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Chapter one of my fanfic for Frozen.

Chapter 1: The two thieves
It's amazing really, how far a single snowflake can travel, people don't see it as well as others. Some others know it all too well, maybe too much for their liking. I guarantee you know whom I'm talking about. Queen Elsa of course. However some others who see white falling from the sky see something else entirely. Ash, dust, and wishes that went up in smoke with dreams that could never be, and instead of joy and wonder, it brings nightmares and woe. Now such a snowflake had flown into a chimney and onto a warm fire that needed no softening.
The boy Wilhelm, watching it intently, didn't have a care in the world for the snowflake, only himself and his younger brother. He Wilhelm stared at the fire intensely, almost as if angry at it, for all the pain and misery it had caused. Wilhelm was tall for his age and surprisingly strong. He bathed only when his stench was too much to bear and never made any attempt to appear attractive. He never licked any wounds as to him pain was nothing but a bump in the road. Wilhelm had brown eyes, jet-black hair, and was lean. A wolf would have feared him. Even though he and his younger brother looked alike, his eyes were terrifying. Brown is not a scary color of course but that made Wilhelm unique in his own fashion. At least, that's the way he saw it.
Wilhelm stared at the fire, still angered, until his eyes began to hurt. He looked away with an angry grunt back at the desolate hollow. The boy was sitting on a bearskin rug in a middle-sized cabin. Wilhelm had observed the cabin several times in anticipation. It was cozy, much to his dismay. It had but one floor with a ladder to a bed below the roof. The log cabin was well built, give or take the ceiling, but dirty, with various pelts and salted meats hanging from the support beams.
A mountain man by the name of Christopher Bjorgman lived here. Wilhelm couldn't tell much about the man except from what was in his cabin, and, frankly, he didn't care. He had nothing else to do for the time being so might as well try to care. A hunter obviously, one who seemed alone beyond compare and almost had nothing left to his name. Everything else would have been left here except for the indications of a coat, and a sled perhaps. Two handprints were on the wall, one big, and one small. One was entitled Christopher, the other Kristoff. A father and a son, how cute. Wilhelm thought, only just glancing at it out of boredom. Random bottles of empty who knows what lay around the yet to be cleaned floor, and a single wedding ring could be seen on the mantle, a tear from another time. A stuffed animal of some sort lay on a small chair, untouched for so long that a few moths had decided to call it home, despite being shooed away so many times. Wilhelm didn't care much for what happened here but he assumed the worst, as always.
Wilhelm stopped staring around the cabin and let loose a sigh that shook the house. The boy got up on his feet, not bothering to dust off the dirt on his badly sewed clothes. Most of the patches were stolen, and even they didn't last for long. Wilhelm miserably walked over to a pile of logs, easily throwing one into the fire. Sparks flew out from the impact and landed on the wooden floor only to be crushed by the boy. No more fire was needed, thank you. He only needed just enough to keep the cold at bay. Wilhelm stood facing the fire, arms crossed. He had told him to get his things from camp then meet him here. Why could it be taking so long? Wilhelm tromped over to the window, his oversized boots clunking with the hard wood, a few splinters already stuck in his shoes. The boy stared out the window; searching for the other he knew was coming. Could he have been hurt? No. Peter's not that stupid. He heard a period of bumps and scratches on the roof and saw the snow slip down onto the ground, breaking into a puff of white powder. Peter was that stupid. Wilhelm scanned the room for a pail of water. He easily lifted up the heavy bucket and doused the fire in a swirl of steam, a hiss penetrating the night air. Shortly after, a smaller boy by the name of Peter came tumbling down and landed flat on his bottom, knocking a few logs out of place.
"You could've come in through the window at least, that would have been more sensible." Wilhelm remarked, pulling his younger brother to his feet. Peter looked a lot like his older brother, except he was seen as cute while his brother was frowned upon. The younger shook black soot off himself like a dog, and then said, "Sorry Wilhelm, it's just the view was beautiful. I could see the 'hole mountain. It was like I was flying."
Wilhelm smiled despite every bone in his body didn't wish to. Peter would never learn the dangers of the world. Not on his watch. He easily picked up his younger brother and held him on his side as if a log. Peter laughed all the while as his brother swung him back and forth like a pendulum, nearly tossing him out the window like a rock. When he finished, Wilhelm set him down, the boy still giggling, and Wilhelm said, "You wanted to fly didn't you?"
