Chapter Text

The Archer – Part III

Summer

Merida whistled to herself as she walked through the castle halls. Walked, of course. Definitely not skipped. There was a slight spring to her step, true, but it was only as part of her training exercises, to keep herself light on her toes. Definitely that. Skipping was for airheaded, love-struck maidens frolicking in pretty gardens with flowers in their hair. And Merida was certainly not that. Nope. Not one bit.

Well, maybe a bit. But not really. “Love” was such an easy word to throw around. What Merida felt was closer to playful camaraderie, sprinkled with affection and spiced with competition.

Kristoff was a friendly lad, laidback and easy-going, and she’d never seen him without that lopsided grin. He was quick to laughter, full of ridiculous stories, and sometimes hinted at some true tales too. Such men were easy to befriend, fun to compete against, and fun to be around.

Even if those shoulders were wasted on a man who refused to pull a bow.

“Th gud Lawd was mad t’ gie arms like that t’ the likes of ye,” Merida had told Kristoff one day at the shooting range, their regular meeting place. As she’d strung her bow, she’d shaken her head at the waste. “Great strapping laddie th’ size o’ ye probably could be shooting a longbow. Instead, ye use thon clumsy thing.”

“Not all of us spent our time in the cot pelting mobiles with arrows,” Kristoff had replied as he pushed the cartridge into the muzzle. “While you were coring apples from twenty paces, I was carving ice out of lakes. If I were to pick up a bow now, you’d be lucky to see more than two arrows a minute from me. Maybe one of them will go somewhere near the enemy. No doubt he’ll be devastated when I scratch the leather on his boots.”

“Better a puir archer than a skilled musketman,” Merida had sniffed, bracing herself as she slipped the string into its nock. “E’en tha crossbow’s better. Th musket is a reekin’ thing, fit more t’ replace my Pa’s pipe than t’ be used in battle.”

“Now that I’m a lord, it’s only fitting that I do lordly things,” Kristoff had said patiently. “I can read, getting better at writing, and maybe one day I’ll learn the proper method of using the right spoon when eating soup at state dinners. Unfortunately, utensils and pens aren’t likely to impress the manly men at court. Hopefully, my marksmanship will win them over when my royal vehicular doesn’t.”

“Ye mean vernacular,” Merida had corrected absent-mindedly, before face-palming when she realised how much she sounded like her mother. “Next I’ll be telling him tae fix his collar and fash o’ th’ state o’ his boots.”

Kristoff had laughed at that. “See what I mean? I should just let my musket do the talking. Look,” he’d said, tapping gunpowder into the pan. Snapping the frizzen closed, Kristoff held the musket out with both hands for Merida to inspect. “It’s cleaner than me, smells better, polished till you can see your reflection, and it was born in a castle. What more could a blue-blooded, freshly-powdered nobleman ask for?”

Giggling, Merida had swatted at Kristoff as she warmed her bow.

“When ye put it tha’ way, maybe I should ask my Mum if I kin marry your musket. ‘Leuk, Mum, isnae tha’ braw husband! He’s clean, easy tae handle, lang, polished, and fires mair than aince an hour! Wit mair could ye want?’”

Kristoff had almost dropped the musket, he’d been laughing so hard. As he’d wiped tears from his eyes, Kristoff finished loading his musket. Shoving the cartridge down the barrel with the ramrod, he’d given Merida a meaningful look and had slowed the jerking motion.

“I believe His Majesty is in need of a royal pumping. Are there any takers?”

“How like a real noobleman. Twa jerks, a trigger, and aff he goes. No’ like my leddy, here,” Merida had quipped in response, lifting her bow. “This elegance needs a bonnie touch ta pull at her strings. Ye can’t jest pump awa’ and expect results. Needs some warm lovin’, but then skilled fingers can keep her gawn forever.”

“And now this conversation has officially gone beyond the realm of innuendo and straight into plain silly,” Kristoff had guffawed, shaking his head. Sliding the ramrod back into place, Kristoff had snapped the musket up to rest the butt against his massive shoulder. “Is Her Grace of the Highlands ready to be see what the real mountains can make of a marksman?”

Merida had scoffed in response, sliding an arrow from her quiver. As she whipped her bow upwards, fingers sliding against the string, fletching brushing against her fingertips, she’d grinned cockily at the mountain man.

“Tha’ wee rocks across th’ loch? All that saft snow, bonnie an’ glittering in the morn. It’s like yer men. Tha’ Heelands ‘ll gie you a real challenge.”

