It was surprising to Elsa that the silence bothered her. After all those years, she would have thought that being alone in a room, in the inn near the Ledsham estate, would have been a relief — not a problem. But the silence grated on her nerves, as did the gloves, as did the horrible scenes that flashed through her mind when she thought of Anna. And Elsa had been sitting here alone with her thoughts for hours.

She moved to the window and pushed it open. Behind the inn was a small stand of trees that screened it from the waterfront where they had landed in the very early hours of the morning. Charlotte had secured all of the rooms here, above a small tavern, so Elsa knew she was essentially alone. Carolina and Georg — Michael and Georg she corrected herself — had gone to scout the entrances to the castle. The Comtesse was napping in the room next door.

The open window allowed the breeze to help clear the stuffy room. Cold didn't bother her, but heat did. Elsa removed her gloves placing them on a side table. Then with her hands on bottom of the window frame she leaned out and took a deep breath of the early fall air, craning her neck for a glimpse of the castle where they hoped, only hoped, that her sister and Kristoff were being held.

This was madness. Anna could be hundreds of miles away from here. She could be hurt, in pain, brutalized. Who knew what her captors were capable of? Anna … Anna could be dead.

The wood of the window groaned as it froze. With a start Elsa pulled her hands from the sill and thrust them outside. A stream of frost and ice shot from her hands into the woods, splintering a tree in its wake. She closed her eyes and tried to control it. Think of something warm, something safe, she chided herself, but that was a difficult task.

At last, she managed to pull the magic back into herself. She shivered, and she felt the trail of a tear running down her cheek. Quickly she pulled her gloves back on and then wiped it away. She was going mad. She needed a drink.

The tavern below the rooms was small, warm, and crowded. There was a carved wooden bar that curved around from the interior doorway, and a few tables scattered around the room. Booths on the outside walls under small windows and a plain red door to the street completed the decor. Elsa felt the urge to flee back up the stairs as soon as she came down them. But she couldn't stand to be alone anymore, and she was in no mood to try to wake the Comtesse let alone talk to her. Plus she was going to have to deal with strangers in the immediate future without the armor of being royalty. She might as well start doing that today.

Elsa took in her surroundings trying to decide where she should land. The bar was occupied by a line of men, farmers by their dress but not peasants. They wore the dress of people who worked hard but had enough money to enjoy themselves at a bar and had more than one set of clothes to wear when they went there. The booths and tables were occupied by a more mixed crowd. More men than women for sure, but some couples sat with each other enjoying food and drink. Two tables were occupied with what Elsa assumed was a local militia. They were clearly military men, most wearing swords, all in coal black jackets and pants with brilliant silver buttons closing the jackets up to their chins. There were, of course, no other single women. But fortunately there was one empty table, and it was there that Elsa sat.

"What can I get fer ya, luv?" The barmaid called as she deftly avoided the hands of the militia men.

"Wine, do you have wine?"

"Aye." The barmaid looked Elsa up and down. "But it's not cheap. I'll have to open the bottle ya know."

"Oh, I can … I mean, her Excellency the Countess de Artois has made arrangements." Elsa decided on the Avalonian version of the title.

"I see."

Elsa felt the bar maid's eye pierce into her soul, or whatever place lying came from. It felt strange, insulting … humiliating Elsa thought, to have someone question your word let alone your ability to pay for what you asked for.

"I'll have to ask him," the bar maid gestured with her head to the stout man behind the bar, the owner. "Sure you don't want sumthin' else?"

"No," Elsa answered firmly. "Wine, if you please." She watched the woman saunter away, resisting the urge to send a chill wind up her skirt. Maybe it would warm up her soul.

"Girl, if you need someone to share your wine. Me and the boys would be happy to help."

It took Elsa a moment to pinpoint who was speaking. But when one of the militia men winked at her, she knew she had her man.

"No, thank you." She answered and then fixed her gaze across the room. This tavern could use a painting or two.

"We'd even pay fer it if you'd come over here."