Peter only giggled. His brother clapped his hands together, eager to begin their line of work with a fox-like smirk.
"Now," The older said, "Let's begin."
The two sped to the corners of the house, filling their shabby pockets with whatever they could find. Every once in a while they would bite or examine a piece of jewelry then stuff them deeper than a submarine. It was a while before Peter asked, as he was holding up a stuffed animal, "Can we take this?"
Wilhelm turned and saw his younger brother dangling the doll. Normally he would take all he could find but... A grown man keeping a doll must mean it's sentimental. He could let Peter take it, and break the man's heart, but he had had experience with that, and did not want to place that same burden. He took it from his brother and placed it aside, telling Peter it wasn't worth much. Wilhelm was a thief, a crook, but he had a heart, even for alcoholic mountain men. His brother, however, had no clue.
"What about that?" The younger asked, pointing to the ring on top of the fireplace. Wilhelm staggered and bumbled at a loss of words. Another sentimental item, but this one could be sold at a price, a nice price in fact.
"Ah umm..." Wilhelm stuttered, walking over to the ring. He had to take it, he had no choice. What if he did? He would be a criminal for sure. Maybe the man would be better off without it, like when he left the- No don't think about that, just take it. Wilhelm took the ring off the mantle and stuffed it in his pocket.
By the time they had all but destroyed the house the two were searching for anything they might have missed. Peter was checking the drawers, pulling them out and dumping everything out. Wilhelm was looking in every nook and cranny but to no avail, looking past the curtain to see if there might be something overlooking the snow. Then he saw something. Out the window was the shape of...something...trudging through the snow. It wasn't a wolf, wolves were fast, and it had to be the owner. There wasn't enough time to take anything that was left. Wilhelm fled to Peter, grabbing his hand before stopping in front of the fireplace.
"So, you can go down a chimney? Let's see if you can go up it." Wilhelm said. He didn't wish to worry his brother, but they had to hurry. Wilhelm helped push his brother up through the brick chimney, catching him when he came close to falling before climbing up himself, onto the thatched snowy roof. Peter was already running across the roof blindly. Wilhelm took one step and nearly fell off, his boots not adequate for walking on houses. Neither were Peter's, but that didn't stop him.
Wilhelm stared at the faraway ground, petrified in fear. He had always hated high places, but he never imagined one of those high places would be a house. A narrow shot by an arrow zapped him back into reality. His brother had already reached the edge of the house where he was desperately trying to climb up onto a nearby ledge. Wilhelm ran to him and grunted as he hoisted him up onto the ledge, another arrow missing his head. Peter made it to the top unscathed, followed by Wilhelm who collapsed as soon as he felt the rock. As far as he was concerned, they were safe. His brother climbed to his feet, safe and sound and said,
"Well that wasn't so bad was i-"
The boy screamed in pain and collapsed as he clutched an arrow in his thigh. Wilhelm crawled over to him, frantic, and discarded the bag of loot, the hunter going to collect his things as they fell down into the snow. Peter cried out in pain while his brother ripped off one of his sleeves and used it to cover the wound.
"There that should stop the bleeding." Wilhelm said, daring not to pull out the arrow. It was too risky, might get infected any second now. He had always known how to survive these things, but Peter, thank god, never ha to learn. But now…
"We'll take you to Pabbie and it'll be alright. Come on look at me." Wilhelm said as he picked up the boy and began running to the Valley of Living Rocks.
The Valley of Living Rocks is an easy place to find for certain people. Those with good intentions can only see the valley. Wilhelm ran in carrying his brother, brushing away any steam emerging from the underground geysers. Normally he would have stopped to embrace the steam, but now was not the time to delay. He did not wish to see the place as much as he only wished to see Pabbie. He didn't care about the moss that almost seemed to move on its own or the blond haired boy who had been living in the valley for two years, he only cared about seeing Pabbie. Wilhelm yelled out for the shaman many times before any response was taken into account. The boulders of the valley began to move with each cry before rolling down into the center, their stout limps emerging from their round shape, and a large stone nose pointing downward. A crowd quickly formed around Wilhelm, curious as always to see humans in the valley. A wave of murmuring soon followed.