“So long as I get to meet Bonnie, I think I’ve won this challenge.”

“If ainly ye could shoot like you haver, ye’d be th’ pride o’ the Arendelle regiment,” Merida had smiled as she lined up her shot. “First t’ ten?”

“If ten’s all Her Ladyship can endure,” Kristoff had said with a wink.

Merida grinned at the memory. They’d gone way past ten. More like sixty. By the end of the day, the air had hung heavy with smoke, and the targets were peppered with arrows and musket balls. Kristoff had been holding an ice pack to his aching shoulders, and Merida had been regretting her decision to leave her gloves as she’d wrapped blood-dripping fingers in linen. However, both had been beaming like fools, high off exhilaration, adrenaline, and the joy of the other’s presence.

And maybe gunpowder. There’d been a lot of smoke.

Merida had to resist the urge to whistle. She felt surprisingly happy. A mere five days ago, she’d tried to shoot this man. Now, he was the best friend she’d made in Arendelle. A tad disappointing to her mother, who’d hoped that she and the Princess Anna might become close friends, but Merida was used to subverting her mother’s expectations in regards to other royalty. Heaven knows the number of hopeful suitors who’d returned home with their prospects no better than before they’d arrived.

But whereas Merida had shared perhaps three sentences with the Princess, and had avidly avoided the Queen after their disastrous first encounter, the Scottish princess had found a staunch friend in the jovial Royal Ice Harvester and Deliverer ((“Ye really need ter koom up wi’ a better name than tha’.” “It was that or ‘Ice Master’ and really that just sounds silly.” “An’ th’ other dinnae?”She’d be sad to part ways when the tourney was over, and that day was approaching rapidly. In three days, the tourney would be concluded. In four, the meetings would be done. In five, Merida would be back on the ship heading back home. And while she couldn’t wait to see her little brothers again, rotten rascals though they are, she wondered when she could come back to Arendelle, or if Kristoff could be invited to visit Castle DunBroch. She’d miss the big goofball.

Speaking of which…

“A’right, ye great beastie o’ an ice harvester!” Merida called as she rounded the corner to the firing range. “I hope ye got a good nicht’s rest, because today, we’ll no’ be stappin’ until ye’ve got nae mair gunpowder and ma’ fingers are wuirked tae tha’ bone. I’ll go easy on you if ye dinnae feel up ta it. Ah’ll ken if ye gie up early, I’ve coom to expect it of-”

Queen Elsa cocked her head a fraction to the side, an icicle in hand. The royal guards snapped to attention instantly, pillars of military muscle flanking their queen, watchful for potential danger. Kristoff was nowhere in sight.

Something Merida had learnt was that when one was in great but not instant danger, time slowed to a crawl. If the threat did not instantly incapacitate you, adrenaline kicked in and your perception increased tenfold, giving you crucial details in the few seconds you had. Thus, Merida took in the sight of the Queen, wearing a loose dress with wide skirts and shoulders for ease of movement, hair tied back in a simple ponytail, with a few loose bangs fluttering above her eyes. An icicle was in her hand, sharp and sleek, dimensions similar to that of a throwing knife. Down the range, across from the Queen, a target was set up. The concentric rings were studded with several icy spikes, the majority close to but not exactly in the bullseye.

Merida’s nostrils flared. There was no hint of smoky gunpowder, nor the salty tang of sweat. Kristoff hadn’t been practicing her recently, and unless Queen Elsa really didn’t sweat like a human, then she hadn’t been training here very long either. Her ears twitched. No distinctive thunderclap of a musket, or thwip of arrows whistling in flight. No one other than the Queen was practicing nearby.

Finally, the obvious struck Merida. Queen Elsa was directly across from her, looking at her quizzically.

Merida hurriedly bent into a bow, remembered her etiquette lessons, tried to transition into a curtsey, and thus ended up clumsily pogoing in place like a tightly-coiled spring bursting.

“I’m sae sorry, Your Elsa! I mean, my apologeest sincerities, Queen Majesty! I mean-”

Weel, good tae ken that Mam didnae completely waste her time trying tae turn an utter numpty intae a proper leddy. Oh wait.

Merida sucked in a huge breath to prevent hyperventilating, realised that it was somewhat rude and looked ridiculous, tried to stop taking a breath while the air was halfway down her windpipe, and choked on her own spit. Coughing, Merida tried to simultaneously breathe and not breathe at the same time. Not her finest moment.

