Elsa's brain was not in a pleasant place. Combine the adrenaline of the battle with the utter pain of the arrow in her arm; the shock; violent handling of her head by the Night Rider; and that blow to stomach, the chemical and electrical overload searing through her head made for one uncomfortable bundle of nerves. She could barely even register what her senses were informing her of the outside world. All she could see through her slightly blurred vision is the twisted sneer on the face of the rider. She's hit in the abdomen and the strike forces the air, and the last of her strength out of her. Her body practically goes limp, and her head droops as much as the rider allows. She stares blankly at the ground, feeling powerless. She continues to do nothing when suddenly her head and neck is jerked up.

This was the straw that broke the camel's back, in a sense.

Having her head jerked one more time sent her neurons into a tizzy, as this one last bolt of pain and rapid brain movement sent them into overdrive. Instead of rendering her incoherent, her senses and ability to think sped up dramatically. Now, rather than the everything outside a five foot radius being all but dead to her, she could be aware of everything in the battle. 'Could' being the optimal word, if only Elsa was capable of recognizing it, that is. That changed as she noticed an arrow flying in the air.

Oh hey, that arrow is flying towards me. Cool. Hi little arrow, how are you doing? Why are you traveling so slowly? I mean, if you want to hit me then you're going to have to go faster than that. Her eyesight and thinking mechanics processing everything at an exponentially faster rate, the arrow appeared to be approaching her no quicker than if it was walking. Haha, it's trying to hit me, wouldn't that be fun…wait, hit me? In response to her neurons firing at said exponentially faster rate, logic was slowly etching it's way back into her consciousness. If it hit me, that would hurt, right? Yes, yes, of course it would, especially since it's going to hit my…head…Wait what? MY HEAD? If they were capable of reacting as fast her thinking, the muscles around her eyes, along with the eyelids, would have widened to cartoonish proportions. That arrow is going to hit my head! It's going to hit my head! It's going to hit my head! It's going to hit my head! It's going to hit my head! SHIT!

In a move of desperation, Elsa puts all of her willpower into turning her head away from the arrow. However, she failed to recognize her faster cognitive analysis, so she's immediately left wondering why her head is barely moving. What the? Why am I so slow? Move, damn it! Move move move!

The arrow is now fifteen feet from hitting Elsa.

Move!

Ten feet.

MOVE!

Five feet.

MOVE MOVE MOVE! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!

To Elsa, it was a near Herculean effort to move her head just one more inch.

Schwip!

Before she can react, Elsa is hurtling towards the ground and bangs her head hard. This additional blow would typically not be healthy for any human skull, and her mind was ready to simply give in, but her magic was not so lighthearted. In an instant, her brain is flooded by a wave of pure cold magic acting on its own will. Coursing over and through every neuron, synapse, and electrical chemical signal. Her instincts and abilities understood the need to reactivate the 'fight or flight' response, and that wouldn't be going anywhere if they sat idly by and let Elsa drift to brain damaged unconsciousness. The cooling effect did a magnificent job of slowing the chaos that was Elsa' neurons, within seconds the panicky state of mind calmed down to her normal functioning mode, with a taste of adrenaline still lingering about.

Elsa blinks at her newfound…normalcy, of all things. Unfortunately this also included the pain in her arm shooting back. Before she can concentrate on it her head is jerked back once more.

"You may have gotten lucky this time, but I'm not going to let you-"

Elsa, in a fit of desperation, formed an ice dagger in her right hand and in one twirling motion, struck out to sever any tendon in his arms she could hit.

She found his neck instead.

The man's gripped stays firm, but for a mere moment before going limp. His throat and mouth spill out blood as he collapses to the ground. Elsa maintains a smirk on her face as he falls,

Good, maybe a long recovery to regain your arms will teach you…wait, why is his neck bleeding?

She reaches out towards the befallen man, her arm shaking more and more the closer she got. Then she makes contact. And all she feels is a warm liquid that's still gushing out.

Okay, so he got hit in the neck. But…that must have been something else right? That's gotta be it. All I need to do is find is find the wounds I made on his arms. I mean, I know I made contact.