A ball of moss and fungus could be seen rolling through the crowd only to stop in front of Wilhelm. Pabbie unrolled to form a squat, putrid, troll. Age was apparent and made no attempt of concealing. If he wasn't a shaman then he could definitely try bingo. Pabbie gestured for Wilhelm to set Peter down.
"Cover the wound, wise decision." Pabbie said, examining the wound. His voice was like a rock scraping off a sidewalk, in addition to the eyes that had seen much suffering, and devoted themselves to stopping it. The shaman grasped the arrow and yanked it out. Peter winced, but was already in too much pain to feel it. Pabbie set the arrow aside and investigated the cut. It had not been infected, yet. Wilhelm watched from the sidelines as Pabbie cleared up all he could.
Then the shaman stopped. Peter had stopped moving. Wilhelm stared for a second, confused. Why was he stopping? Peter needed help. He should be helping him. He- Peter was dead. Wilhelm stared at his brother, taking a minute to come to the realization. Peter. Was. Dead… He just stood there, not daring to do anything but breath. The troll looked at the boy as Wilhelm had not truly come to terms with it. The other trolls were just staring, more aware than Wilhelm, but more unaware of what to say. Pabbie tried to reach out to the boy with a stony, but warm hand, but he was merely pushed away. Wilhelm began to slowly realize it. Wilhelm stood up, too wretched to cry, and then he said, clear as day, "I hate you."
What had he done? He had led to his brother's death, he had lead to his parents.
"I hate you." He repeated, talking to himself. Peter was dead because of him, his brother, was dead because of him. What had he done? What he always had done. Hurt everything and everyone that's what. But he hadn't. He didn't make the fire, he did his best to save Peter!
"I hate you." He finally said, teeth gritted as he wiped away the one tear that had emerged. Pabbie knew the boy wasn't talking to him. Wilhelm hated magic. After all it was magic which started the fire, which killed his parents. It was magic that failed to save his brother. It was magic that took everything away from him. No more letting it ruin anyone's lives, he was going to hunt every bit of magic in the world and destroy it. For this world's own good! Dark or Light! Good or Evil! It was all hurting people in every way! He had to kill it. He had to kill it all for Peter. He had to kill it for his parents. He had to kill it for himself. He had to kill it, to protect the ones he loves.

Description
Chapter one of my fanfic for Frozen.

Chapter 1: The two thieves
It's amazing really, how far a single snowflake can travel, people don't see it as well as others. Some others know it all too well, maybe too much for their liking. I guarantee you know whom I'm talking about. Queen Elsa of course. However some others who see white falling from the sky see something else entirely. Ash, dust, and wishes that went up in smoke with dreams that could never be, and instead of joy and wonder, it brings nightmares and woe. Now such a snowflake had flown into a chimney and onto a warm fire that needed no softening.
The boy Wilhelm, watching it intently, didn't have a care in the world for the snowflake, only himself and his younger brother. He Wilhelm stared at the fire intensely, almost as if angry at it, for all the pain and misery it had caused. Wilhelm was tall for his age and surprisingly strong. He bathed only when his stench was too much to bear and never made any attempt to appear attractive. He never licked any wounds as to him pain was nothing but a bump in the road. Wilhelm had brown eyes, jet-black hair, and was lean. A wolf would have feared him. Even though he and his younger brother looked alike, his eyes were terrifying. Brown is not a scary color of course but that made Wilhelm unique in his own fashion. At least, that's the way he saw it.
Wilhelm stared at the fire, still angered, until his eyes began to hurt. He looked away with an angry grunt back at the desolate hollow. The boy was sitting on a bearskin rug in a middle-sized cabin. Wilhelm had observed the cabin several times in anticipation. It was cozy, much to his dismay. It had but one floor with a ladder to a bed below the roof. The log cabin was well built, give or take the ceiling, but dirty, with various pelts and salted meats hanging from the support beams.
A mountain man by the name of Christopher Bjorgman lived here. Wilhelm couldn't tell much about the man except from what was in his cabin, and, frankly, he didn't care. He had nothing else to do for the time being so might as well try to care. A hunter obviously, one who seemed alone beyond compare and almost had nothing left to his name. Everything else would have been left here except for the indications of a coat, and a sled perhaps. Two handprints were on the wall, one big, and one small. One was entitled Christopher, the other Kristoff. A father and a son, how cute. Wilhelm thought, only just glancing at it out of boredom. Random bottles of empty who knows what lay around the yet to be cleaned floor, and a single wedding ring could be seen on the mantle, a tear from another time. A stuffed animal of some sort lay on a small chair, untouched for so long that a few moths had decided to call it home, despite being shooed away so many times. Wilhelm didn't care much for what happened here but he assumed the worst, as always.