It was hard to tell through bleary, half-closed eyes, but Queen Elsa looked very confused. Her guards clutched their muskets tighter, but didn’t raise their barrels, looking utterly perplexed at this Highland barbarian who seemed to have forgotten how to breathe.

“Princess Merida, correct?” the Queen ventured uncertainly. She gestured to her guards to stand down, hesitantly inching towards the convulsing Highlander. The ice dagger disintegrated into a thousand fractals which scattered into the air as a fine dust splintering light into a beautiful sparkle. “Do you need a physician? Are you okay?”

Yes, I’m brae. Thank ye for yer concern, but a physician wullnae be necessary. Merida thought.

“Hurrk,” Merida coughed in response.

Ye haverin’ eejit.

Queen Elsa was doing an admirable job of trying to not look abysmally confused.

“Ah, well, perhaps we should have one just in case. Rion, please summon a physician for Princess Merida.”

“At once, Your Majesty,” the guard on the left said with a short bow. He nodded at his partner, then marched out the door, sparing a quick glance at Merida, who had finally managed to stifle her spluttering.

“Apologiees, Yer Majesty,” Merida wheezed as soon as she could. “I didnae – didn’t mean to be sech a disturbance. I came here leuking for…” What the hell was his title? Master? Sir? “Laird Kristoff. We have a…” Meeting? Date? Mutually agreed-on taunt-based competition? “arrangement regarding the shooting gallery.” Speaking hurriedly to cover her previous pauses, Merida continued: “I didn’t meanter intrude, an’ apologise again for any inconveniences. I dinnae need a physician, and didnae mean to interrupt your…” And this time Merida was truly stumped. What was she supposed to say here? Practice? Stress relief? Ice show? Witchcraft?

Trynae to say tha’ last-

“Witchcraft.” Merida’s mouth said a split second before her brain could snap it shut.

Nae you’ve done it, ye dobber. Gang awa’ noo, find the highest tower, an’ jump, ye daft tosser.

Queen Elsa’s expression blanked of any previous concern. Instead, there was a flurry of emotions in rapid succession: surprise, disbelief, irritation, confusion, puzzlement, comprehension, and then wry amusement, complete with a cocked eyebrow.

“You have a terrible habit of speaking the first thing that comes into your mind, don’t you, Princess Merida?”

Merida just nodded, too afraid to open her mouth lest some other damning blunder burst forth.

I’m pretty sure Mam hae needle and thread, we could conveence her tae sew yer gab shut forever.

Queen Elsa let out a bemused chuckle, shaking her head.

“Well, at least that explains that rather… uncouth pass you made during our first meeting. If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought this was all an elaborate scheme to corner me in the shooting range. Come,” the Queen said, gesturing. With a flick of her wrist, an ice dagger frosted into existence within her palm. “Perhaps you’ll be able to give me a demonstration of your archery skills after all.”

It took Merida a few seconds to process what the Queen was saying, and then another few to unzip her mouth.

“Bide a wee, wit?” she blurted. “Yer Majesty,” she added quickly.

“I’ve heard much from Kristoff regarding your talents. Apparently, you are quite the virtuoso at the bow. I would very much like to train alongside you.”

“Uh…” Merida said. She instantly wanted to zip her mouth shut again. “Apologiees for being too direct, Queen Elsa, but why would ye want to see me shoot, muckle less practice alongside me?” Especially seence I dinna ken if virtuoso is a compliment or nae.

“Apologising for being too direct hardly seems appropriate if you proceed to do so immediately, does it?” Queen Elsa responded with a slight smile.

Ah, hell.

“Beg pardon, Your Majesty,” Merida stammered, feeling more and more out of depth and hating it.

“It’s no bother, truly,” Queen Elsa said, smiling comfortingly. “If anyone should apologise, it should be me. I reacted… improperly. I did not mean to offend.”

“Wit? Nae!” Merida spluttered. “I was the one who was, uh, eemproper. I shouldnae said what I said. Well, I guess I could hae, but I should hae said it better. I mean-”

“Princess Merida,” Queen Elsa said with a raised hand to stem the tide of blathering Highlander. “I understand entirely. There were missteps on both our parts. Yes, perhaps you should not have said what you said in the manner that you did, but I should have recognised your nervousness and not reacted in the manner that I did. If anything, the blame is more on my side; I am familiar with your particular brand of nervousness, and with that familiarity understood that your words, whilst rash, were not said with ill intent.”