She rushes her hand to her intended target: the inside crook of his elbows. After finding nothing, her search expands to covering the entirety of his upper torso. Her only result is still that slash at the jugular. Not believing what she sees and feels, she runs over his body once, twice, and three times more, each search faster than the previous one. Yet she can still only find the gash that emptied his throat.

No…he's dead…no no no…by MY powers…nononononononononononononono

A piercing, soul-shattering, envy of all wraiths scream rips through the air and deafens the battlefield. Or, at least, in her head it does. However, all she can manage is to stare, kneeling on the ground, with her mouth agape as her mind goes into shock a second time, unaware of the rider approaching behind her, club raised.

Aragorn, watching the entirety of this scene from fifty yards out, was experiencing nearly the same fluctuation in emotions as Elsa. Panic as his arrow flies towards Elsa, relief that she was able to dodge it (for the most part); and, as he begins sprinting in her direction to assist, worry as the rider grabs hold once again, elation as Elsa impressively slashes her enemies neck, confusion at Elsa's lack of movement, and panic once again as he realizes the truth of the situation.

That was her first. And she can't handle it. Not good!

"GIMLI!" His shout grabs the dwarf's attention, who was at the moment occupied at removing his axe from the head it was currently buried in. Following Aragorn's gaze and direction, he comprehends Elsa's situation in an instant, raises his axe out of the caved in skull, and dashes off in Aragorn's wake.

Aragorn is ten yards away when he spots the rider with club approaching his unresponsive ally. Readying his sword, he charges and releases a ferocious fighting scream.

The rider barely knew what hit him.

Turning at just the last second, he hears the sound of sword on flesh before he falls backwards and in his fading sight spots a headless body collapsing to the ground and a dwarf rushing to the side of the blonde woman.

"Lady Elsa are you alright?" The stout man made a quick glance to ensure that no riders were of immediate concern. As luck would have it, the man with the club was among only five remaining men, the other four occupied by Gandalf, Legolas, Boromir, and, to his surprise, the four hobbits, who were giving the rider almost too much to handle. He puts these observations away as he returns his attention to his distraught ally, who was still frozen to her spot in shock. "Lady Elsa, can you hear me?" He waves his meaty hand in front of her face, but gives up soon after as he notices the blank expression in her eyes.

Aragorn kneels down on Elsa's other side, confident that his allies would be able to finish the battle within the minute in absence of his and Gimli's assistance. He too, studies Elsa's blank expression, but declines on attempting to grab her attention. Studying the rest of her, it is then he notices the arrow that has pierced her arm completely with little trails of blood still pouring.

"Gimli. Over here."

He points to the limp limb. Gimli's response is confusion before it gives way to the wide eyes of horrific recognition. Both were desperate to yank the arrow out, but neither could begin to imagine the response from Elsa. Would she ignore it? Would there be a sharp cry of pain? Or would she release a wave of ice magic that hurts those who want to help her? Even the prospect of ripping a piece of cloth to apply as a tourniquet could be risky. They share a look, and simultaneously decide on their best option for the moment. They needed Gandalf. No, Elsa needed Gandalf.

"I'll find Gandalf you…" Aragorn's command trails off as he discovers that the battle is over, six other members of the fellowship gathering round to recuperate and celebrate, in a low-key fashion, that is. Frodo the lone individual without the look of relief in his eyes. His attempts to grab Gandalf's attention brushed aside for the moment.

"Gandalf!" The entire group silences and turns to the worried voice of the ranger. Legolas spots the dilemma within a second and is bounding over to the one inured comrade, who was still lost in her own shock. As the rest discover for themselves Elsa's state, the light jubilee that infected them ceased. Gandalf is the next to arrive at her side, briefly flinching when the full extent of her injury comes into view. He figures he could alleviate the pain and set her arm properly for some healing, but this wound needs Elvish skills to heal completely.