Elsa imagined a fine work she would call "The freezing of The Highlands" as a mural across the far wall.

"Oi, don't be rude. We just wanna talk."

The others chimed in, "Don't mean no 'arm girlie." "Didn't yer mother teach you manners."

Elsa heard the scraping of a chair and then an unshaven face reeking of beer loomed in front of her.

"Shy then. Hows about we join you?"

"No, thank you."

"Girl, you can't drink alone. Ain't right. Ain't right a girlie sitting by 'erself."

Elsa looked away. Then to her utter surprise a hand fixed itself under her chin and pulled her back.

"Come'on luv. Don't be that way."

Elsa went rigid and looked him square in the eyes, furious.

"I will thank you to unhand my wife."

Everyone at the two tables turned. Fitz took two steps closer intervening between the militia man and Elsa. "Back off, mate. We don't want trouble."

Elsa's assailant moved closer to Fitz. "I ain't yer mate, and you're the one making trouble."

"Please darling, go upstairs," Fitz gestured up the stairs and gave a reassuring smile to Elsa.

"Caro - Fitz. No. You come with me." Elsa put her hand on Fitz's arm and squeezed.

"I can't, dearest. But I shall be up soon."

"Dearie, do what yer fella says. You don't wanna be here when we teach 'im a lesson."

Fitz took Elsa's hand off her arm and gently kissed her palm. "Please, go upstairs."

"I won't …"

"Go." Fitz turned Elsa around and guided her to the staircase. "I shall be right up. You must trust me."

Elsa sighed but nodded and then ran up the stairs.

Fitz turned back and walked slowly to where militia men were standing. She placed her hand on the pommel of the sword at her side. "Now do we have a problem, gentlemen?"

"No boy, it's you who is got the problem. You don't got no manners. Don't respect the military." Both tables of the militia got to their feet and closed in around Fitz. "Seems you need a lesson."

"If you ill-mannered buffoons are representative of the military here, then I don't see why I should." She looked around at the men surrounding her. "Cowardly as well, I see." She poked the ringleader in his chest. "If you can't stand up for yourself."

"Mind your words boy. I'll wipe the floor wid you."

"Outside! Outside!" the man at the bar yelled. "No fighting in here."

Fitz nodded at the owner. "Of course, my good man." She started for the door, forcing her way through the circle of men. "Come now, if you're so impatient to school me. If you are not a coward," she remarked over her shoulder as she made her exit.

Once outside she looked carefully at the ground surrounding the tavern. It was dirt, packed by the near constant foot traffic. A good 20 feet was clear and hard, stone and root free, but she wouldn't need that much. There was a set of posts set off to the right, likely for horses. Fitz carefully folded her coat and placed it atop one. She heard the raucous group coming out the door. She turned and watched them assemble.

"Do you have a second?" Fitz called. She unsheathed her sword rechecking its balance in her hand. It was far and wide the finest sword she had ever held, and it felt like an extension of her arm, a very sharp deadly extension. Steel that was said to be able to cut through other lesser swords. And a gift from her beloved. She would use it well today.

"Loike I need a second, boy."

Fitz rolled her shoulders feeling her suspenders move and her shirt pull up from its tuck. She would not have to worry about those binding. She noted the traditional military style suspenders on her opponent, two shoulder straps coming together to one strap in the rear. His well muscled arms became apparent as he shed his heavy jacket and tossed it to one of his fellows standing near. His shirt was plain, no stock, as none was necessary with his uniform's high collar. A collar his thick neck strained against as he brought his sword to the ready.

Fitz brought her blade up in a salute and was not the least bit surprised when the larger man rushed at her with a roar. It was a shame, she thought, she never got his name.

The larger man swung at her head clearly intending a saber cut. He was surprised when Fitz countered by merely moving her head, arm and blade in a quarter turn, interposing her sword between his and her face. Her arm moved back several inches with the force of the blow, but she did not flinch, and he could not reach her. He could not overpower her block even even he leaned in with his heavier body. She blocked his next blow, too, one to the other side of her head, simply by moving her blade, again catching his edge with the flat of her weapon. Her expression was impassive, and if she was working to keep him from reaching her she didn't show it.