“I still should’ve spoken wi’ mair care,” Merida responded. “Kenning that ye’re saying something wi’outtheenking and then saying it anyway hardly serves as an adequate excuse when meeting wi’ a queen.”

“Well then, we can agree to disagree, and thus move on to the next topic. Which, incidentally, is this.” Queen Elsa nodded towards the target. “Princess Merida, I officially invite you to join me at my practice. Having seen me in such state, there is no need to hide behind propriety; I would very much like a companion at the range, particularly a companion so skilled.”

“Uh, but, um…”

Ye’ve made sech a ri’ mess o’ things, what’s wan mair impoolsive blunder? Hell, maybe ye ken actually turn this into a braw thing.

Merida stiffened her posture, drawing herself to her fullest height. Very formally, she bowed to Queen Elsa.

“Yer Majesty, Queen Elsa of Arendelle, it is my greatest honour an’ pleasure tae accept your invitation.”

And then, on a hunch, at the lowest point of her bow, Merida looked up and winked at the Queen.

Her gambit paid off. The Queen didn’t giggle, exactly, but she did chuckle a little, delicately behind her hand but a chuckle nonetheless. Feeling more confident, Merida strode forward, unlimbering her bow.

“So, if you dinnae mind my asking, what brings ye tae the shooting range, Yer Majesty?”

Merida slung her quiver across a post in the shooting booth next to the Queen’s. Had she been in the field, she would have slung the quiver across her back, or maybe planted the arrows at her feet for ease of grasp, but here, she was far more interested in talking to the mystical Ice Queen than she was at really showing off with her bow. Without Kristoff, that competitive streak wasn’t as pronounced, the need to impress dulled.

“The initial days following my coronation were… complicated,” Queen Elsa said. A euphemism (one might even say colossal understatement) but Merida wasn’t going to call her out on that. ‘Complicated’ could mean a lot of things. Like ‘I froze my entire kingdom and ran away into the mountains’.

Or ‘I turned my mither intae a bear and had tae fight an ancient cursed monster’?

Queen Elsa drew her arm back, frozen blade shining in the light. Curiously, despite the sun, it wasn’t even dripping.

“After I took the throne, I swore that I would not complicate matters in such a manner again. Just as I mastered the ledger, the abacus, the compass, the pen, the letters, and the delicate balance of ruling and power, so too did I decide that I must master the gift with which I was born. But mastery comes only with practice. Thus, I assign myself this task as often as I am able. A refinement of my talents, combining precision with motion and focus and speed. If I am to rule my kingdom and serve my people, then I must become Queen of myself before I can be Queen to them.”

The icy dagger shot forward as the Queen snapped her arm down. Light shone off its sparkling planes, the clear ice fragmenting the afternoon sun into a brilliant spectacle. The projectile flew down the range. Its dazzling journey came to an abrupt end as it sank itself into the target, slap-bang right into the centre of the bullseye… in the aisle next to the Queen’s.

Queen Elsa pursed her lips.

“It’s still a belter- I mean, impressive shot,” Merida offered consolingly.

The look the Queen gave her withered any further glibness on the frazzle-haired princess’s lips.

“Princess Merida, I have enough retainers fawning over my every success as divine providence and dismissing my every failure as an isolated instance of bad luck. Politeness and condescension are but two sides of the same coin. In either case, honesty should prevail, do you not think so?”

Merida wilted, not in the face of Queen Elsa’s rebuke, but in the resonance of her words. How often during her stay here had Merida tried to control her tongue to speak platitudes rather than plainly? Queen Elinor had always said ‘Speak the truth, but refrain from speaking the whole truth if need be’. What she’d meant was ‘Not everything needs to be said, but don’t say nothing.’

Classic Merida, only appreciate yer mither when she’s not aroond for ye tae say so.

“Weel then,” Merida said. “Yer aim could be better, but your ice-craft is impressive enough that it’s hard tae care. Also, I’m personally impressed by your ain attitude. I’ve been where ye were, ye ken. Wel, not exactly, I didnae be havin’ ice powers, but I ken what it’s like to make a mistake which could cost your kingdom. And I want to say that ye are truly an inspiration, Queen Elsa.”