Sam, having followed the group in the rush to Elsa's side, was completely transfixed on her face. His curious mind befuddled by the wide-eyed, yet blank look that seemingly bore into the dead man before her. Specifically, he was concentrating on her eyes. Now Sam had seen a great many different looks in his life, from confusion to jealousy, innocent joy to betrayed anger, and, in his opinion, everything in between. But now, he was reconsidering that.

Lifeless.

There was no other word he could think of to describe it. Elsa's eyes, for all intents and purposes, appeared to have nothing behind them. No energy, no emotion, not even movement. Sam has seen the eyes of the dead, but even those always contained something, typically the speck of the last emotion or thought experienced before expiring. Even when interacting with those who take care in constructing masks of indifference, Sam could detect a tiny inkling of what they were hiding. Here though, there was nothing. It was as though Elsa's soul had spirited away and left only a shell.

Perhaps this is shock.

The word came to him through a variety of memories of bar encounters long past. Drunken and/or animated discussions of violent or dramatic actions and events that hit an individual with such power they are left with response. He even overheard a particularly bombastic man call it "the blue screen of death", whatever that meant.

"What do you suppose caused this…shock?"

"Shock indeed Mister Gamgee, but not such a severity I have yet seen." Responds Legolas. He too has spotted her vacant look, and ponders to himself that her mental wounds might be more serious than the arrow lodged in her arm.

"This man is her first. From where I stood, it appeared to be a move of desperation that went farther than she…intended. I would consider it brilliant if it weren't for her current state." Aragorn's melancholic explanation draws the looks of the fighters and Gandalf, the hobbits too preoccupied with either gawking or staring at the ground to truly consider his statement.

"Her first? Surely you jest. After her sword lesson and stories about assassination, how could he possibly be her first?" Exclaimed Boromir. He too had briefly witnessed her kill, and from his angle the strike appeared to be precise and planned. Of course, he couldn't see the following actions as he returned his focus on relieving his enemy of a useless, forty pound meat stick attached to is torso.

"Self-defense can be limited to incapacitation. She might be adapted to preventing her enemies from striking. Or running." Added Legolas. He bent down to examine the ice dagger that was still nearby. The jagged edges appeared to indicate a design to tear muscles and tendons, not arteries or veins. Before he points this out, a worried voice breaks their contemplative stupor,

"Are we going to sit here all night debating whether it's her first kill or are we going to do something about that damn arrow?!" Frodo, not quite believing his companions behavior, was standing by Elsa' wound when he cried out for their attention. He was grateful when their look of shock transitioned to shame and concern within a second. Yet,

"That is prudent, but how? We have little clue on she she'll react, if at all." Gandalf's last three words dissolve into a mere whisper, as he believes to have found himself in a paradox. On one hand, removing an arrow from a non-magical is a painful, bloody, but simple process and his limited healing abilities could return the wound to about 80% functioning capacity without additional help. Removing an arrow embedded in a magical individual, a powerful magical individual who he still couldn't completely understand…would be tough.

"Well what are we waiting for? Let's be done with it!" Frodo, echoing Gimli's words from the gathering, makes his move before the rest of the fellowship can react. First, he breaks off the feathered portion of the arrow and tosses it aside. Then, to the surprise of all, he grips the arrowhead poking out of her bicep and pulls.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Gandalf is sitting close to the fire, his eyes focused on the task at hand. Next to him is Elsa, fully conscious but reserved. Nearby a few members are standing within a foot of the fire, having been the closest to Elsa when she instinctively lashed out with her powers at the sudden pain. Frodo holds his hands in the fire, as they were turned practically into ice after his rash action. Elsa's left arm is held out at an awkward angle as Gandalf finishes the final touches of her tourniquet. She winces slightly as he tightens the last knot.

"There you are. I wish I could do better, but you are the first person who's own magic actually rejected mine." He frowns as he looks at her banged arm; one month into their journey and already their group had an injury. Worst yet was its occurrence with one of the two magic users, and he had no clue on how it would affect her abilities. Granted it didn't help that Elsa had yet to speak a word outside of her initial…volatile reaction to the arrow leaving her arm. "But I'm afraid that until we find you a better healer, your arm will remain limp." She grimaces at this revelation, then sighs and turns away. Gandalf, not one to allow an individual to lament in silence for so long, attempts at idle conversation.