This continued for several long minutes. He tried moving more quickly, swiftly slashing from side to side. He tried varying shots from her head to her body and even one or two to her legs. As he increased his pace his blows had less force, but Fitz knew they were actually more deadly. Finally he tried a lunge at her chest. Fitz allowed his blade to run up hers, deftly deflecting it so it just passed her shoulder. She stopped him when they were hilt to hilt waited until he tried to overpower her one last time and then asked, as they were nose to nose, "Are you done with your lesson?"

When he responded with another grunt and push, she replied, "Good. Now I shall begin mine."

Fitz pushed back with her weapon but then dropped and ducked under her opponents blade as she disengaged. She turned behind him, and she brought her blade across his back leaving a shallow cut that parted both his suspenders and shirt and left a bloody score in its wake.

The man snarled in pain and whirled. He started a flurry of attacks that Fitz parried while backing up slowly to keep him at range. Then she changed trajectory, abruptly stepping to his left. When he moved his sword to follow her, she feinted a lunge before continuing behind him bringing the tip of her sword across his left side. He swore as blood seeped onto his ruined shirt, but whirled keeping his blade between them. Fitz started a series of slashes at his face and then with a firm double beat dropped her blade. He was forced to block across his body, blade down. Fitz extended and the force of his own block drove her point across his right side. He grunted in pain, and then started a long paragraph of foul language as his pants, no longer held by his suspenders, dropped down around his boots. Fitz thanked whoever was in heaven that he was wearing drawers even if they were not especially clean.

"You bloody cow's cunt," the larger man swore. Tripping forward he struck out again at Fitz. This time Fitz easily blocked his blade, disengaged and then performed a backhanded thrust through his hand guard and into his wrist. His hand spasmed and he dropped his sword. Fitz pushed on his hip with her own sending him sprawling. As he went down on his back she kicked his sword aside and then put her left boot on his chest, the point of her sword right over his heart.

"This is not a bloody game," Fitz said quietly. "It's life and death. Right now your death."

"Please," the larger man begged.

"A quick death here." Fitz poked at his chest and was rewarded with a small spot of blood that grew slowly. Then she dragged her sword down to his belly, leaving a thin line spreading red, this cut no deeper than the other superficial slashes bleeding into the dirt. "A much less quick death here. Although I will have the pleasure of imagining the pain you will be in as you die, your insides stinking and festering."

"Please."

"Or maybe," Fitz's blade dropped lower. "I just —"

"Captain Fitzwilliam! Stop that nonsense and come here instantly." Charlotte's voice rang out from the doorway.

Fitz sighed and brought her sword up. "You are saved by my employer's dulcet tones. But I do hope you take your lesson from this." Then with a nod to his fellows who were standing nearby, eyes wide, afraid to come any closer, she sheathed her sword and walked to the Comtesse.

"Your Excellency, how may I serve you."

"You can get your arse inside before I have to take a horsewhip to you."

"I was defending a lady's honor." Fitz offered her arm.

"I know what you were doing you idiot. Inside."

Charlotte dragged Fitz inside and to the bar. Once there she dropped a small pile of gold coins in front of the tavern owner.

"I will thank you in advance for your discretion. And I would appreciate it if after these fine people finish their dinners, you might close for the night."

"Oh, but nights my best time for business — with the drinking and all."

Charlotte added more coins to the pile.

"How could I ever refuse a lady such as you, your Grace?"

"Good. And if you would bring dinner and two bottles — no four bottles — of your best wine upstairs to my room."

"How much of a simpleton are you?" Charlotte turned on Fitz once they were in her room. "I am sure the news of a brilliant duelist who humiliated a man at the "Drunken Ox," or whatever this hellhole is called is not going to remain a secret. We were trying to be discreet."

"Spotted Cow," Elsa corrected, then she turned on Fitz, "Carolina, what did you do to that man?"

