A/N: Final chapter. I want to thank everyone who stuck with this until the end, and especially those who gave me their thoughts along the way. I have no doubt I'll be back on the Frozen scene before too long (I may or may not have another fic in the planning stages already...) so if you enjoyed this story then keep an eye out x

14 - Epilogue: I Finally Understand

Recovery, Elsa discovers, happens much like the breaking of a dam.

It begins in drips – a strange, intangible sense of control; despair banished a fraction more easily; the early morning sunlight lifting the spirits in a way it never had before.

It is a rocky climb over uncharted terrain, and she finds herself taking as many steps back as she does forward. Many nights are spent locked in her sister's arms, dampening Anna's shoulder with her tears and screaming until her voice is horse and scratchy, thoughts fixated on how easy it would be to just give up – return to her old habits and the safety of quiet agony. But the night she'd spent in the ballroom had lit a spark within her that she refuses to ignore, so (dragged along by the ferocious determination in her sister's eyes) she goes in search of that feeling again.

Sometimes it is so easy. Sometimes she feels as though she had spent her life trying to hammer down a door, only to look around her and discover the key lying just within her reach. She turns her powers to both the frivolous and the useful, utilising them in any way she can. She forces herself out of the castle and back among her subjects, making herself known and strengthening ties. She repeats the gesture with her trade partners, making it clear to everyone that her magic can be a force for good, leaving the Western Isles isolated in their disapproval and contempt (that particular strategy had been Anna's doing. The ingenuity had not surprised Elsa in the least).

The image she projects to the world takes its toll, leaving Elsa drained and anxious. The urges to fall once more are never stronger than after conducting ceremonial duties or public events. But her sister (and by extension Kristoff) remain steadfastly at her side and guide her through her darkest hours. They discover a rhythm, after a while, an exchange of encouragement and support that keeps them all on even keels. Elsa never quite manages to shake the fear that it will end with them dragging each other downwards, but she pushes it into the depths of her mind with all the other thoughts she's knows will probably never fade, buries them under her new-found hope and prays that they never resurface.

They take their lives moment by moment, waiting for the dam to break and everything to be swept away. Then one day, Elsa looks up to find Anna's 21st birthday is fast approaching. Her baby sister is coming of age.

The realisation fills Elsa with more than joy than she would ever have expected: after everything that the world had thrown at her, after the ominous shadow that Elsa's curse had cast upon her, here Anna was, standing proud and unbeaten.

If she can do it, she thinks to herself, then so can I. I owe her that.

Every day after that she reminds herself just why she is there and who she should be looking out for. She goes toe to toe with her demons and, little by little, feels herself beating them back, forcing them into – if not defeat, then at least submission.

Surprisingly, the time the dam breaks is the time she admits to herself that it'll never be like it was when she was little. For so long she'd clung onto the days of innocence and laughter, running in their direction with nothing to guide her. But she would never find them – she'd been too far gone for too long, and she would always live with the spectres of her past. So she lets them go. She whispers goodbye to her childhood and focuses on catching the days still to come, with her now adult sister and a kingdom to call her own. After that, it is somehow easier to navigate her way out of the dark.

Eventually, all but a few of her scars fade away, and Elsa cannot help but regard it as being born again – she chastises herself for the thought, knowing that it is ridiculous, and doesn't dare voice it aloud. But it stays with her, in the back of her mind: the old Elsa, the Elsa who hid away and hurt everyone and turned her vitriol inwards at every opportunity, was dead. She would haunt the new Elsa forever (years down the line she would awake in the middle of the night sweating and shaking, drowning in a helplessness she couldn't define), but she was intangible, and was spirited away by the joys of warm weather or chocolate stolen from the kitchens or an evening arguing playfully with her sister.

Queen Elsa of Arendelle may have been battered and bleeding, but she learned to stand with her head held high, learned to believe a fraction of the compliments Anna threw at her. It wasn't perfect, some days it was barely even good. But it was OK, and that was more than Elsa had previously dreamed possible.

The Ice Queen found her place in the sun, in the end.