The Queen turned to look at Merida, and the surprise on her face suddenly made Merida remember how young the Queen really was. Normally, with her calm refinement and ladylike poise, she looked closer to Merida’s mother’s age. But here, stripped of the classic powders and light touches and tiny refinements, surprised and vulnerable, Merida was struck by how close she and Queen Elsa were in age. The latter couldn’t be more than a few years older than her. It was… unnerving, and yet comforting.

“It’s jest that,” Merida waved her hand as she searched for the words, bow wobbling in her grip. “Ye gae up sae much to be the queen ye think your people deserve, rather than the queen they really deserve. You’re so selfless and confident and powerful, and you want to do what’s best for your kingdom and its citizens, whether or not they’re actually worthy of sech sacrifice. I’ve niver seen a queen who’s gien up ilka like that for the kingdom, nae e’en my ain mither. So I guess that when I see you, and you talk aboot how that’s the kind of queen you want to be… I guess it’s well inspiring.”

An odd look crossed Queen Elsa’s face.

“Giving up everything… Yes, that would be a rare and great sacrifice, wouldn’t it? But one can’t help but wonder if great truly means good…”

Shaking her head as if to clear whatever thought was troubling her, Queen Elsa nodded to Merida, who had almost finished stringing her bow.

“Perhaps you might show me your technique in aiming, that I might improve my own. From what I’ve heard, you’re quite the hand.”

“From Kristoff, ye said?” Merida asked, pleased at the idea of having so impressed the Arendellan that he’d mentioned it to the Queen herself. She’d have to tell her parents about that one.

“He’s all praise for you,” Queen Elsa assured. She gave the princess a knowing look. “He seemed quite taken, if you could believe it.”

Merida flushed at that. She coughed a bit to try and cover up.

“Weel, ye ken, when wan marksman can sae thoroughly outclass anither, it does leave quite th’ impression. Besides, I’d heerd he was involved wi’ someone else. Princess Anna, correct?”

Queen Elsa gave a little laugh at that.

“My sister and Kristoff briefly shared a relationship of that nature, yes, but they’ve since decided that their relationship is stronger as friends than anything more. That said, neither regrets their past, as far as I’m aware. They have simply moved on to… happier, closer prospects.”

And the Queen said it with such a warm cheer that Merida couldn’t help but feel emboldened by her encouragement. While she hadn’t seriously considered Kristoff as more than a friend, the suggestion that Kristoff might have was… not unpleasant. It wasn’t unpleasant at all.

Queen Elsa was likewise lost in thought, no doubt thinking of whatever connection her sister had made, or would make. If Kristoff had been Princess Anna’s first choice, then Merida couldn’t help but wonder what connection she must have had with the second.

The thump of an arrow connecting with its target broke Queen Elsa out of whatever thought she had been lost in. Looking up, she saw an arrow sunk directly into a bullseye, and Merida drawing back another with a big grin on her face. Merida locked eyes with the Queen and winked.

Her second arrow punched through ice and frost and leather to nail the bullseye two aisles down, right through Queen Elsa’s own shot.

So maybe the need to impress wasn’t entirely lost.

Queen Elsa looked at Merida, and the surprise and appreciation in the other woman’s eyes warmed the Highland princess. If at first they’d had a rough start, then this encounter had patched up much and blazed the trail for more. And while Merida didn’t entirely know the Queen, or even Kristoff for that matter, right now she kind of wished she could. And the idea of future visits to Arendelle, or invitations to DunBroch, well, both seemed like very welcome opportunities.

And maybe, just maybe, Queen Elsa could be the one with whom Merida could share what she’d learnt, down in the dark.

Merida had refrained from saying anything about those two killers in the depths of the castle, even to Kristoff. While she was reasonably sure she could trust some in the castle, and she’d burned with the temptation to tell her own parents, there simply hadn’t been time. From the way the two had spoken, they had spies everywhere in the castle, and they were perfectly willing to kill to protect their identities and their plots. The last thing Merida wanted to do was risk her own safety and that of everyone else in the room by revealing what she knew. Even if she could tell the two people she trusted whole-heartedly (her own parents), they’d never had the opportunity to speak in private, in a location Merida was sure was completely secure.

But Queen Elsa, she knew the entire castle. She had to know all the hiding places, those secret eavesdropping locations. And from the sound of it, those two had been contracted by someone with a plan against the Queen, a vendetta. Surely that meant that the Queen couldn’t be aware of it.

