elsa trying to lighten the mood? "Did you miss me, Elsa?" she asked, not able to keep the words behind her teeth.

(do you forgive me, Elsa?

do you still love me as much as I love you?)

The levity in the room was suspended for this moment that Elsa looked back at her, and Anna could scarcely handle the depth and the purity of that gaze. In that one look Anna knew how deeply she had been missed, and how sorely Elsa had ached for her. That look was lightning rampant.

And Anna felt the thunder of Elsa's love in that gaze, high and wide and rearing.

The as-yet-unbroken tree of their future appeared in her mind, greater and more powerful than ever before.

Elsa looked at Anna, and the colour of fire was upon her lips, the worth of souls in her eyes.

"Kiss me, Anna," Elsa whispered, and her voice cracked with feeling. "For I missed you more than words can say. Let me show you instead."

Anna kissed her.

Oh, yes, Anna kissed her.

...

A/N: I'm quite anxious to hear your thoughts on this chapter. Please comment, send me a little love.

I'll post the next chapter on May 11 - Ch 25: Shipwreck of Destiny