"Thank you." It is little louder than a whisper, but Elsa's gratitude still catches Gandalf off guard. However, he does allow himself to smile when he registers what she said. But as he prepares to respond, Elsa rises and heads over to a desolate spot, far from the fire or a member of the fellowship. Closing his mouth with a frown, Gandalf sighs and pulls out his pipe. He figured an hour or two more of rest would be enough before they started their ascent. It wouldn't be safe to remain in the area of being attacked.

Now, it would be best if we could leave immediately, but I worry Elsa needs time.

As he lights his pipe-weed, Sam approaches.

"Gandalf, will Elsa be…alright? She just doesn't seem the same since…well, that." The caring hobbit glances over at their icy companion, worry visibly evident over his face.

"It is not my place to tell her condition for the moment, but I do hope that she will be fine in time." The both give sorrowful gazes across the fire, but their concern is interrupted by Boromir.

"Gandalf why are we still resting? She is bandaged and is fully capable of walking, it is not safe to remain here a second longer." His eyes and brow are furrowed, despite being behind the light of the fire.

"Physically, yes. I am aware she could keep going. I fear, however, that she needs time to recover her bearings."

"Then she can mope while she travels. It's just a first kill, everybody either gets over it or deals with it in their own manner."

"But what if it's not that she killed, but rather…how she killed." Sam is still stealing glances at Elsa as he talks, "I mean, what if there's, I don't know, maybe some sort of deep seated fear, or something like that, of her killing with her powers."

Gandalf smiles at the Hobbits insight, as he himself had an inclination in that direction, but was too preoccupied with his attempts at healing to truly consider it. Boromir was still a bit peaved, but did admit that the hobbit had a point,

"Perhaps she had a stigma of not using her powers to kill. I mean, those assassins she mentioned were more against her powers than her actually being a Queen, correct?"

"I believe that was the intent of her story yes." Gandalf takes a long hit of his pipe, and follows with a beleaguered exhale before continuing, "But I fear this goes more intimate than that."

While the three continue to contemplate Elsa's reactions and continuing silence, across the campground the woman in question was lost in thoughts of her own, and on a completely different subject.

I can't believe I haven't considered this before, but…how in the world did I manage to wander into a world whose history, cultures, species, geography, and even religions differ so greatly from mine and yet we speak exactly the same language? Euphemisms, idioms, and the like included. I'll be damned to find a luckier situation if this ever happens again.

As Elsa ponders this seemingly irreverent but equally intriguing topic, she fails to notice Gimli approaching. Remembering his manners when addressing royalty, even though she has stressed multiple times she will not be referred as such during their adventure, the dwarf found it better to wait until she broke out of her mental focus. However, while he did maintain proper etiquette, patience was a virtue that needed practice.

"Pardon me, Lady Elsa." Her shoulders flinch, but just a quarter inch. After calming herself, Elsa takes a few moments trying to decide whether to ignore Gimli or not. She eventually relents after considering that this would be something Anna would want her to do.

"Yes Gimli?"

"I will understand if you were to be adverse to my request, I can see that this troubles you, but…could you please explain yourself, in full?"

Elsa's eyes do a peculiar mix of narrowing and widening simultaneously. This is in conjunction with her lips pursing to an extremely tight limit.

"Explain…what?"

"Your helplessness and the shock you went through at the end of the battle. Never in my life have I seen such a dramatic reaction to a first kill."

At the mention of 'first kill', a ring of frost springs forward from where Elsa sits, nearly reaching Gimli before its advance halts. Gimli, while slightly concerned, remains still. Elsa, meanwhile, flinches at her display of powers before taking her time to dismiss the ice. Yet, she remains silent, and this silence drags on for quite a bit.

"Elsa, I do not fear pushing boundaries. Taking tentative steps for the sake of feelings leads nowhere. Now either spill what troubles you or prepare yourself for the rocky stubbornness of a dwarf."