And maybe all her talk of sacrifice and the greater good had just been talk, but something about her made Merida believe in her. Maybe it was her history, and the parallels with Merida’s own life. Maybe it was her good humour and accepting nature. Maybe it was the sense that this was a woman who was both incredibly fragile and impossibly powerful. But Merida believed in her. She could believe that this woman was genuine, she believed that she would have the strength and will to protect Merida and her family from any backlash this information might bring, and she didn’t want any harm to come to Queen Elsa or Arendelle.

Merida took a deep breath, and looked Queen Elsa square in the eye.

“Yer Majesty, there’s something I need tae tell ye-”

“I already know,” Queen Elsa said, smiling.

The interruption blew Merida’s train of thought to smithereens. She looked blankly at the Queen.

“Eh?”

“I already know what you’re going to say,” Queen Elsa said, her smile widening. Her eyes sparkled. She flicked her fingers at her guard, who nodded and stepped outside, closing the door to the shooting range behind him. “And I want to congratulate and encourage you.”

Congratulate her? For what? Not dying?

“I know this is somewhat sudden, and heaven knows I’m not encouraging you commit to anything,” the Queen said, noticing Merida’s confusion. “But Kristoff is a good man, and he deserves happiness as much as you do. I know it’s only been a short while, but if there’s a connection, I’d recommend you strengthen it, be it friendly or romantic.”

Kristoff? What?!

“You’re talking aboot Kristoff?!” Merida blurted, for once not caring that she sounded completely dumbfounded.

“Of course! Why wouldn’t I be talking about Kristoff?” Queen Elsa’s brow crinkled, before her expression froze. A flush rose to her cheeks. “Unless you were going to tell me about some other man you met here? I mean, what I said about Kristoff still stands, but if you don’t feel that strongly, even in a platonic manner, well, I completely understand. I just thought- well, see, that’s what happens when you assume. My apologies, Princess Merida, but sometimes when you become used to being correct in your intuitions regarding others, sometimes you make these assumptions and-”

“What? No! That’s not it at all! I mean, kind of? I wouldna mind forming a connection wi’ Kristoff.” Merida flushed. “Romantic or friendly. Mostly friendly.Losh, why am I e’en saying this?! Thar’s something else I need tae tell ye aboot, something far mair important than this”

Queen Elsa was still flushed, embarrassed, but she concealed it quickly. Merida wondered if there was some ice magic involved in that, and if others could learn that particular trick.

“Ah, apologies. We can, um, revisit that topic in the future. What did you wish to ask me?”

How does one gae aboot starting wi’ a topic like this?

“Tae start wi’, do ye hae somewhere private we could talk? Like, wheer we cannae be overheeard?”

Queen Elsa cocked her head to the side quizzically.

“Well, yes, but what could you have to say which is so-”

“Queen Elsa, you summoned a physician?”

The door to the shooting range opened, and a small but strong-looking man was walking in, a pouch of herbs hanging from his belt and a physician’s bag of tools in his right hand. His left was in his coat pocket (a coat? In this summer heat?), a posture which suited his loose shoulders and slightly-sagging, relaxed posture. He had a very simple, plain face, the type which you saw every day and was liable to forget the next. Even as she looked at him, Merida found it hard to find any defining details, besides his oddly thick spectacles.

Queen Elsa turned at the sound of his voice, frowning.

“Yes, but your services are no longer needed. And I would appreciate it if you would knock in the futur-”

Merida couldn’t have said what it was. Maybe it was the same thought that had occurred to Queen Elsa: that with two guards, one escorting the physician and one at the door, someone else would have already knocked. Maybe it was the man’s exceptionally well-defined muscles, the type of loose muscular stance which could shift into an instant to strike like a pouncing tiger. Maybe it was those dead eyes behind fake spectacles of clear glass. Maybe it was the coat. Maybe it was the pool of red just beginning to spread into sight through the crack of open door. Maybe it was just that instinct of the hunted, those few seconds of adrenaline in which Merida could see all this and put it together into one terrifying image.

Regardless of what it was, Merida’s arrow was already drawn and loosed as the assassin pulled a pistol out of his left pocket and fired.

Merida’s arrow powered right into the assassin’s neck, the broad arrowhead punching through the flimsy protection of his collar. If it had been Kristoff shooting that arrow with those huge muscles, the arrow would have smashed through bone and flesh and gone out the back of the assassin’s neck, and likely blown the man off his feet as well. As it was, Merida’s hasty, half-drawn shot managed to pierce the man in the throat. But even sudden steel cannot stop the twitch of a single finger.