Wilhelm stopped staring around the cabin and let loose a sigh that shook the house. The boy got up on his feet, not bothering to dust off the dirt on his badly sewed clothes. Most of the patches were stolen, and even they didn't last for long. Wilhelm miserably walked over to a pile of logs, easily throwing one into the fire. Sparks flew out from the impact and landed on the wooden floor only to be crushed by the boy. No more fire was needed, thank you. He only needed just enough to keep the cold at bay. Wilhelm stood facing the fire, arms crossed. He had told him to get his things from camp then meet him here. Why could it be taking so long? Wilhelm tromped over to the window, his oversized boots clunking with the hard wood, a few splinters already stuck in his shoes. The boy stared out the window; searching for the other he knew was coming. Could he have been hurt? No. Peter's not that stupid. He heard a period of bumps and scratches on the roof and saw the snow slip down onto the ground, breaking into a puff of white powder. Peter was that stupid. Wilhelm scanned the room for a pail of water. He easily lifted up the heavy bucket and doused the fire in a swirl of steam, a hiss penetrating the night air. Shortly after, a smaller boy by the name of Peter came tumbling down and landed flat on his bottom, knocking a few logs out of place.
"You could've come in through the window at least, that would have been more sensible." Wilhelm remarked, pulling his younger brother to his feet. Peter looked a lot like his older brother, except he was seen as cute while his brother was frowned upon. The younger shook black soot off himself like a dog, and then said, "Sorry Wilhelm, it's just the view was beautiful. I could see the 'hole mountain. It was like I was flying."
Wilhelm smiled despite every bone in his body didn't wish to. Peter would never learn the dangers of the world. Not on his watch. He easily picked up his younger brother and held him on his side as if a log. Peter laughed all the while as his brother swung him back and forth like a pendulum, nearly tossing him out the window like a rock. When he finished, Wilhelm set him down, the boy still giggling, and Wilhelm said, "You wanted to fly didn't you?"
Peter only giggled. His brother clapped his hands together, eager to begin their line of work with a fox-like smirk.
"Now," The older said, "Let's begin."
The two sped to the corners of the house, filling their shabby pockets with whatever they could find. Every once in a while they would bite or examine a piece of jewelry then stuff them deeper than a submarine. It was a while before Peter asked, as he was holding up a stuffed animal, "Can we take this?"
Wilhelm turned and saw his younger brother dangling the doll. Normally he would take all he could find but... A grown man keeping a doll must mean it's sentimental. He could let Peter take it, and break the man's heart, but he had had experience with that, and did not want to place that same burden. He took it from his brother and placed it aside, telling Peter it wasn't worth much. Wilhelm was a thief, a crook, but he had a heart, even for alcoholic mountain men. His brother, however, had no clue.
"What about that?" The younger asked, pointing to the ring on top of the fireplace. Wilhelm staggered and bumbled at a loss of words. Another sentimental item, but this one could be sold at a price, a nice price in fact.
"Ah umm..." Wilhelm stuttered, walking over to the ring. He had to take it, he had no choice. What if he did? He would be a criminal for sure. Maybe the man would be better off without it, like when he left the- No don't think about that, just take it. Wilhelm took the ring off the mantle and stuffed it in his pocket.
By the time they had all but destroyed the house the two were searching for anything they might have missed. Peter was checking the drawers, pulling them out and dumping everything out. Wilhelm was looking in every nook and cranny but to no avail, looking past the curtain to see if there might be something overlooking the snow. Then he saw something. Out the window was the shape of...something...trudging through the snow. It wasn't a wolf, wolves were fast, and it had to be the owner. There wasn't enough time to take anything that was left. Wilhelm fled to Peter, grabbing his hand before stopping in front of the fireplace.
"So, you can go down a chimney? Let's see if you can go up it." Wilhelm said. He didn't wish to worry his brother, but they had to hurry. Wilhelm helped push his brother up through the brick chimney, catching him when he came close to falling before climbing up himself, onto the thatched snowy roof. Peter was already running across the roof blindly. Wilhelm took one step and nearly fell off, his boots not adequate for walking on houses. Neither were Peter's, but that didn't stop him.