"Why couldn't Anna be the one to deal with this?" The statement tumbles out of her mouth as an aggravated sigh.

"And just what do you mean by that?"

Elsa gives a soft look at Gimli, before turning her whole body away and mumbling, "Never mind, it's nothing." Gimli does not respond, hoping she would change her mind and continue. Sighing, he picks up his endeavor with vigor.

"This is most certainly not nothing." Elsa remains passive, not evening sparing a glance at the mention of Anna. Moving around to face her once more, Gimli catches her face seemingly staring off into space, but truly looking at anywhere just to avoid him.

"Now look, I don't know if you grew up behind doors or slabs, but you're in the wide open mountains with nine people worried about you. Either talk now and be rid of it or continue your pain. This dwarf will still be here."

"Or perhaps it doesn't have to be so open!" Elsa snapped. She begins to raise her right hand, a blue aura glowing even at this late hour, an ice wall about to be raised, before she flinched in pain. It wasn't her injured arm that inflicts this, rather, the look in Gimli's eyes. Considering she refused to look him in the eye, her ears gave Elsa the impression that a hard stare would match the gruff voice that pushed her buttons. She underestimated her dwarven companion. They were pleading, his stony eyes. They had the same look Anna's had every time she simply wanted to talk to Elsa. To help Elsa. They did not bore into heads. They were receptive, inviting, hoping to the high heavens that the person they cared about would accept their help. Just like Anna.

How could I block that out?

Sighing, she lowers her hand, and turns to bring her body face to face with Gimli's.

"If you please, I do not think I can explain all in one sitting. It would be a bit…much." Hands clasped over her lap, they begin to writher in each other's grasp. "I guess for a summary, that…ummm…"

"Shock?"

"Yes, shock. I went into that state because I saw I had broken a promise. A promise I held very dear to me. A promise I made to the most important person in my life, Anna."

Oh.

"I promised Anna that under no circumstances would I use my powers to take a life. Incapacitate, immobilize, stun; yes. Statues, snowmen, ice rinks, snowball fights; yes. But, never murder."

Her hands still grasped together tightly, Elsa's face has traveled between crestfallen and small happiness as she recounts the details of her promise.

"So to see a vow that I've been upholding to the best of my abilities for the last five years shattered in an instant, was too much."

Gimli, who couldn't even muster the strength to attempt to find words during her revelation, is now bombarded by a litany of questions ringing through his mind. Half is towards what has been said, half is what he assumes is hidden behind the lines.

"I take it that Anna disagreed with the 'under no circumstances' part?"

Elsa nods. "Bless her heart, she may be the nicest person in the kingdom, but after…" Elsa's mind still halts at the mere thought of the bastard from thirteen brothers, "that happened, even she believes in the usefulness of capital punishment."

"And from the way you phrase it, so do you. But why not your ice? It is fierce and a power to be reckoned. Who would dare to oppose-"

He is cut off by a wave of cold that bursts from Elsa as fury erupts from her voice, "Because the first person I nearly killed with my powers was…" The anger dissipates so fast that Gimli would swear it was another form of Elsa's magic, "Anna." Her face has become so sorrowful at this point that she turns away to hid herself.

Gimli's mouth drops like a stone. His eyes redden, but don't water; he secretly hopes they would. Once again, he figures that this revelation is just a tip of the iceberg, but he refrains from picking at it.

Oh…dear, no. Her sister? What cruel god would hand her that fate?

In a flash, Gimli is on his knee, head bowed, "Elsa, please accept my apologies for that. I could not imagine such a cruel scenario. But, please also understand a dwarf does not regret taking the hard route. For dwarves would never grow if we only took the easy path."

Lingering in her dark shadow for few moments more, Elsa turns back. Her eyes are a similar red to Gimli's, but she too shows no sign of tears.

"All is well Gimli. Yes, you did push too far, but I think it was for the best. So, thank you master dwarf." Before he can respond, Elsa pulls him, with her one good arm, into a tight hug, flinching at a small twinge of pain. Gimli, surprised by this act of affection from a lady of beauty he considered far above his stature, is stone still in the embrace.