The bullet blasted forward. Wheellock pistols were notoriously fickle, but the assassin’s weapon must have been of superb make, because not only did the gun not misfire, but the musketball flew true. Merida barely had time to process the explosion of gunpowder before there was a sharp crack and a sound like splintering glass.

Merida blinked slowly as her ears stopped ringing. Those few seconds after the initial rush which were always the hardest to bring the world back into focus instead of a series of fragmented images. A bullet suspended in flight. A man crumpling to the floor. The world distorted, light splitting in countless beams in countless directions. Queen Elsa, hand extended, other hand reaching out as if to throw Merida behind her.

Merida blinked again and suddenly sound and comprehension returned to her. Queen Elsa, in what little time she had between noticing the discrepancies with the assassin’s appearance to the assassin himself firing, had managed to conjure an entire wall of ice between the assassin and themselves. Merida, who had been firing before either Queen Elsa or the assassin had begun their moves, had managed to get the arrow past Queen Elsa’s wall before it went up. Thus, her shot had struck true, whilst the assassin’s had met unyielding ice.

It was incredible. Merida had never seen Queen Elsa ever create something of this size and strength at such an unbelievably fast speed. Even as Queen Elsa’s grip closed on Merida’s wrist, yanking the princess closer to her, Merida saw that the fight was over. A hasty shot, the arrow not fully drawn, but it had been enough.

The body is so fragile. It takes so little to be enough.

The assassin was lying on the ground, choking on the steel lodged in his throat. His hands reached for it, scrambling along the shaft, unable to get his twitching fingers to cooperate. Even so, Merida knew he was dead. Leave the arrowhead in and die of suffocation. Pull it out and drown in your own blood. It was an agonising, slow death.

Queen Elsa flicked her hand, and the ice wall disintegrated, melting to the floor in a thick slush. Her expression was terrifying. Not quite rage, not yet. It was still disbelieving, shock, but that surprise was quickly evaporating into righteous fury. She began marching towards the dying man, footsteps splashing through puddles of clear water, stained only by swirling red.

“Bide a wee,” Merida said, weakly, unable to get her bearings. She darted forwards and grabbed Queen Elsa’s wrist, pulling her back.

The Queen whirled around, her face a mask of barely-controlled anger.

“If you would deny me, in this moment, then you will be my enemy. You do not want that.”

“I’m nae yer enemy, Elsa, and ye ken that. But ye cannae go near him, nae noo.” Merida said, not desperately, not pleadingly. There weren’t enough emotions in her, not yet. Not after an adrenaline rush. Not after a kill. “He’s dying, an' he kens it. People an' animals react differently tae dying. Some gae docile, limp, weak, afeerd. But some gae mad, insane, unnaturally strong. Like they take witever life they couldhae lived and put ilka last bit intae their last few moments o' life, all their strength intae a final grab. He might kill ye, e'en as he’s dying.”

“Kill me? You think this scum, this monster who would come into my home and threaten the safety of myself and my loves and my family and my guests? You think this thing could kill me? Oh no, if there’s one thing you have to understand, Princess Merida, I do not let the likes of him ever cause harm to me or those I love and protect. And as for dying…”

Queen Elsa pulled her hand free of Merida’s and stalked over to the dying man. She slapped his fingers off the shaft and grabbed it. With a sharp yank, she ripped the arrow out of the assassin’s throat. Then, just as he drew in a shuddering death which began to splutter into a froth of blood, Queen Elsa snapped her fingers.

Ice and snow swirled into existence, filling the ruin Merida’s arrow had left in the assassin’s throat. It congealed for an instant, shifting as a powdery, slushy mass, then hardened. The assassin coughed, drew a slobbery breath, then spat out a mouthful of blood. The white snow in his throat stained red, but did not crumble, did not melt. Queen Elsa’s face was rigid, an image of frozen fiery rage, her eyes blazing like the hottest stars in the coldest space.

“No, no, he’s not dying. He does not have my permission to die. I will keep him alive until he tells me all he knows. He will write it with whatever strength he has, splutter it with whatever air he can force through his lungs, draw pictures in the blood he has spilt this day. He has brought death and destruction to Arendelle, and I will not let any such threat stand unaddressed. Nothing will keep me from knowing who would threaten all that I hold dear. And then, once he has shared all, once I know everything that he has ever known, then I will show mercy… and let him die.”