Wilhelm stared at the faraway ground, petrified in fear. He had always hated high places, but he never imagined one of those high places would be a house. A narrow shot by an arrow zapped him back into reality. His brother had already reached the edge of the house where he was desperately trying to climb up onto a nearby ledge. Wilhelm ran to him and grunted as he hoisted him up onto the ledge, another arrow missing his head. Peter made it to the top unscathed, followed by Wilhelm who collapsed as soon as he felt the rock. As far as he was concerned, they were safe. His brother climbed to his feet, safe and sound and said,
"Well that wasn't so bad was i-"
The boy screamed in pain and collapsed as he clutched an arrow in his thigh. Wilhelm crawled over to him, frantic, and discarded the bag of loot, the hunter going to collect his things as they fell down into the snow. Peter cried out in pain while his brother ripped off one of his sleeves and used it to cover the wound.
"There that should stop the bleeding." Wilhelm said, daring not to pull out the arrow. It was too risky, might get infected any second now. He had always known how to survive these things, but Peter, thank god, never ha to learn. But now…
"We'll take you to Pabbie and it'll be alright. Come on look at me." Wilhelm said as he picked up the boy and began running to the Valley of Living Rocks.
The Valley of Living Rocks is an easy place to find for certain people. Those with good intentions can only see the valley. Wilhelm ran in carrying his brother, brushing away any steam emerging from the underground geysers. Normally he would have stopped to embrace the steam, but now was not the time to delay. He did not wish to see the place as much as he only wished to see Pabbie. He didn't care about the moss that almost seemed to move on its own or the blond haired boy who had been living in the valley for two years, he only cared about seeing Pabbie. Wilhelm yelled out for the shaman many times before any response was taken into account. The boulders of the valley began to move with each cry before rolling down into the center, their stout limps emerging from their round shape, and a large stone nose pointing downward. A crowd quickly formed around Wilhelm, curious as always to see humans in the valley. A wave of murmuring soon followed.
A ball of moss and fungus could be seen rolling through the crowd only to stop in front of Wilhelm. Pabbie unrolled to form a squat, putrid, troll. Age was apparent and made no attempt of concealing. If he wasn't a shaman then he could definitely try bingo. Pabbie gestured for Wilhelm to set Peter down.
"Cover the wound, wise decision." Pabbie said, examining the wound. His voice was like a rock scraping off a sidewalk, in addition to the eyes that had seen much suffering, and devoted themselves to stopping it. The shaman grasped the arrow and yanked it out. Peter winced, but was already in too much pain to feel it. Pabbie set the arrow aside and investigated the cut. It had not been infected, yet. Wilhelm watched from the sidelines as Pabbie cleared up all he could.
Then the shaman stopped. Peter had stopped moving. Wilhelm stared for a second, confused. Why was he stopping? Peter needed help. He should be helping him. He- Peter was dead. Wilhelm stared at his brother, taking a minute to come to the realization. Peter. Was. Dead… He just stood there, not daring to do anything but breath. The troll looked at the boy as Wilhelm had not truly come to terms with it. The other trolls were just staring, more aware than Wilhelm, but more unaware of what to say. Pabbie tried to reach out to the boy with a stony, but warm hand, but he was merely pushed away. Wilhelm began to slowly realize it. Wilhelm stood up, too wretched to cry, and then he said, clear as day, "I hate you."
What had he done? He had led to his brother's death, he had lead to his parents.
"I hate you." He repeated, talking to himself. Peter was dead because of him, his brother, was dead because of him. What had he done? What he always had done. Hurt everything and everyone that's what. But he hadn't. He didn't make the fire, he did his best to save Peter!
"I hate you." He finally said, teeth gritted as he wiped away the one tear that had emerged. Pabbie knew the boy wasn't talking to him. Wilhelm hated magic. After all it was magic which started the fire, which killed his parents. It was magic that failed to save his brother. It was magic that took everything away from him. No more letting it ruin anyone's lives, he was going to hunt every bit of magic in the world and destroy it. For this world's own good! Dark or Light! Good or Evil! It was all hurting people in every way! He had to kill it. He had to kill it all for Peter. He had to kill it for his parents. He had to kill it for himself. He had to kill it, to protect the ones he loves.