"He needed a lesson both in swordplay and in how not to offend a lady."

"But did you …"

Charlotte cut Elsa off. "And you. What in god's earth were you doing? First you freeze the forest, and then you go unaccompanied into a bar! Women do NOT go into a bar alone unless they want that — " Charlotte waved her hand " — sort of attention."

Elsa ignored the Comtesse,"I will not have you dueling in my name!"

"Do you not understand that the number of women in the world who can produce ice magically is somewhat limited?"

"Luv, I will not have wretched scum insulting you or any woman."

"You promised not to duel."

"In Arendelle. I will not slay your subjects, which really isn't a problem since they do not insult you. But here this is what one does unless one is a coward."

"For god's sake, the two of you. Shut up!" Charlotte raised her voice as much as she felt was wise. "You," she pointed at Fitz, "Keep that damn —

sword in your sheath until we need it. You," now Charlotte pointed at Elsa,"Fitz does these things for some god forsaken sense of honor that she holds dear, and that she doesn't in your kingdom is quite a measure of her love. Also please don't freeze things."

Fitz's tone turned to contrition,"It was my fault, Charlotte. I shouldn't have left her alone for so long. And she's never been in a tavern, well one that doesn't have her portrait on the wall." She was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Discreet," Charlotte muttered, as she gestured for Fitz to open the door. It was a pair chamber maids knocking. They carried both the wine and their dinner, two roast chickens with potatoes and some cabbage dish. "Discreet," she said again pouring herself a large glass of wine once the maids had left. "A discreet surveillance of the castle. Discreetly making our way into the bosom of Ledsham." She glared at Fitz. "Georg is in his room NOT causing a fuss. So you will at least tell us what you found. Then you can go tell him dinner is served."

Fitz took Elsa's hand in hers and addressed the queen directly. She noted Elsa was again wearing the gloves. "It is very highly likely Anna and Kristoff are here. There are an inordinate number of guards. Two different regiments by the look of it. One being Ledsham's own, which numbers about fifty men and two sergeants in its permanent full-time configuration and nearly one hundred with three officers at full strength. Then there is another, formed of the same blackguards who accosted you, in those black uniforms. They don't belong to Ledsham. I don't recognize them as any regiment from Avalon, and I know them all."

"What?" Charlotte was surprised.

"Foreign or mercenaries, or quite probably both." Fitz now turned to Charlotte. "That's expensive and supports the idea that something in that castle is important enough to guard. That in turn suggests that Anna and Kristoff…" Fitz hesitated, "That they are well enough to need guarding."

"Thank goodness," breathed Elsa, relief evident in her voice.

"Indeed," agreed Charlotte.

Fitz continued, "We spent most of the day watching the front gate. It's locked shut and under guard."

"Not the best news, even if it supports your previous theory." Charlotte tapped her lips with her forefinger.

"But in the morning, from quite early until almost noon, there is a lot of traffic. Food deliveries and what not. And some servants aren't resident, so they are coming in as well. "

"I would bet substantial sums that the guards get tired of unlocking and locking the gate. Plus there will be the confusion of two chains of command."

"Indeed," Fitz agreed, "Although the guard will be composed of the best men."

"At let's say, 7 am? Do you think the sergeant will reward his best men with an 7 am watch?"

"I would. If the mission needed my best."

"Yes, and I note you were an excellent officer. In your opinion is that true of Ledsham's?"

Fitz thought and then shook her head no. What she recalled included capricious orders and blatant favoritism. Of course any unit reflected it's head. A head that in this case might well be decorating the King's outer bailey.

"And at any rate," Charlotte stated, "I would certainly favor my grit in a battle of wills against any non-commissioned foot-soldier."

Fitz chuckled, "Indeed, they do not stand a chance."

Elsa was still thinking of Anna and Kristoff. "They are alive, and we've found them." She felt tears of relief welling in her eyes.
Fitz pulled her close into a hug and stroked her hair. "And now we will get them back."