Elsa releases her grip and returns to her sitting position with a soft smile warming her face. "Thank you, Gimli. But if you could please, I think it best if you were to go now. Unless there's anything else."

Gimli, finally capable of action after his self-induced petrified state, returns the warm smile. He's about to shake his head before something catches his eye. Or, rather, a certain lack of something. He is caught in a conflict on whether to laugh or be concerned of what he sees. His playful side wins out.

"Aye, just one more. What plans have you for your hair?" He asks with a small chuckle.

Confusion knotting her brows, Elsa reaches up for her braid as she responds with her own question, "What do you mean, 'plans'? My hair is perfectly…" Her train of speech trails off as her hand grasps air in place of hair. Confused, she grasps at her other shoulder in case her braid had moved.

Nothing.

Befuddled, she runs her right hand through her hair. Starting at the bangs, her hands goes burrows through the gratuitously luscious locks, which her hairdresser once remarked being significantly thicker and more numerous than any hair she's seen, and over the crown of her head.

So far so good. Nothing unusually, long bangs in place and now for the start of…

Her thoughts are interrupted as her hand escapes her hair at the back of her head. She runs it through her hair again. And again, they feel long bangs before ending on nothing at the back. She repeats the process couple times more before an actual thought manifests itself.

If my bangs are still long but my hair stops short past my occipital, then that can only mean…

Retracting her hand from her hair, with a wave, or two or three as her left hand is incapable of contribution, she forms an ice hand-held mirror in her hand. Angling it so light can show reflection, her face practically short-circuits at the sight: her braid had been cut off, right above her neck.

This doesn't stop her mouth from breaking though, "WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO MY HAIR?"

All heads whipped towards the commotion, an awkward silence follows as they adjust their eyes to determine her outbreak. This silence is abruptly breached by the manacle laughter of two hobbits.

"You just now noticed your wondrous new 'do?" Pippin is rolling on the ground, his stomach cavorting and his abs contracting at his manic actions. Merry is right next to him, experiencing the same sensations. The rest of the fellowship were also in high amusement, but none dared, or were too polite, to incur her wrath. Another thought that pervaded a few minds was that they liked her new look better. Rare times indeed that a woman sported short hair; the change was nice.

"WONDROUS?" The cold had returned, but this instance Elsa meant it. Merry and Pippin's laughter ceases in an instant, eyes widening at the ice sorceress marching in their direction, frost creeping towards them.

"I mean no offense, my lady. It's just that…" Pippin was slowly backing away, not eager to experience whatever Elsa had in plan for him.

"Just what? That was a regal braid and now it's gone and I'm left with nothing but overly long bangs and misshapen spikes at the back."

"It looks good, Elsa." Merry has moved in front of his friend, hoping flattery might calm her down. His aim is accurate, if one considers stilted confusion equal to calming down.

"It…I…uh…GOOD?" Considering that she neither has two hands to play with a braid, or having said braid to grasp, Elsa's right hand is twitching in her nervousness of nothing to do. Instinctively, it goes for the nearest possible release: running through her hair.

"Yes, lady Elsa. The new look suits you. Although I do apologize for it being my fault." Speaks Aragorn. Elsa immediately turns her gaze towards the ranger, a questioning look on her features. "I was the one who shot the arrow in your direction. My aim was for the rider, but in the end it pierced your hair instead."

Elsa remains silent as her hand slowly runs through her hair one last time before being lowered to her side. She bites her lip as she gazes around the members surrounding the fire. Despite knowing not exactly what she seeks, she is warmed by the smiles that greet her, confirming they share the sentiment.

"Well…thank you, I guess. Actually, no. Wait, maybe. Ummm…I just don't know what to make of this." She offers a small laugh as she returns to facing Aragorn. "But as I believe I heard from, someone, we should get going. To Caradhras!"

The fellowship, surprised by the outburst for adventure, breaks into smiles as they start gathering their things and erase evidence of their presence, outside of the field of corpses anyway. In the midst of this, Gandalf moves towards Gimli.

"That was quite a feat to get her open. Care to share your secret?"

Gimli faces the wizard that stands tall before him. With a twinkle in his eye, he gives a mighty laugh before returning the question, "Aye, perhaps I could…over some malt beer after a long week in the mines." He slaps his hand on Gandalf's back before returning to finish packing his equipment. Gandlaf is perplexed for just a moment, then resumes his smile and decides he'll learn when he's meant to learn.

On the other side of the camp, Elsa, having finished with her things, approaches Frodo. She places a gentle hand on his shoulder to grab his attention. Frodo, startled by the surprise of ice on him, whirls around with wide eyes. But as soon as Elsa comes into focus they soften and a smile crawls its way onto his face.

"Oh, Elsa, it's just you."

She giggles, "Well who else would it be?"

"Well, I did feel this intense cold coming from a small, comfy hand on my shoulder and…oh…right."

Elsa giggles again, "It's quite alright. I would like to say thank you for dealing with the arrow in my arm, even if it was in an abrupt manner. I would also like to apologize for my…reaction that occurred soon after."

Frodo's smile grows wider as he reaches up to pat her hand. "It is quite alright Elsa I'm sure you would have done the same." His smile falters as ponders his last statement; "Actually, I feel you would use a different technique with your magic."

"Probably." She then drops down to become eye level with him before leaning in to whisper in his ear, "And the ring? How does it sound?"

He responds in his own hushed voice, "Cold and silent as ever. Your cube is truly amazing, I've never felt lighter with the ring."

A smile of her own creeping onto her face, Elsa is slowly swelling with pride knowing that her construct was secure. Little did either know that in the midst of the battle and Elsa's pain and mental breakdown, the tiniest of cracks had formed on the surface. One that Elsa could not detect.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Miles away across mountains, rivers, and forest, the night is black. Infernal fires burn away in the creation of a new army, fueled by the old and forgotten. Saruman stands atop his tower, gazing upon the progress surrounding Isengard. He is satisfied with the direction of his army; eager to meet his new brand of orcs he christened the Uruk-hai. His attention snaps to the sound of fluttering in the distance. Turning to the thum, he smiles as his spies approach.

He always enjoyed the circling of the crebain. A sense of rush breathed him new life when surrounded by the thunderous flapping of wings. This method of communication was excitement, and even bad news brought a tint of adrenaline with it.

As he listens to the usual chatter, his eye spots a glimmer. Had the fires below not burned so bright, he would have missed it. But Saruman did not miss this. With a dismissive wave of his hand, the crebain disperse. Before the glimmer can fly away, he points with his staff, and freezes it in place. He draws the mysterious glint towards him, and within moments an ice swallow is floating in front. Saruman marvels at the intricate designs of the construct, remarking to himself how lifelike the ice before him appears. This admiration quickly turns to scorn as he connects the pieces.

"So, the mysterious ice sorcerer believes he can spy on me? How unfortunate that the laws of light were against him." Muttering ancient incantations, he probes deep into the magic behind the bird before him, seeking the strings that should control this animated creature. His brow furrows as nothing is to be found. He attempts an even more powerful spell, but still, nothing.

"It appears you have free will, little thing. An admirable feat of your creator, to imbue life. I'm afraid you are about to lose it though."

With a flash of his staff, Saruman pierces the ice swallow deep with magic. In mere moments, it is done. The swallow appears identical, but the ice's hue is darker, and the details rougher. If possible, it appears to display anger.

"Now, you will tell me what you see." He relinquishes his hold on the bird, which sets off into the night, unknowing of its upcoming betrayal.

Satisfaction returning once more, he turns his gaze to the Misty Mountains, and reaches out with his magic to detect the foolish fellowship. He finds an anomaly on the base of the most arduous peak. A smile for ghosts and demons spreads on his face as a hideous plan forms.

"So Gandalf seeks to lead them over Caradhras? A shame he finds the path through Moria too treacherous. Now then, let's watch how he responds to a blizzard in summer." With a rough cackle, he prepares to redirect the coldest of winter's air on ten travelers, unaware of the power that resides in his target.